


Where it Doesn't Show

by Wynja2007



Series: The Starlight Gemstone Series [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Body Paint, Competitive Micturation, Crochet, Depictions of Violence Towards Dragons, Dragons, Elk Therapy, Extreme Dragon Jeopardy, Gen, Grief and Loss, Inappropriate use of Honey Beer, M/M, Mirkwood, Oh Go On Then... Fluff, Original Character Death(s), Possible non-canonical interpretation of elvish commitment protocols, Predatory Behaviours, Spiders, Trees, elk, leather kilts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-21 00:13:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 435
Words: 858,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1530887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynja2007/pseuds/Wynja2007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil has always expected to be disappointed in his sons and that, one day, in their turn, they will be disappointed in him.  Is this a self-fulfilling prophecy?  Or a premonition?</p><p>Today, however, he is not disappointed.  Simply a little concerned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Fathers and Sons

‘One day, you will disappoint me, for that is the way of things; sons disappoint their fathers. And fathers disappoint their sons, also, and so the day will come when you realise that, while you cannot criticise your king, you can, and will, find fault with your father.’

  
The three elves looked at each other. Their father did this sometimes, reminding them that nobody was perfect, neither he nor they. The lecture usually came after one of them had done something worthy of approval. Or disapproval, and that happened more often.

  
‘But today you have not disappointed me. Today I hear that all three of you have, instead, achieved deeds of note. Legolas’ skill with the bow increases; he outmatched even the tutors today, so I hear. Tharmeduil has completed his current tour of duty with our patrols successfully, and Iauron has told me there is a lady with whom he would be happy to make alliance.’

  
At Tharmeduil’s side, Iauron seemed to sag around the shoulders. With relief, Legolas assumed. Iauron was the oldest, and although any of the three could one day rule after Thranduil, preference would be given to the one who could ensure the succession. Besides, Iauron wanted it most, whereas Legolas didn’t want it at all.

‘This news pleases me,’ Thranduil went on, ‘both as a father and a king. Iauron, we will make arrangements to send a delegation to solicit the lady’s interest through her parents. You may go. You, also, Tharmeduil. Legolas, I would like to speak with you privately…’

  
Thranduil turned his back on his three sons as he mounted the steps up to his throne, allowing time for the older two to withdraw. Allowing time for Legolas to compose himself and conquer the dread Thranduil knew would be racing in his heart.

  
Of them all, Legolas was most like him. Perhaps that was why he found it difficult not to be so harsh with his youngest child.

  
And yet he delighted in his sons. Years past, he had played with them and laughed with them, carried them on his hip and set them before him on his steed, each in their turn, had cherished every moment of their growth from infanthood through childhood. But as they grew, so his relationship with them had to change. He was their loving father, yes. But he was also their king, and so, these days, it was rare that they saw him without his regal impassivity in place. He felt a pang of loss; Legolas had been such a happy child and now he was a young adult who smiled, but rarely laughed.

  
Thranduil wondered, feared, whether that was his fault.

By the time he turned to take his seat on the throne, he had composed himself into his formal expression. He crossed one knee over the other and beckoned briskly, not looking at his son as he did so.

  
‘Legolas, approach.’

  
Legolas climbed the steps warily, coming to a halt on the platform below the dais of the throne. His eyes would be level with his father’s chest, should he look up. At present, however, fearing the topic of this conversation, he had no wish to do so.

  
‘Legolas.’

  
His father’s voice drew his attention and he could no longer avoid the eye contact. Did his father know? But then, why not say something in front of the others, for this would surely be counted as a disappointment if he were to be found out…

  
‘My lord?’

  
‘What do you know about Iauron’s new-found love?’

  
Legolas caught his breath. Such a relief! He tried to answer with composure, delivering the information as if it were a report.

  
‘She is of the Imladris families. I am not entirely certain how they came to meet, and I do not know her myself. That she is more to him than just an adventure I had not known, either, but he has been saying for some months now that it was time he made a commitment to the future of the kingdom. Tharmeduil thought Iauron meant adding more weapons training to his routine, but…’

  
‘Imladris? Well, it could be worse, I suppose. Enough. On the subject of adventures…’

  
‘Yes, lord?’ This was it; his father was about to launch into a stream of invective on the topic of his behaviour and tastes and he really, really did not want to have to explain…

  
‘I hear there was an incident in Lake Town… at one of the… hostelries…’

  
‘Yes, lord?’

  
‘Indeed, and it would bode well for you were you to warn your brothers that while I have no objections to them dissipating their energies at such places, it is of paramount importance that no stain of shame be brought back to the Kingdom. This time we have managed to ah… suitably recompense the young – I hesitate to say ‘lady’ – in question, but this house cannot be forever smoothing over such behaviour.’

  
‘I’ll pass the message on, lord.’

  
‘Good. I note with some interest that you were not part of these… festivities.’

  
‘No, lord, I had… other business…’ Legolas swallowed, hoping he wasn’t going to be asked what that business might be.

  
‘Legolas.’ Thranduil rose from his seat and joined his son, the mask of impassivity vanishing so that by the time he was near enough to lay his hand lightly on Legolas’ shoulder, the king had retreated entirely and the father alone stood there. ‘As your king, I have a responsibility towards the populace to ensure they do not lose faith in our leadership. As your father, all I want is for you to be happy. And if you do not join in your brothers’ brothel parties, I admit to a certain relief. But I cannot shake the notion that you did not stay away simply because you wished to undertake further weapons practice…’

  
‘I’m not over-fond of… brothels,’ Legolas said, and edge of desperation to his voice.

  
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Thranduil said. ‘One can pick up all manner of infection from such places! ‘All I ask, my son, is that you are discreet. Choose your companion wisely.’

  
‘Father, I…’

  
‘There are many of our kindred in Middle-Earth who are alone. Their spouses are dead, or have sailed west and so the marriage has ended. Such a one, a more mature person, would make an admirable and unexceptional partner. With experience comes subtlety and discretion, and you need not fear exposure from an older lover.’ Thranduil gave the smallest of shrugs and smiled at his son’s astonishment. ‘Just be happy, Legolas. Find joy in the physical expression of affection.’  
Legolas shook his head, wanting to deny the things his father was hinting, knowing that to do so would be a lie and that such dishonesty was not in his nature. He had been expecting censure and fury when his weakness was discovered, not advice and kindness.

  
‘Thank you!’ he said, finally, and Thranduil pulled him in for a swift, fierce hug. For as long as it lasted, Legolas felt loved and valued and cherished, and then it was over, his father was turning to seat himself on the throne once more.

  
For the briefest of moments, his eyes were warm. And then the king’s mask descended once more.

  
‘I would like you to join the next patrol against the arachnids, Legolas,’ Thranduil said. ‘See the commander and ask for an archer’s rank; I don’t want you pushed into leading yet just because you are the king’s son. I’d prefer you to have a little more open hand work first.

  
‘Yes, Sire.’

  
Legolas ran down the steps, his heart lighter than it had been in days, and the king watched him go with fatherly pride.


	2. Of Trips, Traps and Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas prepares for his patrol and demonstrates his skill in the trees

Tharmeduil was waiting outside the throne room, pacing. He looked up as he heard Legolas’ light footsteps. Less tall than his brother and with lowlights in his hair taking it into a dark, almost mousy blond, still one could see the family resemblance in the shape of the nose and the intensity of gaze, although here, too, Legolas had the advantage.

Tharmeduil reached out to clasp his brother’s hand, light blue eyes concerned.

‘What did Ada say? I swear, I have no idea how your secret got out… I heard no shouting, he didn’t rage, at least…?’

Legolas shook his head. ‘It wasn’t about me,’ he said. ‘Come.’

He led the way through the intricate corridors towards one of the many private chambers, making sure the door was fastened after them. There was usually someone or other walking the corridors, and to be overheard would be uncomfortable.

‘You have to be more careful, Tharmeduil! He knows all about your trips to the bawdy houses in Lake Town! And Iauron had better stop completely, if he’s serious about his lady…’

‘I’ll let you tell Iauron that!’

‘He wouldn’t take it from me – he’d think of me as just a dog in the manger. More to the point, I won’t be here – I’m on Spider Patrol for the next sennight…’

‘What did you do to deserve that?’

‘I don’t mind. It’s an interesting challenge and it makes the forest feel better.’

‘What else did Ada say?’

‘He wanted to ask what I knew of the lady.’

‘Not about her – you. Does he know? Was he very… disappointed?’

‘I told you; it wasn’t about me,’ Legolas insisted. ‘I have to go, I need to seek the patrol commander.’

‘Legolas…!’

But with a quick smile, Legolas slipped from the chamber and headed out to the practice grounds where he was pretty sure he could find those commanders not currently on patrol.

Hunting spiders required agility of mind and body; four limbs against eight, two eyes against many. One had to be able to twist and turn in the air, to change tactics in a heartbeat, to listen to the rhythm of one’s own body in counterpoint to one’s environment, to learn what was caused by oneself and what was the result of a spider’s approach. 

So Legolas was hardly surprised when, on arrival at the training ground, he found the archery targets unattended, the empty-hand circle… well, empty, but the trees ringing the arena were bowing under the weight of grey shadows in their uppermost branches. The shadows were moving with an odd, swaying rhythm and didn’t seem to making any real progress through the branches.

There was a certain knack to trees. The Sylvan elves of the Woodland Realm had it, and guarded it fiercely from the Noldor and Teleri, sharing it only with the Sindar who made their homes amongst them. So Legolas knew it, and used it now, running to the ring of trees and laying his hand swiftly on the bark of a sturdy oak, sending his perceptions in. He whispered a few soft words, feeling the connection as the tree became aware of him, accepted his presence, and then he began to climb.

Wherever he put his foot, or his hand, there was always a knot hole or a branch waiting for him as the tree became complicit in his ascent. His senses honed from decades, centuries of practice, Legolas felt as if he was flowing up through the tree until he reached its canopy and his golden head poked through the crown of leaves to feel glinting sunshine and a rocking breeze soughing around him  
.  
He rested for a moment, enjoying the air, savouring the freedom and riding the soft swaying of the canopy.

From the left, a voice hailed him, and he turned in acknowledgement.

‘Commander Bregon! Greetings!’ he called out, recognising the gold brown hair and strong features of the waving figure. ‘Is it your patrol next out?’

‘It is we, indeed,’ Bregon began to surf through the canopy towards Legolas, moving lightly and swiftly across the trees between them. ‘We leave an hour before dusk; there’s an established nest we’ve been targeting and it’s just about ripe for the plucking.’

‘My father told me to beg a place in your ranks.’

Bregon nodded. ‘I had word of it; as his majesty wishes, of course. I’d be honoured to stand down in your favour…’

Legolas knew this was a courtesy Bregon couldn’t avoid; had he not offered to turn over command to his prince, it could be considered an almost treasonous insult. He hastened to shake his head.

‘No, Bregon; my father made a point of telling me I need more experience before I’m ready to have other lives than my own in my hands. I’m just your bowman, Commander.’

‘Thank you,’ Bregon said. ‘I’ll admit, that makes my task easier. Come, let’s see if you can make to the forest floor without setting off any of the traps…’

Legolas grinned as he followed Bregon’s gaze. He understood, now, the strange rhythm of the tree tops; trip lines, meant to simulate the warning strands of a spider web, had been strung through the trees to ensnare the unwary. From the look of things, more than a few of the patrol had allowed their attention to slip.

‘Don’t worry; they’re not all as inept as this makes them seem.’ Bregon gave an easy wink. ‘We’re also practising how to free ourselves, should we become entangled. Take that chestnut, there. I’ll be in the one adjacent.’

Legolas pushed his way to the tree Bregon had indicated and dropped through the canopy to spread his weight amongst the thin branches stretching out from the crown. It being spring in the woods, great creamy candles of blossom made a chandelier of the chestnut tree, each flower spike with its pink centred florets busy with bees and other insects. Legolas smiled, took hold of the branches beneath his feet, and read the tree…

He dropped the first twenty feet with ease, slithering through the branches like a greased woodpigeon, hugging the trunk. A sense of alteration reached him from the sapient layer of the tree, and he stayed his descent, clinging with fingertip precision as he re-examined the tree beneath… yes. Not a foot’s length from where he had stopped, a grey snake of sticky rope twined the trunk; he would have to head across to one of the main branches and drop to beneath the trip line… and as he reached out, he saw the glimmer and gleam of more tangled cords. So instead of gripping the branch, he launched himself at it, pushed at it with the heels of his hands and gained enough momentum to power a leap back, twisting in the air to reach out once more… the thought flashed through his mind that nothing would make him more one of the crowd than to end up swathed in mock-spidersilk, but the thought was humiliating and so he found the perfect handhold on another branch and swung himself through and down and between the dangers to land lightly and all-but silently on one of the lower branches. 

A rough cheer went up from somewhere amongst the foliage, and he grinned for a moment, about to make the final leap to the ground… and just in time saw the trip line woven between the roots. Spotting his landing place to the side of the last trap, he jumped the last few feet and went to join Bregon, waiting with mock-surprise on his face.

‘Nicely done!’ the commander said with approval in his voice. ‘You know your way around a tree, at least. Come and meet my second. We call him Thiriston Cut-Face…’

‘Oh?’ They were heading across to where a powerful figure was waiting with two or three patrol members, stripping the last strands of mock-spidersilk from their hair and laughing at them. ‘How did he earn the name? He doesn’t look scarred.’

‘Well, now. Some of the scars my patrol carries are where you can’t see. But as for Thiriston, it’s just that’s what he threatens to do to anyone who looks twice at his lover.’ Bregon nodded towards a fair-faced elf with rich, wide eyes and braided chestnut hair. ‘And so I tell all my newcomers, irrespective of preference or rank: don’t take liberties with pretty Canadion over there, or you might end up less pretty yourself. No offence.’

‘None taken.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my beta reader, the ever-helpful Gemstarzah.


	3. Parental Responsibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil conducts an awkward interview with a young woman of questionable provenance...

‘Arveldir, is the… ah… young lady here?’

Thranduil kept the dispassionate regal mask in place as he looked down at his advisor. Arveldir had served for so many years, however, that the slight twist of amused interest at the corner of Thranduil’s mouth didn’t escape his notice.

‘She is indeed, sire. Conveyed in a covered cart, as you requested, and the healers sent to accompany her here assure me she has suffered no hurt from the journey.’

‘Good. Tell me, do you know how this came to be? And I do not refer to matters of the avians and the insects; I want to know my sons’ involvement!’

‘Once the …lady had attracted their interest, she agreed to hold herself exclusively for their entertainment. A small cottage was hired for her convenience under an assumed name…’

‘They show some discretion, at least.’

‘The inevitable having happened, the lady is concerned for her future employment prospects.’

‘She wants money, of course.’

‘Of course. And more than that; the future of her child to be secured, should it prove to be a peredhel. Of which she is certain, and the healers support her claims.’

‘And so the only question remaining is which one of my tedious sons is responsible…’

‘Oh, I think we can rule one of them out immediately, sire.’

A look of burning frost met his gaze. Thranduil’s voice was sharper, colder than icicles. ‘Your meaning, Arveldir?’ 

Perhaps Lord Thranduil hadn’t heard the rumours about his youngest son? Or perhaps he had, and Arveldir had simply gone too far. He swallowed, and tried to salvage the situation.

‘Prince Iauron is interested in an alliance with the Imladris families, I understand? He would surely not jeopardise his suit by causing such a scandal…’  
Arveldir breathed again as Thranduil nodded.

‘We would hope so, certainly. And the woman, does she know the identity of her… employers?’

‘Simply that they are of this household and she believes them to be kinsmen. As to whom… she seems to have formed an idea which we can only hope is mistaken…’

‘I will see her whenever she is ready. Do make her wait outside for fifteen minutes first, though. Provide a seat and allow her to be attended by a healer. Overwhelm her with consideration.’ Thranduil waved a hand. ‘As soon as you like, Arveldir.’

‘My lord.’ Arveldir bowed and retreated as quickly as was decorous to be about his king’s bidding.

Left alone with only the attendant guards at the perimeter of the room, Thranduil got to his feet and descended the steps that led up to his throne. He needed to stretch his long, elegant legs after too much time spent sitting and he crossed the chamber to where a small table held simple refreshments; a bowl of fruit, a goblet, a jug of water and a decanter of rich burgundy wine. It was past the midday hour, and so not too early for a mouthful of wine.

It was heady and wicked with its promise of delight, the flavours sensuous and blended so innocuously as to make the wine seem mere cordial, and he savoured its delicate richness. He picked at a few grapes and wiped his slender fingers on a napkin before refilling his goblet.

Presently, he heard the shift as his guards stood to attention, a sign that someone was approaching the throne room, and soon, Arveldir spoke from the distant doorway.

‘Your majesty, I have brought the woman as you desired.’

Knowing that Arveldir, and the unfortunate woman, could see him from where they undoubtedly had stopped near the entrance, he raised his hand in casual acknowledgement before turning and, carrying his goblet of wine with him, made his way slowly back to the base of the steps. 

Rather than speak to the woman from the regal height of his throne, thus compelling her to climb the steps in her condition, he turned to face her across the expanse of floor and inclined his head slowly in her direction.

‘Thank you, Arveldir. Have someone bring a chair for the… lady.’

Under his cool scrutiny, the woman –barely past being a child herself, he thought – lifted her chin in an attempt at defiance, remembered this was an elven king she was facing, flushed, and curtseyed. Servants brought a low bench and set it down behind her, and Thranduil waved her to sit.

‘You must take care in your situation. Do you have a name?’

‘Flora… your m… majesty.’

‘Flora. I understand you require certain… recompense for loss of potential earnings caused by some of my household?’

She nodded briefly. 

‘And do you know whom?’

‘Erm…’ Flora glanced around, aware of the other occupants of the chamber. ‘I… do you really want me to…?’

‘Arveldir, clear the chamber. You may remain.’ Thranduil waited for the guards and the healer to withdraw before nodding at Flora. ‘Please continue.’

‘They’re brothers, three of them, your majesty. One didn’t often come along, and he said he preferred the horses… to stay with them…’

‘And did they all…?’

‘No, just the one. I brought a friend or two with me for the other. Mine was very tall…’

‘But not the tallest?’ Thranduil asked, making his voice kind. Over the woman’s shoulder, he saw Arveldir shake his head in despair; Iauron was the tallest of the brothers. ‘Think with care, child. I know of the family you name; the tallest son, the oldest, will shortly have a family of his own to be responsible for and will not be in a position to offer you any support. Is it, perhaps, possible that you may have been mistaken?’

‘M… mistaken, your majesty?’

‘About the height of your… companion. Is it not said that all persons are the same height, lying down?’

There was a long silence after this and Thranduil saw Flora frown in concentration as she assessed her options. Really, he had nothing against her as an individual, it was simply that she was offering him a problem which could reflect very badly on Iauron…

‘If you’ll forgive the impertinence, your majesty,’ Flora whispered. ‘It has also been said, amongst my people, that all elves look alike…’

Arveldir turned a laugh into a cough and met the icy ire of his king’s glare.

‘Perhaps so.’ Thranduil said. ‘But of these brothers, it would be better for your child to own but one absent parent, rather than three potential fathers. Better for you, as well, one would think.’

She flushed again.

‘Tell me more of the one who stayed with the horses?’

‘I liked his ways! He was… prettiest, perhaps. Nice. Spoke to me like I was a real person… He didn’t… which means, of course, he couldn’t be…’

‘Perhaps the least said the better. If your pretty one has no objections, why should you?’

‘Well…’

‘Arveldir?’ Thranduil waved his advisor forward and chose this moment to climb the steps to his throne. ‘Proceed.’

‘We will acquire permanently for you the lease on the cottage. We will ensure that your health needs are met and that you do not want for food or clothing or heat. Once the child is born, assuming it to be peredhel – half-elven – we will arrange for it to be placed with an appropriate family. Or you can take over responsibility yourself, in which case once you are delivered, we no longer will have any responsibility towards you or the infant. Is this acceptable to you?’

‘I… well…’

‘You should take a little time to consider your options. You may stay in the healers’ wing overnight, should you wish to,’ Arveldir went on. ‘I will speak to you in the morning. May I return you to the healers, now?’

A little bewildered by events, Flora got to her feet and made another awkward curtsey to the king and allowed Arveldir to lead her out of the throne room and hand her over to the healer waiting outside.

Alone, Thranduil shook his head. Iaruon was the tallest of his sons, and undoubtedly responsible. And the prettiest, the one who watched the horses and who never, ever had bothered with the ladies? Legolas, of course.

Presently, the guards waiting outside repopulated their positions, and Arveldir came back into the throne room. 

‘My lord, Iaruon is outside if you’ve a moment to speak with him.’

For a moment, Thranduil was tempted to claim to be too busy to see his son; it would serve Iauron right, after causing this mess, to keep him hanging…

‘We made sure he did not see Mistress Flora, but he has heard she was here, and admitted to some surprise. Will you see him now?’ 

It had never been Thranduil’s way to put things off, and Iauron really deserved a lecture.

‘Very well, send him in. I should imagine he will be yet more surprised to learn he is to be an uncle.’ 

Thranduil permitted himself the luxury of a smile. But possibly not nearly so surprised as Legolas would be to learn he was going to be a father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to my Beta reader, Gemstarzah. If you haven't already looked at her work, you could do worse than to explore her stories.


	4. Of Headaches and Healers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Prince Tharmeduil has the headache and drinks a disgusting herbal remedy.

Tharmeduil’s head had started aching again.

It was not the stress of the awkward interview with his father that morning. Nor was it that he had been drinking the night before; it wasn’t that he’d been doing tedious work. He’d simply been reading some scrolls in his room, but not for long and not in poor light, and he had, in fact, decided to get a breath of air before taking a late lunch when the headache hit. Still, there was no reason at all why he should have a headache, but there it was; twin points of agony behind his eyes, almost blinding in its intensity, causing his head to swim and his vision to blur… 

He shook his head to try to clear his sight, but all that happened was that the pain exploded and he had to reach out and grab the wall for support.

‘My prince?’ The voice was solicitous, one of the many voices that clamoured suddenly in his mind. ‘Prince Tharmeduil?’

…No, it wasn’t voices, it was a roaring. It rose up and howled and raged in his head and he saw the floor coming up towards him…

‘Help me, here, someone!’ the voice urged, and suddenly hands had him and then so did the darkness.

*  
The roaring was everywhere, in his ears and in his head, in his heart. It was the rage of the ocean, the roar of the sea. It was wildness and ferocity and fire and danger and it was rescue and solace and comfort after… gradually it subsided, and all that was left was the rustle of the wind in the trees…

*

The rustle of trees whispered from somewhere outside himself. There was something cool and soothing over his eyes, and as he lifted a hand to discover what it might be, a warm touch took his fingers and placed them back at his side.  
‘Just rest, my prince.’ A hand on his patted kindly. ‘You’ve been brought to the healers’ hall; you were taken ill just outside the private living quarters.’

He tried to speak, to ask, but the voice hushed him.

‘I’m about to remove the cloth over your eyes, my prince, but the curtains are drawn to dim the room.’

Tharmeduil found his voice.

‘Why so?’

‘When you were brought in, we heard you speak of a raging pain in your head…’

‘I do not remember.’

‘It happens, at times, that such pain will cause forgetfulness.’ The hand retreated and the cloth was taken from across his closed eyes. ‘How does your head feel now?’

Tharmeduil thought for a moment. ‘Full, somehow… and now I am aware that there has been pain, but now it is gone.’

‘And with your eyes open, my prince?’

His lids were heavy, but he opened his eyes to the dimness of the curtained room.

‘This, too, is better.’

‘Permit me.’ The healer adjusted pillows, helped him to slowly sit up, and moved to stand at his bedside, her hands folded neatly together in elegant stillness. ‘Do you recognise me, my prince?’

He sought for a name. Of course he should know her, she was one of the healers and he must have known her for many years… He did know her, one of his favourites amongst the healers there.

‘Healer Nestoril. You brought me and Legolas through the winter fevers when we were small.’

She smiled at his recognition and at the memory. ‘And you would not see the need to stay in your beds, and it was only when we put both your beds in the same room that you began to behave yourselves…’

‘Ha, that’s so! We were a sore trial to you!’

‘All the best patients are.’

She inclined her head and turned away to work at a counter in the corner, returning presently with a glass containing a clear green liquid.

‘This will clear you head and refresh you. I’d then like you to rest for an hour or so. If you will, my prince?’

‘I’m old enough now to apprecieate the wisdom of obeying the healers.’ Tharmeduil smiled, took the draught and swallowed a couple of mouthfuls, pulling a face at the bitterness. ‘But, Mistress Nestoril, it’s disgusting! Must I drink all of it?’

She nodded, her mouth solemn but her eyes amused.

‘Take your time. I’ll be back later.’

He waited until Nestoril had left the room and closed the door after herself before braving a couple more mouthfuls of the herbal draught, casting his mind back. What had happened…? Oh, yes…

He’d parted from Legolas and gone to his room to study for an hour; he’d been reading some of the old records. Fire drakes and monstrous spiders, far worse than the spiders encroaching on the Woodland Realm they’d had in those days…

Perhaps he’d spent too long over the rolls of parchment, because he’d felt the need for fresh air and had escaped his chamber, heading for the nearest door and intending to take a walk in the gardens when suddenly he’d had the headache again, twin points of pain…

But this time he didn’t remember the pain; he remembered the images and the sounds and the colours…

He came out of the memory and tried to focus on the images, but they were insubstantial shadows. He had an impression of sound, a roaring, rushing, raging torrent of noise… and then there were fires burning… everything was black and red and then faded to the soft greys of ash blown on the wind into a grey mist on a grey sea and a silent ship with silver sails…

Tharmeduil shook his head very carefully and set down the empty glass. Whatever had been in that draught? 

Still propped up against the pillows, he allowed his eyes to close and his mind to drift again. The healer had said she would return, and that he should rest until then. But she had also said the draught would refresh him, and instead he simply felt very tired and very relaxed. He took a deep breath, held it for a second or two, and released it. He was calm now, as calm as a grey ship with silver sails on pewter seas…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, thanks to Gemstarzah for her Beta-skills.


	5. Of Sons and Fathers and Ill-Timed Scolds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Iauron tries to deliver a message and ends up at the wrong end of Thrandui's wrath...

‘Your father will spare you some time,’ Arveldir said. ‘And you will excuse me – I have other duties.’

Iauron gulped. There was something in the advisor’s tone that worried him. He was already unsettled enough as, when leaving the healers’ hall, he was sure he’d seen Flora being ushered into one of the rooms – he would have stopped to ask what she was doing there, but that taking the news of Tharmeduil’s sudden collapse must be his first priority.

He tried to pull himself together. Yes. Tharmeduil’s health was of far more importance. Straightening his tunic, he took a breath and entered the throne room. Adar wasn’t seated on his throne – which must be good, he would be more approachable at eye level – except that even as the thought formed, Iauron caught sight of his royal father stalking back and forth across the chamber in front of the windows. There was a feral elegance to his stride and as he turned to look at his son, Iauron was reminded of deadly midwinter blizzards and the howl of the night winds.

‘We were speaking earlier, Iauron…’ Thranduil savoured his son’s name, enunciating every vowel and consonant with fearful clarity. ‘We were on the topic of parental approval and I noted that today I was not disappointed in my sons.’

Suddenly he was at Iauron’s shoulder, his voice in his ear.

‘I may have spoken prematurely.’

Iauron couldn’t prevent a roll of his eyes even as his bowels threatened to liquefy in fear. Trust Adar to pick now, of all moments, to deliver his favourite lecture… 

He tried to head his father off.

‘Indeed, I am a thorn in your side, sire, probably, and have utterly failed you, but…’

‘Do you even know why I am so displeased? Can you begin to imagine the… the shame your actions could bring on this house? The consequences? I doubt it; I do not think you have anything like the wit required to comprehend…’

‘Yes, but Adar…’

‘Do not presume to interrupt me!’

Was that strange unsteadiness beneath Iauron’s feet actually the ground shaking? Or was it merely himself quaking? He gave up trying to deliver the message, submitting to the fury of his father’s disappointment.

‘I had thought that this morning would have provided an appropriate moment for you to warn me that there would be matters to clear away before I approach Imladris concerning your forthcoming alliance. I would have thought it to have been a perfect moment to mention that you and your brothers have been causing more trouble. You should understand by now that, as the oldest, it is your duty to set an example…’

Iaruon stopped listening once his father had used the word ‘brothel’ at least twice. Was it so bad if he and Tharmeduil rode out every now and then? They always paid for any damages and never gave their names…

‘Well?’ Adar’s voice was deceptive, panther-paw soft. ‘I await with interest your explanation of how I find myself playing host to a brothel girl who goes by the name of Flora? And why does Arvedil receive angry messages about elves overrunning the hostelries in Laketown?’

What? Iauron swallowed and realised the only way to get out of this and to deliver his message was going to be to confess.

To everything.

‘She’s not what you think, Flora isn’t from any of the… hostelries. We came upon her in the streets one night, being harassed by a couple of men who’d made the same mistake themselves. We – the three of us were riding through together – interrupted. Of course, she was grateful, and when I was next in Laketown…’ He lifted his eyes defiantly. ‘She didn’t know who we were, and she was simply grateful for her rescue. It may have been wrong for me to permit it, but she wished to offer freely what had almost been taken by force. We began to meet more often. I never thought… and then one day she said she had to stop seeing me, her father didn’t like it. That was two months ago, and if I’ve been spending more time than I should in the brothels since, it’s only because I’d become used to female companionship and it was better than loneliness.’ He shrugged. ‘May I now, please Adar, give you the message I came to deliver and you can carry on yelling at me later?’

Thranduil sighed. Not a common whore after all, just a silly girl grateful to her rescuer and entranced by a pair of pointed ears… he must update Arveldir about the girl’s status as soon as he had a moment…

‘What could possibly be of such moment as to take precedence over my intention to thrust you into a barrel and feed you through the bung hole for several decades until you discover some small measure of responsibility for your actions?’

‘My brother Tharmeduil was taken ill earlier in the corridors outside his rooms. The healers are tending him…’

‘Why did you not say so? Of all your foolishness, this is the most wanton! Arveldir!’ He snapped his fingers at one of the attendant guards as he strode out of the room. ‘Send my advisor to me at once!’

Iauron followed, swept up in the tail wind of Thranduil’s urgency. Arveldir came hurrying towards them from one of the side corridors. ‘Sire, I am still trying to locate Prince Legolas but have not yet…’

‘Have the document drawn up. Increase the generosity of the terms; this was not, I now learn, an occupational misadventure for Mistress Flora but an occurrence which could have far more impact on her future life.’

‘Yes, sire, as you wish. May I ask…?’

‘Tharmeduil is in with the healers. When finally you locate my other son, inform him of the fact.’

‘Sire, I’ll attend to it immediately and I will keep seeking the prince.’ Arveldir inclined his head and turned down the next corridor.

‘Adar, can I ask? What about Flora?’

Thranduil exhaled steadily to calm himself. The fact of the matter was he disliked his own rages and made every effort to moderate them. He was already repenting his ire.

‘We will provide for her, of course. Once the peredhel is born…’

‘Peredhel…? She’s…?’

‘Did you not wonder why I was quite so enraged? Obviously you cannot own responsibility and so we…’

‘Adar? No! Of course I’ll acknowledge the child, I…’

‘You will make no alliance with the Imladris lady if you do.’ Thranduil waived an airy hand. ‘Marry the human, own the child, do as you please. She will be dead in a handful of decades and you can then consider making alliances…’

‘What? But I can’t do that! She’s a human and… her father wouldn’t like it!’ 

 

‘No, and it must be said, Iauron, that neither would your father! She has allowed herself to be persuaded that you all look alike to her and she rather thinks the child may belong to one of your brothers…’

‘But… that’s not right!’

‘At least you can show an avuncular interest. Of course, we need the agreement of your brother on the subject.’

‘And if he’s ill…’

Thranduil turned to hold Iauron’s gaze, his eyes mocking. ‘Oh, not Tharmeduil. Flora expressed a preference for Legolas. She thinks him rather pretty.’

‘Legolas?’ Iauron echoed. ‘But…’

‘Indeed. Who knew? Iauron, I know this solution doesn’t please you. But it’s the best that can be done. Accept it, or marry her, without her father’s consent if needs be. I would be content to disapprove silently if you really wish to proceed.’

‘How long do I have to decide?’

‘Until we reach the end of the corridor.’ Thranduil looked at him with amused fatherly eyes. ‘You know, if you really wanted the woman, you would have already decided.’

Iauron’s head dropped. No wonder his father was ashamed of him; he was ashamed of himself. No, he couldn’t marry a human woman, not even Flora. Humans didn’t last very long and he really didn’t want to spend decades getting to know someone only to have them die just as he was warming up.

Suddenly he felt a warm hand on his shoulder compelling him to halt. Thranduil was looking anxiously into his eyes, all trace of majesty gone from his face.

‘My son. We can all make mistakes. The trick of success is to make as few as possible and to learn from them. In all things, Flora’s well-being will be considered and her wishes taken into account. You can speak to Arveldir about the details of the settlement we will make and although it will not compensate for her situation or make her happy, still, she will find being unhappy in great luxury is not quite so bad as in poverty.’

‘I’m not going to be able to see her again, am I?’

‘Do you think it would add to her happiness if you did?’

‘Probably not.’ Iauron straightened his shoulders as his father released him. ‘But I already wasn’t going to see her again anyway.’

‘Well done. Tell me, what do you know of Tharmeduil’s illness?’


	6. Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas eats some lunch and parries some interesting questions.

‘We’re heading to the barracks canteen now for the day meal, if you want to join us, my prince?’ Bregon suggested. 

‘Thank you. Of course I will. While I’m with you, please pass the word to just call me by name; I doubt my title will have much significance for the spiders, in any event.’

It would do him good to spend time amongst the company before he actually travelled with them; he’d not been out on many patrols, and only one had been a spider hunt, and that under another commander. It was not a popular tour of duty, more like pest control than honest fighting. One could almost pity the creatures. But they were encroaching and increasing and where they went they brought a shadow that provided cover for other dark things, and so had to be pushed back.

There were a few startled glances and raised eyebrows around the other tables as Legolas was recognised taking his place amongst Bregon’s warriors, but he pretended not to notice and paid attention to Bregon’s swift introductions, storing the names away in his mind. He noted three females amongst the troop and wondered whether this was the result of their still-depleted numbers following the devastation of the Battle of Dagorlad where his grandfather Oropher had died, or if they simply wanted a little excitement and experience before settling down and helping repopulate the kingdom. Idly he considered if this was so for females everywhere, that they were expected to put their childbearing capabilities ahead of whatever personal ambition they might cherish for themselves. Well, one thing was for sure; no wife of his would ever have to worry about such.

His eyes drifted as he ate and he found his gaze resting on Canadion, the young elf partnered by Thiriston of the dire threats, seated almost opposite. Well, at least Bregon didn’t look on such proclivities as unnatural…

Canadion was a kinsman, Legolas realised with a jolt, recognising the symbols on his braid clasps, a distant cousin through his mother’s sisters. Before he could say anything, Thiriston the direction of his gaze and put a possessive arm round his friend.

‘Don’t mind me,’ Legolas said. ‘I think we are related, he and I, through our aunts and their sisters. Besides…’ He grinned swiftly and almost regretted his next words. ‘He’s not my type.’

This drew an uneasy snigger from those near enough to hear and an anonymous voice dared ask the obvious question.

‘What is your type, prince?’

Ah. An opportunity to allay suspicion – or to sound too eager to do so? Legolas gave his reply some consideration.

‘My type is someone who is unattached.’ He allowed his eyes to sweep the table, holding both male and female gazes. Not a few flushed, looking down and then back up through lowered, seductive lashes, masculine eyes and feminine seeking his notice. How they loved the eyes of him! It was an embarrassment, at times… ‘And my type is not anyone who will soon have the safety of others in their hands; while I am sure established partners can only add to the fighting power of the troop, new lovers are generally inattentive and easily distracted. Besides,’ he added, pausing to take a mouthful of watered wine, ‘I do not think a spider hunt is really an appropriate setting for a first tryst. Would you not agree?’

More laughter followed, and he had the sense that he’d passed some sort of test. Still, he was glad when conversation turned to other topics and was taken up by other voices than his, and he could relax a little over his food.

They were seated on benches either side of the table, and some shuffling took place to make room for a latecomer. Legolas found himself with this same latecomer seated next to him. After exchanging greetings and passing the jugs of wine and water up and down, the newcomer addressed him. 

‘Tell me, prince, for I hear you’ve met human females. Is it true, do they all have rounded ears?’

It was an odd sort of question, naïve, perhaps. Unless the questioner was very young, or for other reasons had never ventured out of the woodland realm, he would surely know? And there was something, a suggestion of smugness in the tone that hinted more was going on here. Legolas replied anyway.

‘Indeed, very round are the ears of human women.’ He recalled something Iauron had said; at the time it had seemed crass and unkind, but in present company it seemed somehow more fitting. He rephrased it a little. ‘Yes, their ears are round, but some have heels which are more so.’

The laughter that followed was genuine, spontaneous, and over his regret at speaking ill of human women, he reminded himself that it was not as if there were any human women present to be offended. He noticed, under cover of the laughter, that the one who had asked looked deflated, as if his moment was gone. Nor did he have any further chance to make his point, for presently Bregon rapped on the table for attention.

‘We will assemble in the courtyard near the front gate at the hour of the night meal,’ he announced to groans and grumbles from the company. ‘I know, you would prefer your supper at ease! And so would I, but if we leave after, we won’t reach our first campsite before full dark. It’s a late moon tonight, and I want us ready to be on the trail by moon rise. Do not any of you be late.’ He nodded at the troop. ‘As we’re all finished here, you’re dismissed.’

Legolas made his way out of the barracks and headed for his rooms to prepare his kit for the trip. He got there to find two messages had been slid under his door, and he was in the process of unfolding the first when a knock came at his door.

To his surprise, Arveldir answered his summons to enter.

‘My prince, will you come? It is urgent…’

‘Of course; it must indeed be urgent, for you to send yourself and not a servant to fetch me?’

Arveldir indicated the missives in Legolas’ hands. ‘We have been seeking you for the last hour or more, my prince.’

‘I was with Bregon and his company; I leave on patrol with them this evening. What’s the matter, Arveldir?’

‘It is… complicated… Please, follow me; there is someone you need to speak to.’


	7. In the Healer's Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil is concerned about his second son...

Servants scurried to open the doors to the healer hall for King Thranduil and Prince Iauron, bowing hastily as they held the doors back and their king swept through. Once within, the doors shut behind him, the king stopped and looked around.

He was in the familiar, open space of the entrance hall with its soft silence and polished wooden floors. Light filtered down from high windows so that everything was clearly illuminated without harshness. Doorways punctuated the sides of the hall at regular spaces and led off to other areas. Ahead of him, behind a highly polished desk of so dark a wood that it looked almost black, several of the healers were gathered and one now came out from behind the counter to glide across towards Thranduil and Iauron, her approach so smooth as to make it seem she to Iauron she was on wheels. Her hair was covered with a long sky-blue head-rail which flowed down her back and hid her hair; all the healers here covered their heads, both for hygiene purposes and as a way of signalling seniority; the blue tone indicating she was one of the more experienced healers on duty.

As she neared them, she dropped into a deep curtsey, inclining her head.

‘Your majesty, your highness. Healer Nestoril. It is an honour to serve.’

‘Rise, Nestoril. I’m not here as your king, but as a father. What news of my son?’

‘He is well, sire, and resting now. If you would follow me, there is somewhere we may talk.’

She led them through a doorway into a wide corridor. There were two doors on each side and another at the end. Between the doorways, benches were placed against the walls and Nestoril gestured for the king and Iauron to sit, herself taking a seat on a second bench nearby.

‘And so, Prince Tharmeduil was brought to me in the early part of the afternoon. He was conscious and complaining…’ (Screaming, he had been screaming, poor penneth, in agony, for his head, his eyes burning with the light behind them he had cried out, but she wouldn’t say so to his father; it would be of no service to him) ‘…of extreme pain behind his eyes. Those who brought him reported he had collapsed, vomiting – which can happen with certain kinds of headache – and once that was over, he was still incapacitated with great pain. We sent him into a healing sleep in a darkened room, placed cold compresses over his eyes and watched while he slept. He woke within the hour, much improved, and I spoke briefly with him then.’

‘And now?’

Nestoril smiled in a reassuringly professional way and rose to her feet. 

‘One moment,’ she said, and went to tap gently on the door at the end of the corridor before entering.

Iauron glanced across at his father. Thranduil’s usually calm face was pulled into a frown of worry, and he suddenly looked very tired.

‘It’s just a headache, Adar,’ Iauron said. 

‘A headache so severe as to render your brother incapable of standing unaided. A headache which…’ He broke off. ‘Here is the healer.’

From the doorway, Nestoril beckoned, standing aside so they could enter. She did, however, follow them in and stood at the side of the room with her hands neatly folded together, should she be needed.

Tharmeduil was propped up against a bank of pillows. His bare shoulders and arms were visible above the covers and his skin had a pale, unhappy sheen to it. His hair looked to need a wash, his adar noted absently. He felt his mask of dispassion descending once more, not because he needed to be a king at this moment, but because it was the only way to stifle the fear that rose in him at the sight of one of his sons lying still and too pale and with eyes closed. It reminded him too much of their mother.

‘My prince, you have visitors.’ Nestoril’s voice was soft, but still carried clearly across the room.

Tharmeduil opened his eyes with a start, his eyes brightening as he saw his father and his older brother at the bedside.

‘Ada… why are you here?’

‘Why indeed?’ Thranduil permitted himself to smile. ‘Ada’, indeed! ‘I was… merely passing… How do you feel?’

‘I feel fine, Adar…’ Tharmeduil gave a small shrug. ‘Tired, father. I feel very tired and very dirty and very surprised. I do not know what happened other than I had a headache and it grew suddenly very bad… and then Mistress Nestoril was bidding me drink a foul draft which she assured me would be refreshing…’

Nestoril struggled to contain a smile.

‘But the pain is gone. I’m sure I don’t need to be here now?’ he finished with a hopeful look in the healer’s direction.

‘Once you have bathed and dressed, and taken food without it attempting to leave your body in haste, then we shall see,’ Nestoril told him.

‘Well, where is the bathing room? And can somebody have them send for some clothes?’

‘I do not want you unattended at present, my prince,’ Nestoril said. ‘If your brother would consent to assist you…?’ She waited for Iauron to nod before continuing. ‘Through this doorway here you will find a bathing pool and such items as you require. I will have them bring your garments shortly. My king, may I offer your refreshments? I have some fine winter’s wine in my study?’ 

It was made as an invitation, but a slight arch to Nestoril’s eyebrow suggested to Thranduil she had a reason for wanting private speech with him. He inclined his head.

‘You are most gracious. Please, lead on.’

The room Nestoril took him to was off the same corridor as his son’s, and Thranduil found himself touched that the Healer had brought Tharmeduil to a room so close to her own study… or was it that she was so worried about him that she wanted him under her eye? The thought was worrying; he preferred to believe it was out of courtesy.

Nestoril’s study was a room of medium size with many bookcases and a table near the window which looked out onto a pleasant garden. There were few flowers, even though it was springtime, but the vista was rich with shades and textures of green, from the fresh and bright of new foliage to the dark, glossy leaves of evergreens countered by the velvet greys of young foxgloves. 

The clink of glass from behind him made him turn from the view and he saw Nestoril pouring golden winter’s wine into two crystal goblets. She saw him watching, and gestured to an overstuffed sofa for him to sit, taking a seat herself and passing him a glass.

‘I’ve brought your sons through all their infant illnesses,’ Nestoril began. ‘I’ve set their bones as they learned how not to fall out of trees and off horses, I’ve patched them up and stitched them and got them back on their feet after.’

‘All the healers in this house are skilled and I would trust my sons to any and all of them,’ Thranduil said. ‘But when I have had the news of yet another mishap, it has always brought me a measure of comfort to learn you had taken over the care of them.’

Nestoril smiled and sipped her winter’s wine. 

‘It never ceases to surprise me, the process of turning fruit to wine,’ she began a few moments later. ‘But the transformation from wine into winter’s wine is magical. One leaves a barrel of good wine out overnight in the frost and by morning, one can remove chunks of ice from it. The result is a stronger, purer drink.’

Thranduil savoured the golden liquid in his glass, took a swallow. It burned and it soothed and it was fierce in its promise of mellow peace to come.

‘And so are we purified and strengthened by our losses. Every time we suffer, every occasion when we lose something of ourselves, that which remains is tempered by it. I know – we all, in this house, know – that you have already been tempered enough, my king…’

‘Do you seek to prepare me for further loss, Nestoril? If so, I would prefer it if you were to simply speak your fears.’

She set down her glass, folded her hands calmly in her lap, and turned her soft grey eyes on his.

‘Then I need to speak to you about your son, my king.’


	8. An Unexpected Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lord Elrond of Imladris gets a surprise... and so does his daughter...

Elrond was not often taken by surprise. But the missive that was brought to him that morning gave him considerable pause for thought.

Truth to tell, it was surprise enough to have communication with the Woodland Realm; while there was no specific animosity between himself and His Most High Majesty, King Thranduil of Greenwood the Great, they were not exactly the dearest of friends.

His grey eyes sliced through the plethora of titles and flourishes until he got to the meat of the text.

‘From his Most High Majesty, King Thranduil, to Elrond Half-Elven, Lord of Imladris called Rivendell, greetings…’

‘Having been lately informed that a lady of the Imladris families has come to the notice of our son Iauron, we wish to seek information as to whether, should the lady prove to be of suitable standing, her family would permit her to be considered as his future wife and consort…’

What? He vaguely recollected having been told that when his daughter and her company had been travelling from Lórien back to Imladris, an honour-guard from the Woodland Realm had insisted on conveying them through some disputed territory. It was, he supposed, possible that Crown Prince Elect of the Overactive Libido could have been part of this guard, and that one of Arwen’s ladies in waiting had caught his eye… 

‘And so we would hold it most advantageous if you would enquire, on our behalf, concerning the family of the Lady Gaelbainil…’

‘Ha, yes, all very good, O Friend of the Forest… but there is no Lady Gaelbainil in Imladris…’

At which point a thought occurred to him and he laid down the letter, put his hand to his brow, closed his eyes and shook his head…

‘Arwen!’ he called out. ‘Bring the Lady Arwen to me at once!’

While he waited, he pondered. He loved his children, of course he did; but every time he looked at them, he saw their mother in the tip of a head, the wing of an ear, the timbre of a laugh. But Celebrian was gone, over the wide seas to the Undying Lands to complete her healing, and although she was not dead, still, she haunted him.

Time had not yet softened his sense of loss, but he had always born in mind that his children had lost their mother; it was not only he who suffered.  
And while his sons had found some outlet for their grief by purging the mountains of as many orcs as they could find, in memory of their mother’s torment, Arwen had no such recourse open to her, which might go some way towards explaining her – on occasion – outrageous behaviour.

It was not as if she had lost her mother during her formative years; Arwen had been well into adulthood when the family had been sundered, but she had not responded in precisely an adult fashion.

It had been thought that a visit to her maternal grandmother, Lady Galadriel of Lórien, might be of service, that the support and advice of an older kinswoman might supply any lack of Elrond’s parenting, but no. Galadriel had sent messages back saying that nothing she could do had been able to impress on Arwen that her behaviour was in any way inappropriate, that Arwen loved her father deeply and had no wish to cause him and sorrow or worry, and that the girl promised repeatedly to try to do better… and then the next night had been spotted in conversation with some of the more worldly of the warriors, or with her skirts around her knees as she paddled in the streams of Lórien…

But really, what could be done? If Arwen wanted to flirt and favour herself through Lórien, there was nothing Galadriel could do or say to stop her  
Arwen meant no harm, Elrond reminded himself. She was simply going through a difficult phase, perhaps made worse, extended due to the loss of her mother and she would come through it. They would come through it.

And, if Elrond’s guess was correct, he may have found something at last to help…

He shuffled the papers around on his desk as he mentally prepared how to approach the interview. There were several points at which it could become difficult… or simply difficult not to be amused, and he would not wish to hurt Arwen’s feelings by appearing to laugh at her.

‘The lady Arwen, my lord.’

He glanced up at the servant’s voice. 

‘Thank you, show her in and that will be all – ah – wait... Have Erestor come to me later; inform him I will wish to discuss the contents of a letter I’ve had from the Woodland Realm.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

Presently, the rustle of skirts and the faint aroma of perfume made him lift his eyes again.

‘Father?’

‘Arwen.’

Her hair was dark as midnight and her skin flawless. Her expressive eyes were deep and clear, and he had no doubt that every one of those Galadhrim she’d flirted with would not have been able to believe their luck. Elrond began again.

‘Sit down, my dear daughter. I have a letter here from the Woodland Realm…’

‘Oh?’ Her eyes had brightened and she had moistened her lips unconsciously as she’d lowered herself onto the chair. ‘I hope all is well in the Greenwood?’

‘Alas, no. From the tenor of this missive it would appear that one of their young swains is suffering from the most acute lovesickness and the only cure is a young lady residing here in Imladris…’

Elrond noted the swift flush on Arwen’s cheek, the lowered lashes and the way her mouth parted in a small smile of triumph.

‘And you wanted me, Father?’

‘Indeed, for the lady in question, the fair Gaelbainil, is unknown to me and I wondered whether she might be one of your retinue I have not yet met?’

‘Oh… I… that is…’

‘Because Crown Prince Iauron is most eager to discuss the matter with her family…’

‘Prince? He did not say that he was a prince!’

‘Who did not say, Arwen?’

She gave a little gasp and her flush turned to a blush of shame.

‘He called himself Belegornor…’

…which roughly translated as ‘Mighty Tree’... Elrond shook his head. Why was he not surprised?

‘Oh, so you have met him, then? I take it you were making sure your young friend Gaelbainil was not spending time with someone inappropriate? That is very responsible of you, Arwen, to look after the welfare of those who are your friends…’

Her lip trembled. Elrond was torn between triumph at bringing Arwen to the point of a confession, and guilt at causing her distress. In the finish, neither won; instead, he found himself battling a smile and so he hid it by coming to stand behind her and drop his hands on her shoulders.

‘My dear child…’

‘Father, oh, I am sorry! I pretended Gaelbainil was my name – you cannot know how hard it is, to be Arwen all the time! Everyone looks at me as if I ought to be weeping, even though the years have lengthened since the loss of my mother, and so even when my heart would let me sing again, I am kept in mourning for one who is not dead and I am ever trying to behave with decorum so as not to displease you, father, for you lost her too, and sometimes it becomes too great and I break free… and I thought it better to pretend not to be Arwen, both for freedom of my spirit and so as not to bring disgrace upon you.’

‘My beloved daughter!’ Elrond found unexpected emotion filling his throat. ‘I want nothing more than for you to be happy, again, for you to sing and laugh, if that’s what you feel like doing!’

‘And, father, I did not indeed do anything to disgrace our house, although I must confess it was more by fortune than by choice…’

No, this was too much information! While he dearly wanted his daughter’s confidence, he did not want a blow-by-blow account…

‘… but as I was sitting with Belegornor, an alarm went up that there was a spider in the tent of one of my ladies in waiting, and all the honour guard from the Woodland Realm were called to arms! Belegornor went towards the tent with his sword drawn in one hand and a knife in another, and his commander had the tent surrounded with archers, and when the spider was discovered, it was not even the size of a daisy’s golden heart! And while all were laughing, Belegornor explained to me that around his home, the spiders grow larger than horses, and that they are always seeking prey, taking humans and even elves, if they can… and there was something in his eyes then, father, and I knew I did not want to deceive him with a false name and hope, because he lives in constant danger and to toy with him would be unkind.’

She threw up her hands. ‘And now I learn that the wretch gave me a false name! Oh, the deceiver!’

Elrond laughed.

‘But this is wonderful, Arwen! If you liked the simple warrior, and he liked Gaelbainil, then that is far better than being enamoured of a prince and a great lady, for you know your fondness has a basis in genuine friendship. Did you, really, like him?’

‘I really did, Father. Do you think he really may have liked me?’

Elrond returned to his desk and tapped the missive there.

‘This message says he does. Well, child. How shall I answer him?’

Arwen’s smile, the first real smile he could remember in a very long time, blossomed and she giggled and clasped her hands and laughed. Elrond raised a backswept eyebrow.

‘As you wish, of course. But tell me – how are you spelling that?’


	9. An Awkward Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas renews an acquaintance...

Legolas followed Arveldir through the corridors.

‘Where are we going?’ he asked as the advisor led the way lead towards the quieter regions of the palace complex.

‘To the Healer’s Hall, my prince. When I was first sent to seek you, it was on one matter only…’ Arveldir would be taking a risk, paraphrasing his orders, but taking all things into consideration, it seemed better to deal with as much business as he could, while he had the prince’s attention. ‘Now, however, another situation has arisen and so, once you have dealt with the first matter, I will attend you.’ 

Inside the tranquillity of the healer hall, Arveldir approached the desk at the far end and spoke quietly with the healers there. One nodded and gestured, and Arveldir returned to Legolas’ side.

‘This way, my prince.’

‘Is someone ill, Arveldir?’

‘We are going to the convalescent rooms.’ The advisor opened a door for Legolas to precede him. ‘We turn left when we reach the end and there is an office. You will see papers on the desk; it is a second draft, as the initial information we had was mistaken and we have had to update accordingly. If you would be so good as to make yourself familiar with the contents of the documents…’

‘You’re not going to tell me what this is about, are you?’

‘It will all become quite clear, my prince. I will return presently.’

Legolas seated himself at the desk. A glance at the documents was enough to startle him, and he look up hastily. ‘Arveldir? Wait…’

But the advisor had already whisked himself out of sight.

He turned his attention back to the papers, making sure he knew what was intended.

At one point he found himself reading the same lines several times, shaking his head.

Arveldir had provided a handwritten summary of the documents, and he read through that to make sure he hadn’t mistaken the meaning of the formal   
paperwork…

‘…has been persuaded that, while she may be mistaken, if she were given to choose, it would be yourself on whom ultimate responsibility…’  
What?  
‘…note that in the contract, the word ‘father’ or ‘parent’ never occurs, simply references to ‘sponsorship’… the lady is currently unaware of the identity of her ‘elven friends’ and believes that her audience with the King was simply a demonstration of our good intentions…’

He found he was shaking his head. This was wrong, this was utterly wrong…

‘My prince.’

He looked up to find Arveldir standing in the doorway.

‘Of all my father’s notions, this has to be one of the worst, Arveldir!’ Legolas complained. ‘It is disrespectful to the girl and patently impossible! It would be false in me to presume…’  
‘She likes you. Understand, we are not forcing this on her. And since it was discovered that she doesn’t have the… the support we assumed she would have, we have improved the terms and extended an invitation for her confinement to take place here, where our healers can properly attend her.’

‘Well, I’ve made a few alterations of my own to all three copies of the document. If she agrees to this, and if anything happens to me, I’ve made the child my beneficiary…’

‘My prince! That’s very generous of you, but…’

‘Don’t worry; I’ve no intention of dying. But I do have to leave on patrol this evening, so could we get on?’

‘The woman is waiting in the chamber through that door, my prince. Her name is…’

‘I know her name, Arveldir! Flora. Her name is Flora. And she has two little brothers who want to grow up to be farmers, not fishermen and her Da has old-fashioned ways.’ And her favourite aunt had died in childbed, and Flora missed her.

He got to his feet and collected the papers together.

‘And she likes hot milk with honey added, and a little sweet spice. She used to bring me a cup, while I was in the stables with the horses. See that someone brings us some, if you would.’

‘Of course, my prince. At once.’

Without waiting for Arveldir to leave, Legolas went to the connecting door and knocked on it before going in. 

The girl had been sitting on a low padded seat near the window, looking out. She turned at the sound of the door, and so Legolas was able to see how her anxious expression changed to one of smiling recognition. Legolas found his own face smiling in response.

‘Flora! It’s good to see you.’ He sat near her and looked into her face. ‘Are you well?’

‘Quite well, considering.’ Her shrug was slightly embarrassed. ‘You?’

‘Fine. I go out on patrol tonight, though. I’ll be away for a week.’

A knock at the door and a servant brought in a tray with two glasses of hot honey and sweet spiced milk and a plate of sugar cakes.

Flora laughed as she took a glass of milk and sipped. ‘You remembered!’

‘I did indeed… Flora, is this really what you want?’ he blurted out, not at all how he’d intended to begin the conversation. ‘Because there is nothing here that you have to do, I hope you know that?’

‘When I found out,’ she began. ‘I would have given the world for it to happen. Now, I can’t wait to hold my baby. My… what’s the word? Peredhel?’

He smiled. ‘Did they tell you what will happen?’

‘Yes. Do you mind? What of Belegornor? I know he can’t… but don’t let him mind too much, will you? He’ll still be an uncle. And we’ll know.’

‘There’s a contract.’ He glanced at her with a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry. It’s just that we’re promising to take care of you. And, if you like, if you would, you can have your baby here. Where there are healers to help.’

She nodded. ‘I’d like that. It’s not for a while, though. They say I’ve another four months.’

‘When did you get here, Flora?’

‘Yesterday. They were very careful not to tire me with the journey. Of course, I wasn’t at all tired… they’ve been very kind. I’m going home tomorrow. Will… no, you won’t be here. Your patrol, of course. What will you do, in your duties?’

‘There’s a problem with giant arachnids in parts of the forest – a long way from here, don’t worry. We’ll keep them at bay.’

‘Is it dangerous?’

He thought about it; she sounded as if she really wanted to know, as if she was concerned for him.

‘A little. But there are good people with me and we know what we’re doing. So, you’re happy with our intentions towards you?’

‘Yes. Your King was very generous. Did… Did Belegornor have to see him? He’s very… regal. Kind, though, I think.’

‘We all saw him. Really, he only wants to be sure nobody misuses you. Well, then.’ He placed the contract down and signed with a flourish. ‘I’ll leave this with you, and if you want to sign, that’s fine by me. And here…’ He paused to write on a spare scrap of parchment. ‘If you need anything, you can write to me at the name and place on there. Anything you need; I’ve taken responsibility for sponsoring the child, now, and that means, too, that if I were to die, your son or daughter will get all that is mine.’

‘I’d really rather you didn’t die, you know.’

Legolas smiled. ‘Indeed, so do I!’

They sipped at their drinks in silence. He really should go; he had this other thing Arveldir had threatened him with, whatever it might be, and his gear to prepare for the evening.

But it was hard to simply get up and leave her here alone.

‘Do you need a husband?’ he found himself asking.

Flora gave a startled laugh, shaking her head. ‘I need a friend, that’s all.’

‘Believe me, I’m likely to be a much better friend than I am a husband.’

She leaned across and kissed him lightly on the cheek. It was the briefest, softest of touches, over in an instant, but it was the most pleasant kiss he’d ever had from a female and it left him feeling blessed and humbled.

‘Besides, my Da wouldn’t like it.’

‘Your…?’

‘My father.’

He smiled. ‘We say, ‘Adar’. And my father wouldn’t like it either, I’m ashamed to say.’

‘Da… Adar… Maybe we’re not so different, after all. Apart from the ears, not where it matters.’

‘Where it matters, I am sure we are not.’

‘Yes.’ She reached out to lay her hand briefly over his heart. ‘Where it doesn’t show.’


	10. Inheritance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Healer Nestoril has some uncomfortable news for King Thranduil

‘I need to talk to you about your son. We are rather concerned at some of the symptoms he has displayed…’

Healer Nestoril became aware of her hands. Instead of lying calmly in her lap, they were writhing and twining, fingers working together almost painfully as she prepared to explain to her king just what ailed his second son. She saw recognition and dread in his eyes, the eyes of a father preparing for bad news.

‘It is as it was with his mother, isn’t it?’ he asked, and as she drew breath to reply, she saw his face change, saw the father withdraw somewhere behind his eyes and she was faced with the calm, impenetrable veneer of the king seated across from her.

‘My king, it is too early to be certain. This was one headache, accompanied by visual disturbances. Your son has not mentioned having had any such headaches previously, and I had hoped – the healers all contended – that were the affliction to be passed on the next generation, then it would manifest during adolescence…’

She stopped. King Thranduil was listening politely, but she knew he wasn’t listening. He had stopped listening at ‘too early to be certain’ and until she spoke so plainly and so harshly that the meaning of her words could not be misinterpreted, he would not listen, would not accept the possibility that Tharmeduil had inherited his late mother’s condition.

‘My lord, you need to know this. We were not aware, in time, that the queen was suffering and so we had a very narrow window in which to help her. And we could not. We failed her and…’

A gesture from Thranduil cut her off.

‘The healer hall did all it could. You, all of you, did everything possible. We did not blame you at the time nor do we do so now.’

‘If I may speak frankly, my king…?’

He sighed and got to his feet to wander to the window, taking his winter’s wine with him.

‘If you must.’

‘We know from the queen’s illness that the headaches in her case were either accompanied by visions or followed swiftly by them. We know from each incident, that the subsequent headaches were worse, the visions more intense and the effects of each more extreme, with recovery taking longer and being less complete each time.’ Nestoril paused and got to her feet, forcing her hands to stillness. ‘There were, to our certain knowledge, seven episodes before the… the final one. We were not prepared, we did not understand how extreme the eighth attack would be and so…’

She broke off to come and stand at the king’s side.

‘The point I would make first is that many of the queen’s visions were startlingly accurate. It was in one of her early visions that she saw the use of spider-silk as a powerful healing aid. And other visions she had which, so I hear, gave forewarning enough so that acting upon them saved many lives during those times of orc and arachnid incursions when the region was most under threat…’

‘Yes. The warnings we received enabled our warriors to target their response… and I was glad of something to take my mind off the helplessness I felt in the face of her illness…’ It was almost a confession, and it was only because he knew Nestoril’s discretion of old that he admitted as much. ‘She served the kingdom well, in her own way, always seeking the next vision in order to pass the information on…’

‘Nobody knew, at that time, that doing so would hasten her end,’ Nestoril said. ‘And therefore, while we need to seek to understand Tharmeduil’s visual disturbances, we do not want to encourage him to seek more, lest it speeds the progress of his illness…’

‘I thought you said it was too early to be certain?’

‘I did, my king, but we must be aware of the risks. We need to be aware that it may come to the point where we have to act quickly to save your son’s life.’

And there it was.

Thranduil flinched and turned appalled eyes on the healer at his side.

‘You are so sure, then?’

She shook her head. ‘I am not certain, no. But, in my opinion, it is wise to prepare. Our previous experience with this condition makes me believe that there is nothing this house will be able to do to prevent death coming to anyone so afflicted. Perhaps there are other healers elsewhere with more skill. Perhaps, for instance, Lord Elrond of Imladris can advise you further. But it may be that the only thing we can do for your son, my king, is to send him across the sea to the Undying Lands where he will undoubtedly find all the healing he requires.’

‘You think it will come to that?’

She held his gaze, her eyes solemn. ‘Ai, I will pray it does not. But I would send word and prepare for the journey, just in case.’

‘But the route to the Grey Havens is long. The journey is hard, and there may be no ship ready…’

Nestoril laid a hand fleetingly on the king’s arm.

‘There is always a ship ready. We would, if we had to, send the prince into a sleep so deep he would not wake until he had been safely transported to the Grey Havens. A healer from this hall would travel with your son to make sure all is well. It does not matter how hard the journey, if we have to, we will make it. Along the road to the eastern boundary of the forest, south by river and then across the mountains and a break of journey at Imladris and then on…’

‘Or by boat through the forest to the Great River, then south on its tide to the passes and over to the Hoarwell… a longer journey, but more comfortable, perhaps, for him…’ Thranduil shook his head. ‘I do not want it to come to that.’

‘Nor do any of us, my king.’


	11. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas' patrol departs, and one of its number is late

Less than half the patrol had assembled in the courtyard by the time Legolas escaped the palace, his kit bag slung over his shoulder, his bow and quiver secured in place across his back with his twin knives. He was dressed in greens and browns, the better to blend into the woodland, his cloak rolled into a bundle and attached to the rest of his kit. He took a seat on a stone bench at the edge of the courtyard. Others of the patrol were seated nearby, or standing in the open space conversing lightly with each other. 

Legolas didn’t seek to join in; his mind was still churning from the events of the afternoon and a part of him wished he wasn’t going on patrol tonight, given the news he was still trying to assimilate. He’d still been reeling from the thought that he was now responsible for Flora’s unborn peredhel when Arveldir had returned to collect him, leading the way through to a different section of the healer hall and he had been astonished to discover that Tharmeduil was currently there, recuperating from some sort of headache. Still, when he’d been shown to the room, he’d found Tharmeduil in excellent spirits and making inroads into a light meal with Iauron bearing him company.

‘What are you doing here?’ Tharmeduil had asked. ‘You’re on patrol later!’

‘I know. We leave before the night meal, too…’

‘…so you’ll need some food in your belly before you go!’ Iauron pushed at the dishes on the table. ‘Help yourself, little brother! We’ve had plenty!’

‘Speak for yourself!’ Tharmeduil protested. ‘I’ve been told not to overfill myself!’

‘What’s up with you, anyway? You seem fine to me!’

‘Headache and flashing lights. One of those sickness-headaches.’

‘Such as Mother used to get?’ Legolas asked anxiously.

‘They didn’t say. And I’m sure they would have done, so don’t worry about me. What have you been getting up to?’

Legolas has shaken his head. ‘Business. Ordering my affairs lest I don’t return. It has been a strange sort of a day.’

Iauron snorted. ‘Strange, indeed! It’s all right for you two, but I had another of his majesty’s ‘disappointment’ lectures today!’

‘Oh, what have you done now?’ Tharmeduil asked with a groan.

‘It’s more like what he did a few months ago,’ Legolas said around a mouthful of fresh bread and cheese.

‘What? Go on?’ Tharmeduil looked from Iauron to Legolas eagerly.

‘You’re going to be an uncle,’ Legolas said lightly.

‘Really?’

‘Much to the despair of our father and to my own embarrassment!’ Iauron took up the tale. ‘There’s my lady in Imladris – even though it was before I met her – I’m not certain she’d look kindly on such exploits!’

‘Who could blame her?’ Legolas said, his temper flaring. ‘To hear you speak of it! This ‘exploit’ of yours has changed the life of this young female beyond your imaginings…’

‘Yes – our father will see to it that she is provided for and lacks nothing for the rest of her life, Legolas, probably in far more comfort than she would ever have known and if we had not intervened that night, what would have happened?’

‘That is beside the point. It is different for human females, they are expected to behave in certain ways and if they do not, even if it is not their fault, they are thought badly of. Added to that, they are prey to all manner of ailments our kind is not prone to, and…’

‘If you’re going to argue, could you take it out of my room?’ Tharmeduil complained. ‘You’re giving me another headache!’

The two fell silent, looking with concern at their brother. He frowned and rubbed his temples.

‘She will be fine, Legolas, Flora will be fine and her son will be quite the loveliest peredhel this side of the Misty Mountains, and, Iauron, your mysterious elven lady wouldn’t care even if she did know the whole story, but don’t think you’re free and clear, there, she’s not what you think, and…’ He broke off. ‘It’s gone, the headache’s gone again.’

‘You need to tell the healers,’ Legolas said.

‘You need to go and pack!’ Tharmeduil told him. ‘Make sure you’ve got some lavender oil with you.’

Iauron sniggered at the stunned expression on Legolas’ face; Tharmeduil punched him on the arm. ‘Mind your manners, Iauron! It’s just the best thing for spider-silk burns – you know when you cut a strand and the stretch in it makes it snap back? Well, the lavender oil takes the sting out of it.’

A knock at the door, then, and Healer Nestoril has made her quiet way in. ‘Would you leave us now, my princes?’ she asked in her measured voice, smiling to take any suggestion of authority out of her words. ‘I have further business with your brother.’

‘Of course. Don’t let him drive you to distraction with his demands, will you?’ Legolas said, getting to his feet and snaffling a couple of pieces of bread and cheese from the table. ‘See you in a week or so, Tharmeduil.’

‘Have a good tour. And watch out for spiders!’ Tharmeduil had said, lifting an apple and throwing it at his younger brother; Legolas caught it easily. 

‘For while you’re waiting for Thiriston Cut-Face – he’s going to be late!’ Tharmeduil had said.

And, sure enough, as the remainder of the company assembled around the courtyard, the second-in-command had not yet arrived. Legolas bit through the crisp skin of the apple, and wondered how Tharmeduil had known, and if he would be equally correct about Flora and the need for lavender oil against whiplash from spider-silk.

Yes; a part of him did not want to leave tonight, not after the emotional weight of his meeting with Flora, the worry about Tharmeduil. But there was another part of him, a part that was desperate to be off, to find release in movement, to replace worry with activity. 

He heard Bregon call out to ask had anyone seen his second-in-command, heard a reply from one that they’d seen Thiriston approaching the armoury as they themselves were leaving it. Legolas glanced up, saw Canadion standing nearby. 

‘He said nothing to me of needing anything, Commander,’ Canadion called out, and there was a note of uncertainty to his voice that Legolas noted. ‘I parted with him but two hours since, and I thought all was ready.’

‘Well, he knows the way to our camping place; he can follow, or not, as he wishes,’ Bregon said. ‘I swore I’d not stay for any latecomers and we don’t need a second just to march through the gloaming. Legolas; join me. Rimon, take point above; Tinuon, bring up the rear and watch the trail for Thiriston.’

Legolas moved to stand at Bregon’s side as the rest of the company fell into formation behind. The order was given to open the gates, and the company passed through and out into the soft evening.

Their way took them over a wide path through the broad clearing in front of the gates and onto a narrower track, still with room enough for four to march abreast. The shadows thickened and curdled, and the sounds of the forest deepened, but the company walked easily, conversing lightly amongst themselves; the region immediately surrounding the palace and off the most-frequented tracks was safe and secure.

‘We’ll need to go with more caution once we leave our camp,’ Bregon said over the melody of a marching song being taken up by the backmarkers and quickly spreading through the ranks. ‘But for an hour or two, it’s good to walk in the greenwood without fear.’

‘I hope the days will come when we can walk further without fear. But my father says the darkness is encroaching.’

‘It has a rhythm, this great forest. It has its own life and patterns, and if you watch long enough, if you immerse yourself enough, you can read it. The darkness encroaches, yes – but we push at it and push at it, until it recedes again. Do not think we fight alone, my prince! As soon as the forest feels us fighting its enemies, it fights, too; they are slow, these trees, to respond, but respond they do. They spread signals through the air that only they can read, and they change themselves, so their leaves become bitter to evil things, and their falling boughs are timed to best damage our enemies. It may not seem much, and yet it brings me comfort, to know we do not fight alone.’

Legolas nodded; he’d heard stories of the hidden strength of the greenwood. 

‘I love the air of the forest at this time of day,’ he said.

‘I know what you mean, Bregon said. ‘It’s always worth fighting for, but at moments like this, it’s especially beautiful.’ 

The sun was setting and the skies gentle, greys paling down or soft blues dusking, the change of pace of the life of the forest was tangible as day creatures made way to night, owls took white wing above and the larger mammals came out to forage and hunt.

‘Legolas…’ Bregon began again. ‘I have a particular task in mind for you. I doubt Thiriston will join us now, and it would have fallen to his special friend…’

‘As long as it does not involve getting on intimate terms with my cousin Canadion, I think I can oblige.’

Bregon smiled. ‘Oh, nothing like that. I’ll speak of it in more detail later. When we camp.’


	12. Words on the Wing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Healer Nestoril sends a message and finds someone waiting for her in her study

Healer Nestoril retired to her study at the end of a worrying day. She loved her duties and if she had a weakness, it was that she cared and worried too much about those in the healer hall.

Today, for example. A human female had been brought the day before and had required lodgings out of sight of the general inhabitants of the palace – King Thranduil had a reputation for isolationism to maintain and did not like it known that he sometimes assisted outside his realm when occasion demanded it. So the young woman had been kept in virtual isolation in the convalescing wing until sent for… of course, Nestoril had the whole story, first from Arveduil, Thranduil’s chief advisor, and then from the attendant…

And that had barely been sorted out when she had been called to an emergency, one of the royal princes, no less. Not just one of the royal princes; Tharmeduil.  
Nestoril cast her mind back to that afternoon. Having had a difficult conversation with King Thranduil, she had returned to Tharmeduil’s room to find both his brothers in attendance, the three laughing and joking and eating as if there was nothing wrong at all.

So alike, she had thought them, and yet all such unique individuals! Iauron with his powerful, swordsman’s frame and eldest-son arrogance, Legolas’ more refined face and lithe body, and Tharmeduil with his less-than-perfect hair and stronger features. One did not, of course, have favourites, especially not amongst the royal princes, but if one did, it would be difficult not to give the first place in one’s esteem to Tharmeduil.

Particularly if Tharmeduil’s health was suddenly cause for concern.

She sighed, and reached for her writing equipment, composing a letter to her friend Feril, a junior healer working under the acknowledged master of healing amongst Elven-kind, drafting and redrafting to get all the important facts down in as concise a form as possible.

It took the best part of an hour before she was satisfied, and then copied out the text once more onto the thinnest, lightest piece of parchment on her desk. Size, and weight, was at a premium, unless she wanted her message to take three weeks instead of three days.

She folded the missive and collected her cloak, heading out of the healer hall and making for the mews attached to the building. Dusk had swept down like a soft, warm blanket, and she barely needed the cloak around her shoulders, but it was a comfort to her.

The mews was quiet at this time of evening, most of the birds already locked safely away for the night, but the chief falconer was still in his office, writing up his day notes.

‘Healer Nestoril! A good evening to you. How may I serve?’

‘I’ve an urgent message to the healers in Imladris.’

‘Imladris…’ The falconer scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘There’s a lot of terrain between here and Imladris… Sparrowhawk’s best for the forest… Harrier’s got the power…’

‘It must go as swiftly as possible as it concerns one in my care, and I do not know how much time I have. And I expect there will need to be a reply.’

‘Peregrine, then. Fastest wings we keep, and good in the mountains. Might take a few breaks through the forest, but, we’ve got some excellent birds here.  
Imladris… we have one that knows his way there and back again; I’ll sit up with him tonight, tell him while he roosts where he’s to go for an hour or so. He’ll be sent off at first light and should be there in two days or three, if the weather holds for him.’

‘Thank you; I’m very grateful.’

‘They’ll have to rest him a day or so before he can make the trip back,’ the falconer warned her. ‘But you should hear back in a week.’

Nestoril nodded and handed over the message. The delay was irksome, but that was how it was; there were hundreds of miles between here and Imladris and if there was a quicker way to get a message across, she did not know of it.

Returning to her study to tidy up before retiring for the night, she was surprised to find a visitor outside.

‘My king! I’m sorry if you’ve been kept waiting; had I known…’

‘I have but this minute arrived. Your people were most apologetic that they did not know your whereabouts.’

Oh, dear! That meant anxious assistants to soothe tomorrow!

Personally, Nestoril never allowed herself to be daunted by Thranduil; she respected him deeply, but the sick were in her care and she treated her king pretty well as an equal; he ruled the realm, but she ruled the healer hall. Her under-healers, assistants and support staff, however, were not immune to their king’s majesty.

‘Would you care to step inside? And how may I serve you?’

‘Another glass of winter’s wine would be rather pleasant.’

‘Of course.’

And once the door was closed and the winter’s wine poured, and they were both seated on the soft chairs near the fireside, Thranduil sighed and stretched his long legs out to the warmth, and Nestoril smiled, seeing just a worried father there.

‘We’ve known each other a long time, Nestoril,’ he said, sipping at his drink.

‘Indeed. I’ve seen all your children birthed and grown. You have sons to be proud of, my king.’

‘I sometimes wonder, when Iauron gets into yet another scrape… do you have children, Nestoril? A spouse, a family?’

‘The sick are my children,’ she said with a shake of the head. ‘I have a sister with children enough to keep my mother happy. I am a better healer than I would be a wife and mother, and so I am content.’

‘What is to be done about Tharmeduil?’ the king asked abruptly.

‘I have requested him to write down, or draw, any of his visual disturbances or premonitory notions so that we may track them. I have asked him in as subtle a way as I might if he has had other incidences, and he finally told me yes – these blinding pains behind his eyes have been an occasional visitor to him over recent weeks, but for no longer than a few brief moments and not so severe as today’s attack. And he mentioned a slight recurrence when his brothers were sitting with him, and an intuition he had… but that the pain went once he had spoken of it.’

‘What does this mean in terms of his future well-being?’

She shook her head. ‘I do not know. I have sent to a friend for advice – she will put the facts to her lore master who is renowned amongst healers everywhere and he will aid us, if he can. But it will take some days for the message to get there, and for any reply to come back.’

‘I cannot lose him,’ Thranduil said bluntly. ‘Do your best, Nestoril. I see his mother in them all, but in him, the most. It is sad to see her illness in him, also.’  
‘You accept the possibility, then, finally?’

‘I do. I did not want to, but denying it would be futile.’ He drained his glass and set it down empty on the table, getting to his feet. ‘Goodnight, Nestoril. Let me know when you have had a reply to your message.’


	13. Night Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the topic of How To Kill Spiders is discussed.

Legolas reckoned they’d been moving through the forest on increasingly faint paths for a couple of hours when Bregon led them off the track and through a narrow gap between two sentinel beech trees beyond which a wide glade opened out. 

‘This is it!’ he said. ‘Three to a flet, and first watch goes to you, Tinuon. Legolas, with me.’

As flets went, it was disappointing, more of a platform woven through the branches of the tree than anything else. There were no side panels, and the entire thing was roofed only by the trees.

‘So… when I said ‘flet’, I really meant ‘level place where we can rest above the ground’, my prince…’

‘Legolas,’ Legolas corrected, putting his back against the trunk of the tree. ‘How long are we here for, Commander?’

He saw the glint of a smile from the other. ‘Bregon,’ his commander said. ‘Two hours or so. I want to give that reprobate Thiriston time to join us before I give away his sweetheart’s job to you…’

‘And what is it, this task?’

Bregon settled himself cross-legged on the platform.

‘How much do you know about the spiders, Legolas?’

‘How to kill them, mostly. Through the eyes, down through the centre of the head; there’s also a nerve cluster where the abdomen and thorax meet… you can rip down into the abdomen, the heart is in there or along the spiracles… they’re easy to drown, as they have no lungs, such as we know… their poison induces unconsciousness and paralysis for a short time, they make different sorts of silk for different purposes and they taste foul… do not ask,’ he finished. ‘The last patrol I was on, we lost our supplies and found ourselves too far from home with no sustenance.’

Bregon was laughing softly as Legolas became aware of a vibration of the platform. He twisted to face the entry point to the flet where the platform had a space between it and the trunk. Canadion’s chestnut hair, made darker by the night, appeared through and he looked from Bregon to Legolas.

‘Three to a flet, Commander,’ he said. ‘Or do I interrupt?’

‘Not at all – but you will have heard what I’m about to say already. Legolas, you’re right about the differing silks. The sensor strands where the spiders await their prey are not adhesive – the spiders themselves may be ensnared, else. Web silk and binding silk, that’s the worst. If it sticks to your skin, you’re likely to remove your skin with it, trying to break free. It sounds a minor inconvenience, but lose enough skin and you’ll not survive… cocooning silk – the extra layers a spider adds to wrap its prey, that’s imbued with something of the same poison in the bite, to keep the prey docile.’

Canadion had seated himself while Bregon spoke, choosing to put his back next to the tree trunk and so positioning himself quite close to Legolas. The prince tried to subtly slide away, but the opening in the flet was too close for him to move more than a hand’s breadth away.

‘But there’s another sort, and there’s a standing order from our healer hall that if we get the chance, to bring as much as we can of it.’ Bregon went on, his mouth lifting in amusement as he saw Legolas’ uneasy shuffling. ‘When the females breed, they wrap their eggs in yet another variety, caul silk, intended to help protect and nourish the developing spiderlings within the egg sacs… and it has been discovered that this silk has healing properties. It can prevent infections, it regenerates skin torn away by the adhesive spider silk, and it is of great use in the treatment of burn injuries.’

‘This is the season when the eggs are ripening on the edges of the webs,’ Canadion said. ‘If we can harvest the cauls, the healers can store them. I am usually the one to collect the egg’s silks, my Thiriston watching my back… Bregon, I am worried! I do not know why he is not here, or what could have caused his delay…’

‘Well, no matter! Having seen Legolas in the practice trees, I don’t doubt his ability to acquire a caul or two for us.’

‘But, Bregon…!’ 

‘If you’re here just to voice your concerns, Canadion, consider it done! We need now to eat and rest, so stay if you will or go if you prefer. There’s time yet for Thiriston to join us, and if he does, well, you can harvest as usual. But I know you, I know how you rely on him keeping the spiders busy while you slide in under them, and I don’t want your attention wandering, not when you could easily lose your looks to a wildly flying strand.’ Bregon nodded towards Legolas. ‘Your far cousin here is fresh to the work, he’s not had chance to get sloppy like the rest of us. You can watch his back, if you like.’

Canadion subsided, and Legolas got to his knees, moving away from the tree trunk and hoping it looked as if he were simply investigating his pack for food; under other circumstances he would have been glad to get to know his distant cousin better, but knowing said distant cousin owned a jealous lover was information enough at the moment. Nor could he be overjoyed to hear the task Bregon had for him had previously been Canadion’s.

Legolas sat away from the trunk, now, eating the remainder of the bread and cheese he’d filched from his brother’s table and finishing with an apple and a drink from his water canteen. He’d a store of waybread wrapped securely in his pack, but Bregon had promised them all a good meal after the night’s march.

Finished with food, he unslung his cloak to pad under his head and curled up where he lay, conserving his energies until it was time to leave. As he rested, he sent his awareness out to the tree around him, following the slow surge of its life-force, the gentle murmur of its rising sap…

It took time to read the chemical signals emitted by the trees, time and practice. Legolas allowed his perceptions to drift… and a strange tang to the air, sensed at the back of his nose rather than smelled, brought him back to full awareness. He sat up abruptly.

‘What is it?’ Bregon asked, alerted by the sudden movement.

‘Lhingril!’ Legolas said, just as Tinuon, on watch on the far side of the clearing gave a warning shout.

‘Spiders!’


	14. Blood in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tharmediul wakes during the night in some discomfort...

Tharmeduil’s face felt odd. He felt odd. He was lying mostly on his stomach, his right hand hanging down loosely off the edge of the bed, his fingers dangling. He should move. He should try.

He didn’t want to.

Perhaps he should open his eyes first? Somehow, he didn’t want to. Nor was he aware of any sense of light outside, so it must be dark. And so it must be night. So was there any real point?

His face felt stiff, stuck to the pillow case. Why would that be?

He tried to move. His hand swung, but the rest of his body didn’t want to respond.

Could he roll onto his back?

…Just. But his face was still stiff and stuck and as his body came back to life, he was aware of a sudden pain as he tried to lift his head… a pain in his face, and as he tried to rearrange himself, his dangling hand flailed, knocked against the leg of the table near the bed, shaking it so that the contents jarred and rattled, sending out a ringing sound that pierced through his head…

He decided that trying to open his eyes was definitely not a good idea just now.

Presently, a soft tapping at the door, and he heard it opening.

‘My prince?’

He didn’t recognise the voice. Nestoril was the only healer he knew well; it didn’t matter, really, that you didn’t know their names, you just said: ‘Healer, thank you,’ and that was fine. 

‘Prince Tharmeduil?’ The voice was nearer, and it didn’t sound as soothing or as calm as most of the healers here generally did. ‘Are you awake, my prince?’

Tharmeduil tried to answer, but he only managed a faint groan.

He thought there was a soft gasp, but then a warm hand rested for a moment on his brow, distracting him.

‘Lie still, my prince. I will be but a moment.’

He thought he heard her voice shortly after, muted, from outside the room, but he really didn’t care. He was uncomfortable and stuck, somehow, and really wished for something to happen to free him from this discomfort.

Time passed.

The soft, hushed swish of robes, and the voice he was waiting to hear, the one he knew.

‘Good evening, my prince. May I help you?’

He would have nodded, had he been able to, but as it was, Nestoril helped anyway. A cool, wet cloth patted at his face, soothing and refreshing. He sighed and felt himself relax under her soft ministrations. Particular attention was paid to the area around his eyelids, the touch of the wet lint feather-soft, silking and smoothing away his discomfort.

‘You may open your eyes now, my prince.’

Tharmeduil. He wished she’d use his name, once in a while, but he didn’t have the energy to say so.

‘Or we can wait a little longer. I’ll just place this pad over your eyes for the present.’ 

He heard the sound of water trickling into a bowl, as if a cloth were being rung out and a smaller, moist compress was gently laid over his eyes. His face was wiped again, his forehead, his nose, his cheeks. It felt as if Nestoril was cleaning him up, rather than just trying to soothe him.

‘Nestoril?’ he managed to say. He heard a short exhalation of breath.

‘Come, my prince, I’d like you to sit up, if you will.’

An arm went around him, and he tried to push himself up in the bed, feeling weak and helpless and not a little scared. Pillows were rearranged at his back and the pad over his eyes threatened to fall away. He managed to get his hand to it in time to prevent its fall.

‘What’s up with me?’ he asked.

‘Well, at present, I would say you’ve had a nosebleed in your sleep. Not a common thing, but not so rare as to cause too much concern.’ Her voice was amused, but he didn’t quite believe her lightness of tone. ‘You were slightly stuck to your bedding. How do you feel about opening your eyes now?'

He grimaced as she lifted the pad off his eyes, but did as she suggested.

‘Everything is blurred and dark,’ he complained.

‘It’s the hour before moonrise; of course it is dark!’ She turned to speak to someone else in the room. ‘Bring a covered lamp and set it down near the door; we will keep the room dim.’

The assistant healer murmured acquiescence and left the room. Nestoril moved to open one of the heavy curtains at the window and the darkness lifted a little. She took the liberty of perching on the edge of Tharmeduil’s bed and tipped his chin with professional fingers, looking into his eyes.

‘Yes. Your vision will clear presently. I suppose I had better tell you that as well as your nose, your eyes also bled a little.’

‘What? But…’

‘Hush, Tharmeduil. Be calm, my prince. You remember I spoke to you of recording any visual disturbances you might have? That extends also to your dreams…’

‘This is like my mother, isn’t it?’ he said, hearing how his own voice grew higher in pitch, louder, more alarmed. ‘Have I my mother’s affliction, Nestoril?’

‘If you have, then we will take care of you. We will make sure you do not… we will not let you die, Tharmeduil. You father has told me he simply will not permit it.’  
He managed to smile at that and she passed the cloth back to him. 

‘Wipe your eyes again. It is a mixture of lachrymal fluids now and the last wash of the blood. Your sight will be fine shortly.’

The assistant healer returned with the lamp and set it down. ‘Is there anything else, Healer Nestoril?’

‘We will have some tea – chamomile, if you can organise it. Then you may return to your duties.’

The lamp, covered by a parchment shroud, gave off a gentle glow that didn’t so much illuminate as add warmth and comfort to the room. Once sure the light wasn’t causing any discomfort to Tharmeduil’s eyes, Nestoril brought the lamp nearer, until, unshrouded, it sat on a table near the bed.

‘We will sit here,’ she told Tharmeduil. ‘You have work to do.’

‘Work?’

‘You need to record your dreams. I’ll help you.’

She assisted him to don a dressing robe over his nightshirt and kept her hand lightly under his arm until he was seated at the table. A knock at the door, and the assistant was back with the tea. Nestoril took the tray from her with thanks and carried it back to the table where Tharmeduil was staring at a blank sheet of parchment.

‘What are you thinking, Tharmeduil?’ Nestoril asked softly as she set the tea down.

‘I don’t know where to start. I don’t want to write it, I want to outline it…’ He reached for a charcoal stick and touched it to the parchment. ‘And talk of it.’

Nestoril reached for her own writing materials. ‘Then I will write, while you speak.’


	15. Of Spiders and Sharp Edges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas' patrol engages with the enemy...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Chapter contains graphic descriptions of spiders, and extreme spider jeopardy

‘Spiders!’

The forest had fallen silent. Bregon shook his head, freeing his weapons as beside him, Canadion looked around in fear.

‘My pack, weapons. On the other flet…’

‘Idiot!’ Bregon hissed, sliding a dagger across to him.

‘There’s sound from the north-east,’ Legolas said. His long white knives were ready in his hands, his eyes unfocussed as he continued to try to read the air. ‘A large group, approaching swiftly.’

‘This isn’t usual,’ Bregon muttered. ‘They expand into new territory, but they do not migrate. Hold your ground; they are too close to the trail; we cannot let them pass. Watch each other’s backs, I need to be sure the company’s ready.’

Canadion nodded and drew closer to Legolas, taking up a defensive stance at his side. His breath sounded, short, shallow pulls of air that made Legolas worried about his companion’s fitness to fight. Bregon had already slipped away through the canopy to the next fletted tree.

‘Are you all right, cousin?’ Legolas asked.

‘I… I am not. Thiriston will be on the trail, and if he is seen, alone and in the open…’

‘You can do nothing about that at the moment, Canadion; you must think instead of what you can do. Come, you’ve fought these beasts before…’

‘I have not fought them; I have dodged them and collected the egg sacs. I must confess – I do not like spiders…’

‘Do any of us?’

‘No – I mean I do not like them…’ There came a rustling from the trees outside the glade, and Canadion gave a low moan. ‘I mean that I… Please, cousin, only my Thiriston knows this and if report got out…’

‘All right. Just… Keep out of my way, do you understand?’ Legolas unslung his bow and knocked an arrow ready as, with a rush of limbs, the first spiders came into view overhead. ‘Ai, Valar! How many are there?’

They were huge, dark shapes against the sky, bodies ranging in size from shorter than a fox to longer than a horse’s, with stilt legs moving far too quickly. Eyes were luminous green clusters in double rows, five or seven to a head, and the creatures were focussed, intent on travelling and had no attention for whatever might be in the trees beneath them.

Legolas fired into the abdomen of one passing over and it fell with a whimper onto the flet, limbs spasming its death throes. Canadion shrieked like a human girl, and cowered down, leaving Legolas to defend the flet against the oncoming tide of arachnids. A second, a third fell to his bow, rebounding off the edge of the flet and crashing down to die in the clearing below. From the other flets came the sounds of more attacks; bows singing, elves crying encouragement and warnings. 

Legolas fought alone. Bregon hadn’t made it back to the flet, and Canadion was worse than useless, cowering and gibbering at his feet. Idly, Legolas wondered if this was the real reason Thiriston had such a reputation for possessiveness, to guard his lover’s reputation for courage.

The glade beneath was filling with dead or dying arachnids and finally Legolas was out of arrows. He’d used and reused all he could, but his last one was buried in the brain of a huge twitching beast flailing on its back beneath the flet and he had no chance to seek for more. 

He reached for his knives and swallowed back his fear as the next wave of spiders came out of the dark. These were bigger, their limbs thicker and stronger, their eyes larger. The thought of closing with one in combat filled him with dread, but, arrows gone, what else could he do? He took a stance, preparing to leap up and rip at the underside of a huge abdomen, but found the top of his boot grabbed by Canadion.

‘Wait!’

‘Release me!’ Legolas hissed.

‘No – hear me – these are the guards. When the queens have to move, they surround them for protection… Wait…’

Legolas shook his head, but held still. Canadion let go and managed to get to his knees.

‘Yes! Look, there’s the queen. She’s got egg sacs. They’ll be stuck to her body with the silk we need for the healers…’

‘What do we do, Canadion?’

‘I don’t know! I’ve never taken from a carrying queen before…’ He made it onto his feet and straightened up, clutching the blade Bregon had given him. ‘Well, then… if you can distract her, I’ll make for the eggs…’

Distract her? How? 

The approaching queen was more than half as big again as the spiders surrounding her, swaying through the trees and encumbered with an odd accretion of globes; there were scores of them, each bigger than an elf’s head.

‘Hurry!’

Legolas spared a glare for Canadion, twirled the knives in his hands and leapt, extending his left arm as he did to bury a knife into one of the queen’s eyes. She screeched rage, swinging her head and Legolas followed the stroke with his right hand, the knife in that hand plunging into the next eye in line, pulling free the first blade and effectively walking the knives through both rows of eyes. The guard spiders clustered, unable to come close as the queen flailed and lashed out in her agony. Legolas hung on to the handles of his knives, using the spider’s momentum to pull the blades free and somersault over to top of the head, landing on the hard carapace of the thorax. 

‘I do not take kindly to being told what to do!’ Legolas called out to Canadion. ‘And what is it you are going to do, cousin?’

Legolas ducked as one of the guard spiders closed in, causing him to twist away, one knife overhead spearing the underbelly of the guard, his other blade daggering down into the queen at the vulnerable narrow joint between thorax and abdomen. 

From somewhere he heard Canadion yell as he launched himself at the egg sacs clustered about the queen’s abdomen. The spider convulsed, bucking and causing the blade Legolas had plunged into the guard spider to slip and slide and release a torrent of sickly blue blood. Legolas lost his footing but kept hold of his knives so that the tug of them from spider flesh slowed his fall. Still, fall he did, rolling to try to keep clear from beneath the bodies as he saw Canadion’s anxious face as the other elf sliced and sawed at a thick strand of silk holding the cluster of egg sacs in place against the queen.

More guard spiders circled, the instinct to flee the blades and the urge to protect the queen vying in them. One leaped, a bundle of folded limbs and gleaming green orbs, only to find a stinging knife blinding one of its eyes and a shout going up, and there were more blades in the air over Legolas’ head, whirring and wheeling high so that he could get to his feet. 

The queen, eyes blinded and weeping sticky fluid, floundered and tried to get her limbs under her, but one of Legolas’ knives had done serious damage to her nervous system and her body leaked life fluids even as a huge curved axe flashed down out of nowhere to sever the thorax from the abdomen and leave it pulsing and bleeding on the platform while the rest of the queen’s body was ignominiously kicked free of the flet.

The bravest of the remaining guard spiders bared its fangs and sprang, but the axe whirled and flashed and a brash voice yelled defiance. Legolas kept his head low, beneath the spinning axe, and got inside the spider’s guard to dig a knife up into the creature’s underside. It folded its limbs and threw itself off the flet, throwing out a line of silk to stay its fall, but a rain of arrows from the glade intercepted it, and the creature was dead as it fell.

And there were no more spiders.

Legolas braced his hands on his knees, taking stock. He was pretty well unharmed; out of breath, almost gagging on the stench of arachnid body fluids, but still in one piece. He stood up and looked to see if the wielder of the axe was to hand, and if it would be appropriate to offer thanks.

Across the flet, Thiriston Cut-Face had dropped his axe, taken Canadion into his arms, and was kissing him as thoroughly and completely as if there were nobody else present.

Legolas smiled, his grateful words silent in his mouth. Thiriston looked just a little bit busy.


	16. Sparring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Iaruon, once more, has an interview with his father...

Iauron stopped outside the entrance to the sparring room. There were two guards on duty, not a usual occurrence, but he’d had a message that his royal father required his attendance there, and although that, too, was not a usual occurrence, it went some way to explain the presence of the guard.

The telling-of-the-hours lamp burning at the corner of the passages suggested there were still three hours to go until the morning meal. He growled at the reminder of how early it was, ridiculously early, so early it was almost just really late. 

What was Adar doing up at this time?

More to the point, what had Adar got in mind for him now?

Still, you didn’t ask questions when one of the royal guard passes on a summons from the king, whatever the hour. You just got up and got dressed and made your way to wherever you were wanted.

Although, truth to tell, Iauron had already been clothed when the summons came, which had been a bit of a time saver… 

He straightened his shoulders and nodded to the guard. ‘My father the king is expecting me.’

The doors swung open and he tried to walk in with confidence.

‘You wanted me, father?’ he asked, his eyes tracking around the chamber in search of his sire.

Behind him, the door closed with a clunk and he turned to see Thranduil with his back to it.

‘Yes, indeed. I understand you have not been out to the training grounds for a few days and so I decided it was time I took a more personal interest in your capabilities.’

Iaruon swallowed. His father was wearing only his boots and his leggings, the long silver-gold hair caught back out of the way, his arms and torso bare and pale in the glow of the lamps. Rather than appearing diminished without his robes of office, Thranduil looked even more imposing, the power of his lean, muscled body revealed, his natural height accentuated by the long shadows falling away from him as he stood, looking his son over as if unhappy with what he saw there.

Iauron saw a tightness about the king’s eyes which was suggestive of displeasure, the sense echoed by the fierce swish and sweep of his father’s unsheathed sword slicing the air.

‘And yet you must be bored. Why else would you volunteer for escort duty? What other possible reason could there be for you, the heir to the throne of the Woodland Realm, to ride out, not for battle arachnids or to defend our borders, but to act as a lowly guardsman, conveying a covered wagon towards Esgaroth?’

So that’s what this was about? 

‘Father, I…’

Thranduil reached out for a sword from the rack and threw it at his son, knowing Iauron would make the catch. Either that or he would lose fingers, for all the practice weapons here were edged and honed. 

He strode forward, lifting his own blade and then slowly lowering it so the tip rested on the cold stone floor, his eyes following it, turning his body to present as narrow a target as possible towards his son.

‘Whenever you’re ready, Iauron…?’

Iauron took a deep breath. Having easily snatched the sword out of the air, he played it for a moment or two, familiarising himself with the balance and weight and temper of it. Not over-heavy, its smooth finish gleaming with a tracery of swirls and linear decorations, it was a comparatively modern blade. One did not use the swords of the First Age for weapons practice.

Unless, of course, you were King Thranduil. His sword was long and sleek and straight with barely a hint of hilts, blade and handle inscribed with the writing of the older days. One of a twin pair, Iauron could only be glad his father sought to test him with just the one blade in use; the standard curved-bladed lhang Thranduil had thrown across to him was a perfectly adequate piece, the sort of weapon Iauron had trained and fought with for most of his life.

The king’s sword was ancient, but his father had told him, once, of the forging of the pair, of holding the newly-tempered twin blades up to the moonlight to admire the polished purity of their mirror-finish surfaces.

Just how old was his adar?

Iauron touched the point of the lhang to the stone and turned his shoulder towards his father.

‘Adar.’

‘Iauron.’

The blades lifted and surged towards each other, flashing, clashing streaks of brightness whirring through the air. Hands, arms, bodies flowed after them in the dance of the singing swords as Thranduil and Iauron closed together and broke apart, circling and whirling. Thranduil’s eyes flashed silver-blue fire, Iauron’s dark blue gaze fastened on the centre of his father’s chest, the better to predict his next moves.

The ancient blade made a wheel of silver, obscuring his view, and the lhang rose to counter it. The two blades locked, and Thranduil’s sword slid with a ring down towards Iauron’s hand guards. Their eyes, too, locked.

‘You thought to circumvent my request that you leave this unfortunate woman be.’ Thranduil’s voice was soft as thistledown. ‘You disregarded my wishes, her well-being – for how could it profit her, to be reminded of you when you have abandoned her?’

‘I only wanted to be sure she was well…’ Iauron stepped back, the pressure of his father’s grip through the ancient sword causing him to falter. ‘You denied me even the chance to speak to her!’

‘You had your chance,’ Thranduil said, implacable. ‘I told you that if you wished to marry with her, I would not refuse you.’

‘Yes, Adar, but…’

‘Moreover, you would have abandoned your duties here. With one brother ill, and the other on patrol, it never occurred to you that you were needed at home?’

‘Father, I…’ His grip broke and he twisted out of the line of his father’s eye fire, stumbling to his knees and giving the king the only chance he needed to bring his sword against Iauron’s neck. He swallowed. ‘I yield! And I am sorry! But Tharmeduil just has the headache… it’s not serious…’

Thranduil muttered a profanity and sheathed the sword with a flourish, walking away from his son. A light sheen across his bare shoulders was the only sign he’d been working hard, and he reached for a cloth to drape around his neck and wipe the perspiration away. Shaking his head, he crossed the distance between himself and Iauron and held his hand out, pulling his son to his feet.

‘The healers inform me, on the contrary, that it probably is serious. Had I known how much so, I would have delayed Legolas’ patrol, for there is cause for concern and I would rather have all my sons about me so that we may face this together.’

He clapped Iauron on the shoulder and walked away, freeing his hair from its confinement and draping his outer robe around his shoulders.

‘You did well this morning, Iauron. You would have done better had you not allowed yourself to be distracted by our conversation. And you will find, if you spend less time in the brothels of Esgaroth and more on your wrist action, you will find it improves your swing considerably. I have said before, I almost expect to be disappointed in my sons.’

He glanced back over his shoulder and gave a weary smile.

‘But that has not happened yet this day.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I should apologise for being a little late posting this chapter. Initially I planned to post every few days, but having had feedback to the effect the frequent updates are appreciated, I'm trying to present a chapter every day.
> 
> To make amends, I'll post another chapter later today.
> 
> My excuse is that I've been working on a short story of around 7000 words set in the years after the War of the One Ring which I hope to post in the next day or so.


	17. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spiders have all either fled, or died. Now the company licks its wounds, gathers itself together, and decides what to do next...

The late moon had been long risen before any real order returned to the encampment. The remains of the arachnids had to be disposed of, injuries tended to, decisions made. Legolas found his lavender oil salve needed close to home; once Thiriston had finished greeting Canadion, he had stepped back to look his beloved over.

‘You’ve a skin rip, melleth,’ he said, a shrug of the shoulder behind him where Legolas stood suggesting he didn’t care what the prince thought of the exchange.

‘I know; I was cutting free the egg cords when some great oaf cut the entire beast in half and made the strands snap,’ Canadion replied in a teasing tone. ‘I’d no change of getting out of the way in time.’

‘Ai, I was more worried about your head than your hands! Let me see.’

Legolas turned away to seek his pack. Tucked away near the trunk of the tree, it had survived the influx of spiders unscathed and he rummaged around until he found the lavender salve Tharmeduil had suggested he bring.

‘Here, Thiriston,’ he said, lobbing the jar over to him. ‘The healers say this is good for silk burns.’

Thiriston raised an eyebrow. ‘Thank you, my prince. You planned ahead. Come, see what silk can do.’

A wide stripe of skin had been ripped clean off the back of Canadion’s hand and the flesh underneath was prickled with blood. Thiriston turned away to the caul around the eggs and cut a section free, wadding it into a pad before he unstopped the jar and smeared some of the contents onto it. He then placed the salved spider silk over his lover’s injury, binding it in place with more of the silk.

‘It harms or it heals, depending what the creatures need it for,’ Thiriston said. ‘And we take care of our own first, and then take what’s over back for the healers.’

‘Of course. What do we do now?’

‘Strip the caul silk and destroy the eggs. Unless you want to go and find Bregon and tell him I’m here, my prince.’

‘Agreed, Captain.’ Legolas wiped and sheathed his knives, slung his bow and gathered his pack. ‘I’ll see what else he needs, if that’s all right with you?’

‘Better have this back, then.’ Thiriston rolled the lavender salve back to him. ‘Not everyone thinks about getting injured ahead of time.’

‘I did not bring it out of concern for myself,’ Legolas said through gritted teeth, and went in search of Bregon before his anger at being as good as called a coward spilled over. 

Nor did he want to witness the destruction of the eggs; stripped of the caul of silk, the round globes had disturbing signs of movement inside as the embryonic spiderlings moved and twisted about. It seemed unfair to destroy them, even though they would otherwise grow to be a threat to the woodland realm, even though they were poison and death on eight legs.

He made his way down to the floor of the glade, picking his way through the wreckage of fallen arthropods to where he could see Bregon and another of the company – Tinuon, he thought it was – attending to the casualties.

‘Commander,’ he began. ‘Your second has arrived; he’s helping Canadion harvest the caul from a queen they killed.’

‘Oh, you got one, too?’ Bregon rose to his feet and crossed the gap between them so that he could speak more privately. ‘That brings the total to three, although why that many brood queens were moving all at the same time…’

‘A stampede? Yet what would cause such a thing; there is no taint of fire in the air?’

‘Not a stampede, they were moving with haste and urgency, but with intent. A migration, perhaps. We are fortunate there was so much purpose to their march. As it is, we have several serious injuries and I am particularly concerned for the safety of the sentries on our guard posts.’ He nodded off in the direction from which the spiders had emerged before giving Legolas a measuring look. ‘Forgive me, my prince, but at this moment I do not know what to do with you.’

‘I do not quite follow...?’

‘This was meant to be a comparatively easy tour of duty; we expected spiders, but not in so many numbers or with so many queens. I doubt your royal father would be pleased at the dangers you have faced this night… I wonder if I should ask you to escort the wounded back to the safety of the barracks. You would suffer no loss of face…’

‘If I walked away from my commander when there was real work to be done, I would be at far greater danger from my royal father than from anything Mirkwood could offer me!’ Legolas said. ‘What do you need, Bregon?’

‘I really do need an escort for the wounded… but, more, I need someone to go round the sentry posts… Some must dispose of the remains and destroy the live eggs… We won’t be able to carry out our planned tour now. So. I’ll break up a caul for you; you may find injuries amongst the sentries. I’ll send you with Tinuon. He knows his way around the outposts. He’s in charge – I take it you’ll have no problem with that?’

‘Not at all, Commander.’

 

Tinuon was a wiry elf with hair just too dark to be blond and who wasn’t quite as tall as Legolas. He appeared to have come away from the attack unscathed and grinned at his prince.

‘The tale is that Thiriston arrived with a brand new weapon and slew half a dozen spiders on your flet, my prince, but I was on the one next along and I saw for myself how many fell to your bow!’

‘He got the queen, after I was out of arrows,’ Legolas admitted. ‘And I need to source more, if we’re walking again tonight.’

‘And did Canadion whimper like a child and run to hide?’

‘I could not say. I was busy with my work.’

Tinuon laughed. ‘Gather your arrows, my prince. We’ve a three hour march before we reach the first sentries and I’d like to get there as soon as we might.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, Gemstarzah, for Beta-reading.
> 
> Information on spider anatomy taken from 'Spiders of the World' by Rod & Ken Preston-Mafham c. 1984 Blandford Press. Please note information therein does not specifically reference the Spiders of Mirkwood


	18. Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tharmeduil and Nestoril try to make sense of his visions

Nestoril became aware that her face was resting on her arms and she was leaning forward from the waist in a somewhat awkward position. Lifting her head, she saw another face near hers, the eyes open and with the distant, far away expression she recognised as sleep. It was more like meditation, really, a waking dream where one walked and found rest.  
Daylight filtered through the windows and illuminated the room and she could see that Tharmeduil’s eyes had cleared of the blood. He looked simply peaceful and she found a smile growing on her face as she pushed herself up to sit against the chair, stretching stiff arms and shoulders.

Her notebook lay open on the table, several pages covered with her neat, flowing script, broken into paragraphs to match Tharmeduil’s change of subject. Under her patient’s head, Tharmeduil’s drawing pages rested, the edges curling up to frame his face, his charcoal and pigment sticks abandoned.

Carefully, quietly, she rose to her feet and crossed to the window. The falcon would be on its way now, her message bound between its wings, hurtling itself over the long miles between Mirkwood and Rivendell. It was a vain hope, really, that any cure could be suggested, any remedy found, but it was all the hope she had to offer and just now she knew Thranduil needed hope.

There was a shadow over the king, just as there was a shadow over the land. He had never, really, recovered from seeing his father hewn down millennia since, from seeing the folly of engaging an enemy armed only with fire and rage and weapons and lacking armour. He brooded and spent too much time alone with the acid of his memories, and sometimes he could go for months without tempering the bitterness with any trace of relief.

And yet somehow, as spring will push against the harshest frost eventually, so Thranduil would come out of his moods, and smile again, and make sharp witticisms at Iaruon’s expense, or make droll remarks about his youngest son’s preference for the company of his weapons over the company of females, and one could be forgiven for believing the shadow gone, not merely retreated to where Thranduil could hide it behind his kingly mask or his fatherly teasing.

Tharmeduil’s illness was another dimming of the light, a deepening of the shadow around the palace caves, and Nestoril resolved to do all in her power to keep her healer hall bright.

She heard a deep exhalation, and turned to see Tharmeduil stirring, trying to sit himself up. #  
‘Good morning, my prince. May I help you?’ 

She carefully gathered the parchments together and set them on the edge of the table, collecting together the pigment and charcoal sticks tidily into their holder.

‘You called me Tharmeduil last night,’ he said.

‘Was I too informal? Forgive me, highness…’

‘No, I didn’t mean – that is, I liked the informality. It felt more as it used to, when we brothers were children. Before we knew we were princes.’

‘Well, that’s easily solved.’ She gave him an easy smile. ‘While there are no other persons present, we may be Nestoril and Tharmeduil, and keep our titles for when we need them.’  
Tharmeduil glanced at the stack of parchment. 

‘You know, I’m not even sure what I was drawing last night…’

‘Shall we look?’

At first glance the pages were confused, a jumble of line and shape, but gradually, Nestoril thought she could pick out decided themes. Working from her own notes, she began to trace the tale of Tharmeduil’s night visions.

‘Spiders fleeing to the south west, crossing the path… but here, something happens…’

‘The spiders are attacked. They are only passing through, escaping…’ Tharmeduil looked up. ‘How is it that I can explain this now, when I could not, in the night, remember?’

‘It is possible that your resting mind has put together the pieces of the puzzle,’ Nestoril suggested. ‘But see, they come from here… the mountains you’ve drawn…’

‘They’re not really mountains,’ he said. ‘They are… weaknesses. Not raised up, but somehow within the earth… underground? There is something trapped, and the spiders are fleeing it.’

Nestoril started a fresh sheet of notes for Tharmeduil’s reinterpretations.

‘There was something about your brother?’

‘Legolas will be fine,’ Tharmeduil said absently. ‘He’s not coming back with them, but that’s only because he’s not injured. There are no spiders left there, now.’

Nestoril hadn’t meant Legolas; it was Iauron’s name in her notes, Iauron Tharmeduil had been talking of, something about a biter bit and an imposter imposed upon… she let that be, more interested in the new insight.

‘The king will be pleased,’ she said, ‘to learn Legolas is unharmed.’

‘In time, he will. But he’s just going to see the return of the company with injured amongst them and worry. And when Legolas isn’t there, he’ll get into a rage with Legolas for not being there and worrying him anyway. And then, he will but worry about where he really is…’

Nestoril by now was laughing. ‘But this is not insight, this is simply knowing how your royal father processes information, Tharmeduil! Come, do you know where Legolas is, if not with the company?’

‘I see a flet and then another. It is followed by a third… always there is someone with him. He is fine, he is simply doing his duty; it minds me of my tour, when we visited around the sentry posts. Will you tell Adar for me?’

‘Of course.’ She set her notes aside. ‘I’ll bespeak some breakfast for you, and one of my assistants will sit out here while you use the bathing facilities, lest you need help.’

Rising to her feet, she inclined her head towards him, her smile still friendly but it felt as if she’d taken a half step backwards. ‘I’ll attend you later, my prince.’

Leaving the room, she went to the main hallway and spoke to the healers behind the desk.

‘I have had word we may be receiving several wounded warriors shortly. Please be prepared for possible injuries caused by spiders.’

‘Certainly, Healer. But...’

‘And someone to take breakfast to Prince Tharmeduil and wait while he bathes in private. The prince may well wish to know whether he will be returning to his private chambers today; please assure him I will speak to him on the matter presently. Should he have any recurrence of headache or visual disturbances, seek me immediately. I will be speaking with Lord Arveldir.’

Ai, she was tired! Not for sleep, but for a little calm, a space away from her cares which seemed to have increased considerably over the last few days.

Making her way to what passed for the administrative centre of the palace complex she found Lord Arveldir’s study door and tapped at it, entering once she heard his voice.

‘Just set it down, thank you,’ he said, not bothering to look up from where he was engaged in paperwork.

‘I have nothing to set down, other than my person,’ Nestoril said, an amused gleam in her eye as Arveldir looked up in confusion.

‘Healer Nestoril! Your pardon! I was expecting a delivery of breakfast, not a visitor! Please, do take a seat and tell my how may I be of assistance?’

‘There is a matter I wish to lay before our king but I do not know how to broach it without worrying him unduly…’

‘Oh?’

Without naming the source of her information, Nestoril gave him the bare bones of the matter; that some of Legolas’ patrol was returning injured but that he himself, although quite safe, was still engaged in his duties and would be late.

‘My problem is how to inform the king of this without awakening his ire…’ She said this with a smile that Arveldir knew of old; she, like he, wanted only to smooth Thranduil’s path wherever they could.

‘If you are happy to permit me, I will bring up the matter presently.’ A knock at the door interrupted, Arveldir’s breakfast arriving. ‘Once I have broken my fast.’

‘That is a very good idea!’ Nestoril said. ‘I will leave the matter in your capable hands, and seek my own table.’

‘Please – there is plenty here. Join me, and tell me more of the matter.’  
Nestoril inclined her head in acceptance. ‘Yes, that is a better idea than mine! Thank you.’


	19. A Falcon Flies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a peregrine falcon sets off with a message

The sky was still tainted with the blues of night when the falconer took his peregrine from its perch and set it to the gauntlet. He attached the message carefully to the bird, ensuring it wouldn’t foul the wings, before climbing a set of steps cut into the side of a grassy mound which rose at one end of the mews. Here, a breeze could always be felt, bringing fresh air from beyond the forest and giving his birds a taste of the open skies.

The peregrine was hooded, and he gently removed the hood, its little bells jingling, and found a scrap or two of meat for the bird from a pouch at his waist. He whispered soft words as it ate, reminding the bird of its destination and the need for haste.

Done, he released the jesses and cast the peregrine up into the sky. It circled, climbing, and then settled into a flight pattern that took it over his head, over the palace, and out over the richness of the canopy towards the west and Imladris.

The falconer nodded satisfaction. Yes, a good bird. With fair weather and the wind behind it, the peregrine should arrive at Imladris on the morning of the next day; while his two to three day estimate to Healer Nestoril had been conservative, it had not been a deliberate falsification; rather, he had factored in the bird’s need to roost and feed and rest and the possibility of rain. The bird did not fly well in the rain. 

But the bird flew well in the day that blossomed from the dawn; the skies grew clear and bright and it lifted on thermals above the forest, the canopy stretching out beneath it in an undulating wave of differing greens. 

*

Early afternoon, and Healer Nestoril had the first actual evidence that Tharmeduil’s visions could become reality when almost half of Legolas’ patrol staggered in. Only two of the warriors had been so injured as to have been carried in on litters, but there were some bad skin lacerations amongst the rest. She organised her healers to work, gratefully accepted two bundles of caul silk and held herself in readiness for the summons she was almost certain would come.

Indeed, she had only just finished attending to the worst of the injured when she heard a voice, although it was not the one she had expected.

‘Healer Nestoril?’

A hush had fell on the chamber where the injured warriors were receiving treatment as all stopped their work at the presence of King Thranduil and tried to make appropriate bows. The king waved at the room in general.

‘I demand protocol in my throne room; when I come to the healer halls, it is not required,’ he said. ‘Feel free to continue working.’

Nestoril glanced up, saw the king with Arveldir standing behind him. Thranduil’s always pale skin had less colour than usual even for him, and his regal mask failed to hide his anxiety from her knowing eyes. She took a moment to smile reassurance to the warrior in her care and nodded to her assistant. ‘Once the injury is cleaned, dress it as usual. Do not stint on the caul silk; these brave hearts have gathered more for us.’

She moved away from the bed and went to greet the king with a gracious curtsey now she was free of work.

‘May I offer you the hospitality of my study, sire?’

‘For the moment. Lead on, Nestoril.’

Once in her study and the door closed, Nestoril turned to face the king; Arveldir had joined them, too, so she offered seats and took her own place behind the desk.

‘One warrior has lost a band of skin the width of my hand from thigh to ankle; he was give treatment in the field and so, while in much discomfort, he is in no danger. One has rips on both arms; another was stunned and bruised falling from a flet when a spider advanced too rapidly on her position; her wrist was broken also. Nothing is too serious and all will recover well, although the most badly injured will need to stay here for a week, perhaps.’

‘Arveldir, I will need to know their names so that I can speak to them…’

‘If I might, my king, if there is anything you need to ask them…’

‘I do not want to ask them anything, Arveldir, except to enquire if they are out of pain and to offer my thanks. Healer, your message earlier intrigued me, but I am concerned about the location of my son…’

‘But naturally you are, my king. A message was brought back with the wounded, so I understand, but as to where it might be…’

‘Possibly on its way to your office, Arveldir!’

‘I’ll go and find out at once, sire. If you will excuse me.’

Arveldir bowed and left the room as quickly as was fitting.

‘And now we are alone, Nestoril, how did you know this would happen?’

‘Prince Tharmeduil, my king. He also said that Prince Legolas had work to do but was uninjured and that you would be… displeased that the prince had not used the opportunity to come home.’

‘Displeased? And why would I not be displeased? This was meant to be a simple patrol with small chance of danger, a few individual spiders to be cleared out before they banded together and an opportunity for my son to experience some of the tedium of patrol! Instead, there appears to have been a massed offensive…’

‘One of the injured was speaking of it. She said that the spiders seemed intent on passing through; they were not interested in our warriors until they were attacked and even then still seemed only to wish to pass. I do not know the ways of the creatures, only the uses of their caul silk.’

‘Of course. I will give your healers time to work with the injured before I plague them. May I, in the interim, see my son?’

‘Certainly, my king.’ 

*

The peregrine falcon broke its flight pattern near the edge of Mirkwood to hunt. It rose high into the sky, thousands of feet above the landscape, intent on a small flock of starlings beneath. Folding its slate-grey wings, the peregrine fell into a stoop, its velocity adding power to the strike as it stretched out its feet to snatch a bird from the sky. It ate on the wing, as migrating birds will, and was over the open plain between the forest and the Misty Mountains as the daylight began to fade around a sinking sun. The bird had been heading steadily west all day, its intended route to make for the line of the mountains and then follow them south and then over to Imladris, but the bird, as with many creatures more in tune with their natural environments, sensed a disturbance and instead turned south-west. This increased the open, bare lands between it and its evening roost, but some warnings were too strong to ignore.

Had it done so, had it continued, it may well have seen, with its extraordinarily acute vision, how every creature in the land seemed to be moving away from one region of plain between the mountains and the Great River, but, intent on reaching the foothills of the mountains and a safe roost before darkness fell, the peregrine kept to its new course instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesses: Soft leather straps used by falconers for controlling their birds. Usually attached to the bird's ankles.


	20. A Long Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which King Thranduil visits his warriors

King Thranduil’s afternoon dragged on slow feet. He had visited Tharmeduil, reassured to see his son had lost the sickly pallor of the previous day and to find him dressed and seated at the small table in the room. He had listened to his son’s request – a plea, almost – to be allowed back to his personal chambers, and had listened to Nestoril lay out the advantages and the disadvantages of both.

‘We know that people fare better in their own surroundings, with their own things about them,’ she had said. ‘But what if your son is taken ill again? In the night?’

‘I won’t be taken ill again,’ Tharmeduil said. ‘Not before the night Legolas gets back, and that’s more than a week away, he’ll be delayed.’

He found himself under the intense scrutiny of two pairs of eyes as both Nestoril and his father stared at him.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘My prince, please, do not attempt to encourage yourself to more insights lest you make yourself ill again!’ Nestoril said hastily.

‘I’m not! It’s on here, look…’ Tharmeduil spread a sheet of parchment out. ‘We only looked at the first one, Nestoril, but there were other pages and I’ve been filling in the blanks. While I’ve been waiting for you to decide what to do with me.’

‘Is it wise to encourage this?’ Thranduil asked.

‘I need to, Adar,’ Tharmeduil said. ‘I have the flashes of images and I have to capture them. It only hurts if I ignore them. And when I go back over them, I understand more of what’s happening. It’s really very soothing.’

Nestoril was looking across at the parchment on the table. Reaching for her own notes, she tried to see if there was any correlation between Tharmeduil’s claims, his drawings, and her words. 

‘I see your meaning; it is worrying to see you have recorded your own attack of illness, but it does appear to be linked with Prince Legolas’ return.’ She turned to Thranduil. ‘My king, I do not think your son is in any danger for the very near future. As you wish, of course, but I see no harm in Prince Tharmeduil returning to his own rooms. I could visit twice daily to make sure all is well.’

‘Let me consider it,’ Thranduil said. ‘My son, I will let my wishes be known presently. Healer Nestoril, I would now like to visit those who returned injured this morning. Would you accompany me?’

‘As my king wishes,’ Nestoril said, with an outrageous wink at Tharmeduil behind the king’s back. ‘Lord Arveldir has a note for you here…’

He had looked over the information on the paper and committed it to memory before visiting his warriors. Celeguel, the only injured female, had a concussion and a broken wrist from her fall, but seemed cheerful, almost tearfully grateful when her king thanked her for her sacrifice of pain. Maedon was swathed from waist to ankle on one side – Eru only knew what the man had been up to when a long strand of attack-silk had ripped the skin away from his bare flesh. And Thranduil was not about to ask. Maedon was barely conscious, sedated for the pain, but Thranduil murmured his gratitude anyway, just in case the warrior could hear. 

The walking wounded were together in one pleasant room, sitting and talking and nursing their bound limbs and tired bones. But at the sight of their king, they all stood and bowed and he walked amongst them, taking time with every one and hiding the pain each wound woke in his heart. He had remembered each name, and had been startled when one, Triwathon, addressed him after he had finished and was about to give a small speech and make his escape.

‘O my king!’ Triwathon said, and Thranduil hid his astonishment, seeing nervousness and great daring in the eyes that held his. ‘You will like to know – the prince fought well. I saw him kill three times, and he maimed one of the queens so the caul could be got.’

Thranduil made himself smile in the appropriate manner.

‘You have all fought well,’ he said. ‘But it pleases me to hear my son is worthy of a place amongst such fine warriors, Triwathon. Be well swiftly.’

He nodded, holding the eyes of each rather than making his planned speech. Speeches were pompous, in any case.

‘They are all well enough to be released from my care,’ Nestoril said, once they were outside and in the main entrance of the healer hall again. ‘They do not like to be so confined.’

The healers on duty at the desk were all busy and so Nestoril took the liberty of laying her hand on the king’s arm for a fraction of a second.

‘And neither does your son, my king.’

Thranduil hid a sigh.

‘Very well. If you will attend him, he may go to his rooms. But I will not have him out of them, can you impress that upon him?’

‘Of course, my king.’ Nestoril tried, but failed, to hide her broad smile, and the king knew had made the right decision. ‘I will pass on the good news immediately.’

She contained her delight and saw King Thranduil out with all due decorum before giving a little skip of gladness which would rather have shocked any of the other healers, had they seen it, and went to pass on the glad tidings to Prince Tharmeduil.

He was seated on the bed expectantly, smiling as she knocked and entered.

‘Your father has agreed that you may return to your own chambers under appropriate supervision,’ Nestoril told him. ‘But you seem to have known this?’

Tharmeduil jumped up and laughed. ‘It was on the third page, in the middle of a spiral design that showed my father shaking hands with lots of warriors. What has the old villain been up to now?’

‘Personally thanking those from your brother’s patrol who returned injured today,’ she told him. ‘So, let’s get your untidy bones out of my nice, neat healer hall, shall we?’


	21. Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the peregrine falcon's message is delivered

Legolas and Tinuon were a shadow and a shade as they flowed through the forest. Moving from branch to limb through the upper canopy of the forest, they had been making their way to the first sentry flet on the circuit.

Every now and again, Legolas would pause and lay his hand on the silver bark of a branch, in much the same way as one might lay a hand on a friend’s arm in comfort. Tinuon noticed, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he took in the concentration in Legolas’ face, the darkening of his expression for a few moments after.

It had been a disturbing journey. Although they were high up enough in the canopy for green light to filter down, the shadows were thick and clung, and they were making their way almost directly through the wake of the spiders’ exodus. Branches were snapped and bowed, leaves were shredded and flattened, and strands of glue-silk was dangling, here and there, from the trees, or stuck against the trunks and the branches between which they had to pass.  
Most alarming was the silence. Usually the forest was alive with sound; birdsong and animal calls and the small, rustling sounds of the unseen creatures that power the engine of organic renewal. But the only bird calls heard were those he and Tinuon used to keep in touch when out of sight, or on approaching a sentry flet.

They had already visited two, and had reports from the alarmed, albeit largely uninjured sentries.

‘A great wave of the creatures, rushing down upon us,’ the sentries in the first flet in line had said. ‘We saw there were too many, and that they were holding to the canopy, so we descended to await their passage. I hope this was well done of us?’

Tinuon had clapped the archer on the shoulder. ‘Mellon-nin, they rushed over us, also, and we were hard-pressed. What would it have availed, for you to get killed and so be unable to report to us?’  
They had rested an hour and then moved on to the next outpost, arriving late in the afternoon to find three worried sentries, one of whom nursed a broken arm. The tale there was similar; suddenly overwhelmed by the mass migration of the spiders, the sentries had only had time to take cover.

‘We’re concerned about Golvon and the rest. The trees in that direction are much distressed.’

It was already late and the forest was sinking onto gloom. Tinuon set his pack down and leaned against it with a sigh. 

‘It’ll be full dark anyway by the time we get there; and we will get there, but I must just rest first…’

‘We took on the same march of spiders that passed over you here,’ Legolas said, feeling a little explanation needed for the sentries were eyeing Tinuon with less respect than was appropriate. ‘It was a hard battle, for some of us. And we have walked six hours to get here. But if one of you will lead the way, and my captain permits, I will go.’

‘We’ll both go,’ Tinuon said. ‘After we’ve eaten, we’ll both go, Legolas, and one of our friends here with us. Pephennas, you’ll do! And we’ll see who is freshest when we get there!’

Almost midnight and they were finally within hail of the flet. Tinuon’s first owl call went unanswered, and their alarm was growing, when a second call did receive a faint response.  
They hastened across to the tree supporting the flet . Tinuon led the way.

‘Legolas, hurry!’

Legolas arrived on the flet already unfolding the caul. He tried not to gasp in shock as he saw Tinuon raising the head of an elf. He looked unconscious and in the darkness his skin was far too white. The others on the flet looked in little better condition, and he hastened to help Tinuon.

‘Caul won’t help here; he’s had a sting. All we can do is keep him warm and make sure he drinks plenty; it’ll wear off.

‘Govon! What happened?’ Pephennas asked, kneeling at the side of one of the elves who had been trying to sit up and greet them.

‘Queen’s guard…’ Govon managed. ‘No halting them; just stung us…’ He reached out a hand. ‘Pass the word round…’

Tinuon left Legolas with the unconscious elf and came over.

‘Word’s been passed, Govon,’ he said. ‘Everyone’s fine. Drink something and then get some rest. We’ll stay here with you.’ He glanced around the flet. ‘Well, some of us will. Pephennas, you head back to your post. I’ll send a message with you and one of the others can take word back to Bregon that these three need an escort back to the palace.’ He nodded to Legolas. ‘We’ll be here for the night. The hunting poison wears off quite quickly, but these spiders were moving and protecting their queens. They use something more powerful for that. It takes a while to recover from. Get yourself comfortable.’

First light, Tinuon was up and leaning over the edge of the flet. ‘I need to go on. There’s another four outposts north of us and they could be in a worse state. I can’t leave these three alone and unable to defend themselves, but…’  
‘It’s fine, Captain,’ Legolas said. ‘I’ll stay until someone comes.’

‘Assuming Pephennas passes on the word, you should have company by mid-afternoon. You’ve supplies for five days in the store under the flet and Govon should be able to tell you where the water supplies are if you run out.’

 

Elrond scanned the lengthy formal missive in front of him. Elegantly scripted, with all appropriate flourishes and curlicues, it was a nightmare of a document and would probably give those reading it headaches for at least a week. 

Not that he wished such a fate on Arveldir, the advisor to the King of the Woodland Realm, who in all dealings with Elrond and his own advisor had seemed a fair and conscientious person, but he wouldn’t have minded in the slightest if the king himself had a groan and a grimace at the letter.

Arwen’s obvious delight in being sought by Iauron of Mirkwood had swayed him. He was certain the prince would be a very poor son-in-law, that King Thranduil would hate it, and even doubted the wisdom of encouraging such a farce himself. But if Arwen really wanted this hopelessly unsuitable suitor, well, Elrond had better look as if he was supporting her so that, when Iauron let her down, as he undoubtedly would, she would be able to turn to her father for comfort, rather than blaming him.

And so he had asked Erestor to draft out the formal document suggesting a meeting of the key persons involved to discuss the matter. The difficulty, however, was that he had no wish to travel through Mirkwood and he was fairly certain Thranduil would not appreciate hiking through the crisp air of the mountain passes. Instead, he was suggesting a compromise; that they hold the meeting part way between their two realms, on the broad flood plains either side of Anduin the Great.

The slight matter of the confusion of identities was not covered in the document; instead, Elrond had written a short, but pithy letter expressing his regret that Gaelbainil was not interested in Iauron, as she was enamoured of Belegornor, but his daughter Arwen might be persuaded to meet with the prince as it appeared they had already met. Tempted though he had been to lay the sarcasm on with a trowel, he knew it would be wasted on the king, and while the advisor would understand the meaning, it was not, after all, Arveldir’s fault.

Well, the formal document looked fine. He signed with a flourish and was about to seal the letter, also, prior to seeking his lunch when there was a gentle tap at the door.

Elrond could not abide gentle tapping. You either knocked or you didn’t. A gentle tap suggested timidity, lack of confidence, and Elrond wanted all his household to be confident around him.

‘Yes, come in!’ he called out. ‘What is it?’

A woman dressed in the pale green robes of his healer’s rooms came in. She had an anxious expression, no doubt made worse by his abruptness. He settled his temper, inclined his head, and tried to smile.

‘Healer Feril, can I help you with something? I will be visiting the healing house later today.’

‘Your pardon, Lord Elrond. It was thought that this matter should not wait.’

He raised an eyebrow in what he hoped was a friendly, enquiring way and Feril passed him a carefully folded, rather small piece of parchment. His eyebrow arced still higher.  
‘Since it is addressed to me, I have read it, and in it, my friend Nestoril begs me to place the matter before you as one of some urgency, my lord.’

‘This came by hawk? And from Mirkwood?’

Feril nodded. ‘A peregrine falcon. It arrived not twenty minutes since and our falconer says the bird needs to be rested before it can return, but that he has a falcon that knows the way and could be sent within the hour, if required.’  
Elrond unfolded the parchment with swift fingers and scanned it, his face becoming more serious as he read the message. King Thranduil’s second son! How was it he could go years without contact from the Woodland Realm and then two messages arrive within days of each other?

‘Have you any experience of this… condition, Feril?’ 

‘No, Lord Elrond, I never have. Other than hearing about the prince’s mother, that is.’

‘Nor I. We were not consulted at the time. So I shall need to go to my books and see what might be discovered. Most gifts of foresight are not accompanied with such negative symptoms.’

‘May I help, my lord?’

‘If you wish and your duties permit, yes, I am sure you would be a help to me. Shall we head to the library?’

He came out from his desk and held the door for her, asking the attendant outside to bring lunch for two to the library. 

It was going to be a long afternoon.


	22. Of Replies and Responsibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Iauron is in trouble. Again.

Thranduil sat in state in his throne room. His legs were elegantly crossed, the robes of office he wore falling away to reveal the smooth suede of his leggings, the elaborate leatherwork of his boots. His formal crown was in place and he was waiting.

He held audience one morning a week, permitting anyone who wished to approach and speak to him on whatever topic was troubling them. He prided himself on his availability, and saw the lack of attendance at these things as a sign that his people were more-or-less happy with the way he was running things; it never occurred to him for a moment that Arveldir might be subtly intercepting some of these would-be supplicants, and if he had known, he would have been quite put-out about it.

He looked hopefully up when he heard the large double doors opening, but subsided again when he saw who was approaching; Arveldir.

‘Lord Arveldir, good morning. Are you here for audience?’ he said lightly, jokingly, for Arveldir had access to him at all times anyway.

‘My king, there has been a communication received this morning which ought not wait. 

‘Very well.’ Thranduil waved him forward and Arveldir came to stand on the dais near the throne.

‘A messenger hawk sent to the healers at Imladris three mornings ago has returned.’ Arveldir unfolded one of the documents in his hands. ‘And contained inside the…’

‘Imladris?’ Thranduil said sharply. ‘I was not aware that we have consulted Imladris for anything in recent years?’

‘Be that as it may, my king, the healers are dealing with the matter now. Within the missive was a smaller note addressed to you under cipher.’ Arveldir stepped forward with the small, folded piece of parchment. ‘But, perhaps I ought to remind my king that it was only a few days ago that you were talking of contacting Imladris to solicit the interest of the family of a lady with whom Prince Iauron… and I…’

Thranduil did not appear to be listening. Instead he was frowning at the parchment. Suddenly he lifted his eyes and fixed Arveldir with a terrifying stare.

‘Apparently we have written to Imladris. And this is a response to that letter. And I very much fear you have been imposed upon, Arveldir. I spoke of a delegation to Imladris, a formal approach. With banners and outriders and… and bugles. I would never suggest a letter. To Imladris!’

Arveldir’s jaw dropped.

‘But, my King! When Prince Iauron came to me with the draft letter, I was certain he said you had asked him to bring it to me and… oh.’

Thranduil turned his attention back to the letter simply to distract himself. And burst out laughing.

Arveldir looked up in shock; he could not remember the last time such a sound had been heard in the palace throne room, but the king was transformed with mirth. Presently he subsided and wiped his eyes.

‘Tell me, Arveldir, do you remember the name given to her seducer by the Laketown woman Iauron was dallying with?’

‘Indeed, my king, you found it quite amusing, I believe. Iauron presented himself to her under the identity of one Belegornor…’ 

‘As I thought, Arveldir. Oh, but this is most entertaining! Will you please do me the favour of bringing Prince Iauron here? Immediately? And then enquire, of Healer Nestoril, if she has learned anything of import from her communication, but please do so in all sincerity since I doubt she realised I would have preferred her not to contact Imladris for advice.’

 

Healer Nestoril had been visiting with Tharmeduil when word came that the bird had returned. Well, they referred to it as a visit, but really it was one of her twice-daily attendances on him to monitor his health. This, done under the guise of sharing breakfast, and taking supper, had become very pleasant ways of spending an hour or so and Nestoril had been pleased that Tharmeduil’s condition appeared to have stabilised, at least for the moment. Tharmeduil was continuing the practice of drawing out his dreams and adding notes to them, and this seemed to have prevented any day-time intrusion of the headache-induced visions which had been so worrying.

The knock on the door had come just as they were talking through a minor detail on one of Tharmeduil’s more recent drawings.

‘No, I know my brother and that is he!’ Tharmeduil was protesting. ‘It is Legolas, and he is cuddling an elf! In public!’

‘But I do not doubt it is Legolas! My argument is with the word ‘cuddling’. You see, I think he is trying to give water to the elf in his arms…’

‘He looks like he wants to give him something, I agree, but look at how he’s gazing into those eyes…’

‘Tharmeduil, you are a rogue!’ she protested, laughing, and rose to answer the door where the knock had sounded again. ‘That is how a healer looks to see if a person is properly awake! Healer Maereth! I am needed?’

‘Yes, Healer Nestoril. The falconer sends to say the bird is back.’

‘But it is only the fourth day! That was remarkably swift!’ She turned back to Tharmeduil . ‘I will see you this evening, my prince. Do not overtire yourself.’

 

‘Iauron. Do approach; I feel no need to strain my voice. Arveldir, that will be all.’

‘Are you sure, my king? I wonder if I…’

‘Arveldir, I thought you had a message to the healer hall to deliver?’

‘It is done, my king.’

‘Thank you. Please go away. Do not go far, but go.’

Arveldir bowed, leaving with regret. He’d been looking forward to this encounter.

‘Good morning, father,’ Iauron wondered what he’d done now. Or what he hadn’t done. Or…

His father was hiding his mouth behind two or three elegant fingers. If Iauron hadn’t known better, he could have thought that Thranduil was hiding a smile.

‘I have had an unexpected communication from Imladris,’ Thranduil began, noting Iauron’s gulp and air of confusion. ‘It was a surprise, to say the least. I have only just begun to make preparations for the deputation when, by messenger hawk, I received the following note. Ah, my son, I do believe you must prepare for disappointment.’

‘D… disappointment, Adar?’

Thranduil nodded, his eyes kind and his mouth firmly under control. ‘Indeed. For your lady of choice, so I learn, goes by the name of Gaelbainil, and she is enamoured of another.’

‘What? I mean… that is…’

‘However, I understand that the Lady Arwen, the daughter of Lord Elrond himself, no less, is interested in meeting with you. That is, she seems to already have met you.’ Thranduil tipped his head to the side the better to survey the range of emotions passing across Iauron’s face more swiftly than shadows across the forest. ‘So, my son. Your thoughts?’

‘Um… that is… I…’ Iauron steadied himself. ‘I thought it would be… helpful if I started taking over some responsibility and so I… IdraftedoutalettertoImladrisandit*may*have accidentallygot sentoffbymistake…’ He paused, gulping for air. ‘Sorry.’

Thranduil was moved to get up and turn his back while he tried to force his mouth to stop smirking. He shook his head.

‘Adar, I’m sorry, really, I… But, look, if Arwen wants to look me over… it’d be good for us, wouldn’t it?’

‘Well, let me consider…’ Thranduil put his clenched fists on his hips, turning back with a swagger to look at his oldest son. ‘A meeting with Imladris is perhaps long overdue. Besides, it could be that the passage of time will have diminished your interest in the lady Gaelbainil and you may even find you can approve her choice. His name is Belegornor.’

‘B…Belegornor?’

‘Does the name not sound familiar to you, my son?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to an accidental posting of a first draft of chapter 20, there *may* be some confusion, not helped by the fact that I then posted the redraft twice. What can I say? Sometimes I am less competent than I like to pretend.
> 
> Please accept my apologies and do let me know if the work still seems confusing.


	23. The Old Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Healer Nestoril looks to the old ways for inspiration

Nestoril waited until she was in her study and seated behind her desk before unfolding the message with shaking fingers; she could not bear to have anyone see her reaction, just in case it was bad news. She would need privacy, and a little time, if so, to consider how to break the news.

The reply had been written in Feril’s neat hand in such tiny script that Nestoril needed to hold it close to her nose to read.

‘My dear Nestoril. I have laid this matter before my lore master. He has little help to give, without seeing the sufferer, although he tells me he is prepared to make at least half the journey.’

Nestoril’s eyes widened at that. Although…

Yes. She did seem to remember Tharmeduil, on page nine of his rapidly-expanding collection, drawn what appeared to be a large encampment spread out on both sides of a river. He had even added tiny banners, fluttering in the breeze.

‘Meanwhile, Lord Elrond suggests following the methods used amongst the Noldor for those whose foresight is awakening: Do not let him push at his visions, as that will strain him. Do not make him hide what he sees, for the holding in of it may damage him…’

Now Nestoril frowned. Could that be part of what had happened with Tharmeduil’s mother? Had not she said, when finally it was known, that she had suppressed her visions, for fear of being thought fey?

Thranduil’s consort had been a gentle, humour-filled lady. She had adored her children, but loved her king-consort too much, she had said, to marry him, for she had more of a sylvan wildness about her than she had Sindar graces, and did not think herself a fitting spouse for King Thranduil.

Nestoril had liked the lady for herself, but more for how she had loved her lord and her children. She it was who had pulled him back from the darkness following his father’s death. And when she, in turn, had died, it had almost broken Thranduil to lose her.

And now the king was facing the possibility of losing his son as well.

‘One thing my lord suggests,’ Feril’s script continued. ‘Look to the sylvan heritage of his blood; it’s possible this is no sickness but magic, old magic, and that is where his cure – or ease – may be found.’

There came a break in the message, and Nestoril knew the remainder of the message was from Feril herself.

‘And so I would say: Look to the old ways. You know what they are and where to find them, even if the king would claim they are no more than a fancy, a tradition of the long-gone past. For although King Thranduil would deny them, you may find that they have not denied him.’

Nestoril folded the letter and got to her feet. The king must, of course, be informed of the information the missive had brought. But since it contained no immediate fear or hope, she decided to write a short note for Lord Arveldir; she really wanted to act on Feril’s suggestion straight away.

But as she was rising from her desk to leave, there came a knock at the door and Arveldir himself entered the room.

‘Forgive the intrusion – you appear to be going somewhere, Healer?’

‘Indeed so; I have heard from my friend and was about to research a suggestion she has made.’ Nestoril smiled and handed over the note. ‘I was going to leave this for you at the desk; our king will wish to know the news and, although there is little at this point, the gist of the matter is all here and I would be glad to speak to him further, should he wish it.’

‘My thanks, Nestoril.’ Arveldir inclined his head. ‘I’ll leave you to your work.’ 

 

Once Arveldir had left, Nestoril collect the short bow she favoured and a quiver of arrows from the trunk in her sleeping room. Even though she would be staying close to the palace complex, one could not be too careful.

Leaving the closely-watched palace perimeter, she smiled at the respectful greeting of the guards as she passed. They were used to the healers going out beyond the perimeter from time to time, seeking plants for their remedies.

But Nestoril wasn’t out collecting herbs today.

There was a faint track which led behind the palace complex into the forest to the east. It wound and fell and rose and finally ended at a natural arch made of holly, silver-barked and glossy leaved.

Nestoril bowed her head in reverence and paused for a moment before passing between the trees into a wide, open glade, ringed with more holly standing silver sentinel, the trees of the forest beyond arcing up in a bright canopy.

Her eyes adjusting to the emerald light, she inhaled deeply of the sweet, moist air. It was always so here, this strange, emerald twilight, always warm and deep and always serene and sad.

This was the grove of the fëar trees of the House of Thranduil, and some said it was as ancient as the sylvan forest itself, only its inhabitants changing, year on shifting year.

Her eye was drawn first to a huge and stately grey willow. In spring, the tips of its branches were covered with the little fuzzy grey cats’ paws of nascent buds, but despite that, it felt, she thought, rather sad. According to tradition, this tree had been here longest, for thousands of years. 

The willow didn’t look that old, but that was the way of it with fëar trees. Once associated with the fëa of a person, the tree took on some aspects of the nature of the fëa. So this grey willow was as old and as rigid as King Thranduil himself.

The youngest tree in the grove was a rowan with bright, light foliage and a lithe and slender trunk. It was flanked by a silver birch with a little more age beside which an over-vigorous cherry tree looked about to burst into fruit at any moment, even though it wasn’t the right time of year yet. Iauron’ s tree, that one, Legolas the rowan – in autumn smothered with bright gold berries rather than the usual red – and Tharmeduil reflected in the silver birch.

There was one other tree in the grove, another silver birch standing on the far side of the glade. It looked dry. Desiccated – not dead, as such, but held in stasis at the point where it had stopped growing, at the point where the fëa connected to it had left. Nestoril went to it to try, as she had so often in the past, to read its story. She laid a hand on the rough bark, took a step back and walked all around the tree. She stood back and took in the overall shape and structure, the balances and imbalances, and finally, she sat down with her back to the still-living birch and looked across at Tharmeduil’s tree opposite.

It took a few moments for her to truly settle and relax and allow her mind to rest to the point where she could let her thoughts meander and mingle with the energies of the grove. The legends said that with enough skill and time, it was possible to read the whole history of a person from their fëa tree. All the inner hopes and fears one might try to keep hidden would become apparent, in time, in the tree, and while an illness might not show externally on a person, might it not, perhaps, show in their fëa tree?

The birch at her back had been connected to the fëa of Thranduil’s consort, the mother of the princes. As Nestoril drew on her impressions, she thought about how the birch was attenuated and spindly on one side, reaching too high and fast to the sky. The other side of the tree was blighted, broken, as if the tree had suffered repeated lighting strikes; it hadn’t, of course. It was simply that, whatever had caused such strange devastation to the tree, it was but a reflection of what had happened to its fëa. 

She had never properly considered, before now, the possibility that the deformities of the tree might be a reflection of Thranduil’s dead consort’s visions. But now, as she pondered and mused, it began to make sense. Try to hide the visions and disregard them, and the result is a stunting and a repression. Try to force visions to come after previously rejecting them and they proliferate too wildly…

Rising to her feet, Nestoril crossed the glade to the younger silver birch, looking it over, examining it, stroking the bark, turning over the leaves to look at their backs. She walked away to fix the tree’s proportions in her mind, glad to see it strong and healthy and growing well.

Moved by an impulse, a whim, she put her arms around the trunk of the silver birch and gave it a gentle hug.

‘Don’t fear, Tharmeduil,’ she whispered to the bark. ‘I have you. I’ll keep you safe.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fea(r): The soul(s) or spirit(s)


	24. Of Homecomings and Healers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas returns and Tharmeduil sees something...

It was with something very much like relief in his heart that Legolas walked the last few hundred yards of the path that brought them, finally, out within sight of the Great Gates of the palace. He smiled broadly, especially as a rough, dissonant cheer went up from the three elves travelling with him.

‘Not long now!’ he said, turning to face them. ‘Good food, soft beds! Well-deserved, all of you!’

‘All of us,’ Govon said. ‘Don’t forget to count yourself amongst us!’

Legolas clasped Govon briefly on the shoulder for a moment. He truly did feel, after eight days spent on one flet or another, and three more hiking home through Mirkwood, that he was one of them; it was a good feeling, to believe he deserved their respect. He had worked for it, he supposed, caring for Govan and his two companions while they were spider-sick, carefully raising their heads and giving them water, checking their eyes for signs of wakefulness when the sickness was at its heaviest. For instead of the three being on the way to recovery as Tinuon had so confidently assumed when he left Legolas in charge, they grew sicker throughout the day, and the promised relief did not arrive until late evening and had begged Legolas not to leave him alone with the three sick warriors.

And so he had stayed and tended to them until finally a relief guard had been sent, bringing with them instructions for Legolas to escort the warriors home as soon as they were fit to travel.

And, finally, they were home.

‘So, what say we take a breath, cast off our weariness, straighten our backs and march home like the proud warriors we are?’

This was said with a challenging grin and a lift of the brow, and they laughed, and all stood taller, and they fell into line, marching beside Legolas with dignity and pride towards the gates.

The guards outside opened the gates and sprang to attention as they saw the little band approach. Heads high, they marched through, managing to keep their bearing even after the gates had fastened behind them.

‘Home in time for supper, what did I tell you? Follow me.’

Halfway down the main corridor and near the branch that led to the healer halls, Legolas heard himself hailed.

‘My prince? Prince Legolas?’

‘Lord Arveldir, greetings. His majesty the king will want to know we’re back. Is Commander Bregon returned yet?’

‘Indeed, my prince, two days since, and…’

‘Good. I need to attend my warriors to the healer hall and then report to my commander…’

‘But, my prince, King Thranduil wishes to see you at once!’

Legolas smiled. ‘Tell my father I’m fine and that I’ll come to him once I’ve got my warriors settled. He’ll understand.’ He turned to the warriors behind him. ‘Come; let’s go annoy Nestoril and her healers.’

 

But it wasn’t Nestoril who came forward to greet them at the healer hall, but an assistant.

‘I am Healer Gaelbes. What has happened? Oh!’ She finished with a gasp. ‘Is it you, Prince Legolas? I hardly knew you!’

‘Such is the effect eleven days in Mirkwood will have on a person!’ Legolas smiled. ‘No, Healer. It is my friends who have been ill; I want you to make sure they’ve taken no lasting harm, if you will. All were victims of spider stings; not just the common spiders, but the guard spiders that protect the queens…’

‘Oh? How long since?’

‘Eleven days since the attack; I was with them the next day. Govon was worst injured; if I may leave my friends with you now, I need to report to the barracks.’  
*  
Tharmeduil pushed his plate away, the food untouched. Healer Nestoril, joining him as was her custom for the evening meal, looked up from her own supper.

‘Are you not hungry, Tharmeduil?’ she asked.

For more than a week now they had been breaking fast and taking supper together, turning Nestoril’s professional visits into social events and she had learned to phrase her questions with care so that Tharmeduil did not accidentally interpret them as requests for him to use his visionary insights. With every shared meal, however, she grew increasingly aware that Tharmeduil had predicted another attack of illness for himself around the time of his younger brother’s return, and Legolas was expected home at any day now.

‘Oh, I’m hungry!’ Tharmeduil said, trying for a smile that turned into a grimace. ‘But I know I’m going to be ill soon, and I’ll just sick it up again all over the floor.’

‘Well.’ Nestoril set her cutlery together on her plate and went to help him up from the table. ‘We had better get to the healer hall, then, so that we can properly care for you.’

‘No, I have the attack here,’ he said, pressing the palm of one hand to his left eye and gasped. ‘Now, in fact.’

‘Oh, dear! Come, then!’

Quickly she put her arm under his and helped him through to his sleeping room.

‘Nestoril… it’s all going black…’

‘The bed is here. Lie down, on your side.’ She helped him settle, patting his hand. ‘There. I’m here, I’ll stay with you.’

‘…black and red… it’s the first thing I ever saw, and it’s back again…’

Nestoril put one hand on his shoulder to steady him, the other on his forehead. Expecting him to be burning up, she was surprised when his skin was cool, clammy almost.  
‘You have to believe me!’ Tharmeduil cried, his voice urgent.

‘Of course I believe you, so many things as you have said which have come to be, Tharmeduil. Black and red, as with your first…’

‘The earth is opening! The earth is opening, and in the red and black and the orange, they are released. They are released, and they are filled with the old, old hungers…’

‘Tharmeduil, what is it? Who are released?’

Tharmeduil opened his eyes to look at her and she almost flinched at the sight. His gentle light-blue eyes had filled with red, blood trapped between the protective nictitating membrane and the surface of the eyes. As she looked in pity and horror, a mixture of blood and lachrymal fluids began to overflow, running in multiple rivulets down his face.

‘They will come. They will break free and they will come…’ he whispered. ‘And they are famished.’

‘What are, Tharmeduil? Please, tell me? Who will come?’

He turned his blood-filled eyes to her.

‘Dragons,’ he said.


	25. Welcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil waits to greet his son

‘What is it now, Arveldir?’

‘My king, Prince Legolas has returned and he sends to say he is well, but must see some injured comrades to the healer hall before he can attend you.’

‘Very well. I grow tired with the throne room; let him attend me in my library once he is done playing the captain.’

Only one who knew King Thranduil well would have recognised the expression that flitted behind his eyes as one of relief. Arveldir saw it and kept his smile to himself.

‘Of course, my king. I will see to it that he is informed.’

He made his way from the throne room and headed towards the barracks to intercept Legolas, and now he was alone, he permitted himself the smile. In the throne room there were always guards at the doors and the edges of the hall, vast though it was, and whatever Thranduil said there was as a king spoke. In his library, or his study, or his private chambers, he could be the father and not just the king.

Legolas was just crossing the practice ground as Arveldir left the main palace building and waved a hand in greeting as his father’s advisor bowed in his direction.

‘I’m ready for my bath now, Lord Arveldir, but I suppose I mustn’t keep the king waiting?’

Arveldir smiled. ‘Indeed, your father wants you in his library as soon as you are done with your duties.’

‘Well, if he’s that eager, he can have me, and my body odour, in five minutes! How have things been, Arveldir? Is there anything I should be aware of?’

Arveldir shook his head. ‘I do not believe so, my prince. Your brothers are both well, although Prince Tharmeduil has kept to his rooms of late. There has been of general note. I am sure your father will apprise you of anything else of relevance.’

‘Discreet as ever, Lord Arveldir. Thank you for seeking me.’

Legolas smiled and turned away to head towards his father’s private rooms. He didn’t really feel like smiling now; tiredness was beginning to catch up with him. An hour, that’s all he wanted. An hour – half of an hour – to wash and change and wash his hair. He felt as if he’d brought half the forest home in his head, and itched as much as if he’d brought some of the smaller wildlife with him, too! 

And he was famished. True, he and his little band had no lack, but while waybread and water kept you on your feet remarkably well, they did not comfort the heart in quite the same way as wine and meat.

Well, an order was an order. He could wash and eat and sleep later.

He tapped at the door to the library and heard his father calling him in.

Thranduil was standing near the window looking out when he heard the knock at the door and summoned his visitor inside. He hoped it wasn’t Arveldir with news that he couldn’t find his son, he hoped it was his son himself.

And it was.

‘You wanted me, Father?’

‘Indeed.’ Thranduil turned to look at him, trying not to be obvious, to keep his raking eyes impassive as they ran over his son, making sure he was not injured, checking he was safe. He sniffed suddenly. ‘What have you been doing? You smell like a spider died on you!’

‘More than one, actually,’ Legolas said lightly. ‘Oh and some of the warriors vomited on me, but not deliberately and not recently.’

‘Some of the warriors did what…?’

Legolas grinned. ‘They were spider-sick, father.’

‘Come, sit down.’ Thranduil’s mouth twitched. ‘That is, as long as you are dry enough not to wipe dead spider or old vomit on my chairs.’

Legolas threw himself into a seat near the window with relief. ‘It’s been a long walk home.’

‘Tell me all. I have time.’ Thranduil found a decanter of golden wine and poured for them both. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘Lembas, on the road. It’s fine, father, the wine is good.’ Legolas took a sip. ‘It’s very good.’

‘So, my son, when you left I thought you would have a quiet tour of duty; a minor incursion of spiders to control and then time to familiarise yourself with that region of the forest. I thought you would have time to reflect on the tedium our warriors often have to endure. Instead I find you are thrust into heroics of one sort or another…?’

‘Ha, yes. It was certainly not tedious! You will have heard that our first camp was overrun with spiders which seemed to be migrating in haste. My commander sent me to the northwards flets to see if all was well there; we found some warriors were sick and as I had least experience of the routes to the flets, I was deemed the best person to stay and tend them.’ He drank deeply of the golden wine, breathing in its fumes. ‘Once they were well enough to travel, again it was thought I was best to guard them as we came home; I did not take over leadership, Adar, you made it plain I lacked experience and you were right; I doubt I would have made the best decisions under the circumstances…’  
Thranduil shook his head and reached across to top up Legolas’ glass.

‘It was not my intention to imply I felt you had disobeyed me; I must confess to a certain amount of concern when the injured returned and you were not with them… I would have expected your commander to send you back then…’

‘He would have, if I’d agreed.’ Legolas flashed a smile. ‘But, indeed, I would have felt a disappointment to you, had I done so. As it is, I feel I have done work of value.’

‘You have, Legolas.’ Thranduil raised his glass to his son. ‘But I am glad you are home, nonetheless.’

‘How is my brother? Both of them, that is, but when I left, Tharmeduil was with the healers?’

‘Iauron has been his usual delightful, entertaining self…’

‘Ah.’

‘Quite. Tharmeduil… Healer Nestoril attends him twice daily; he has not been ill since that first attack and we hope he has stabilised. I fear he is beginning to get bored with being confined to his rooms, but now you are returned, you might perhaps spend time with him?’

‘I’d be glad to. I’m glad to hear he’s been all right.’

‘You could begin this evening, if you are not too tired once you have bathed and eaten.’ Thranduil permitted himself to smile. ‘From which I have kept you long enough. Welcome home, my son.’


	26. Unclear Insight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas pays his brother a visit

Tharmeduil didn’t feel all right; he felt dreadful. His eyes were filled with black and red and his head felt as if there was an axe buried in his skull.

And the images marching behind his eyes were relentless. Implacable. Terrible.

He clenched his body tight, curling up and cringing away from the pain, but it followed him. From somewhere far away, he heard a wail.

A voice hushed and a cool hand rested on his forehead.

‘Be still, Tharmeduil. It will pass, I promise you.’ The voice was familiar and gently reassuring. ‘Come. We know it helps for you to talk through your visions. Talk to me, and I will write them down for you. Whatever you wish to say, I will note it.’

‘There is so much pain,’ he whispered, surprised to learn that when he spoke, the wailing ceased. ‘It… ah, it burns! They are burning!’

Was this vision, or symptom? Nestoril didn’t know, but she wrote down Tharmeduil’s words.

‘They burn and he weeps. So much lost hope. So many partings. Grey wood and silver sails on blue between blue… why does he weep, when he saved us all? Does he not see how he saved us? Ah, but he can’t save him, he has to save himself…’

Tharmeduil broke off as an intense surge of grief swamped him.

‘I see, but I cannot speak. I hear, but I cannot tell. I know, oh how I know but I cannot share my knowledge. I cannot tell him what to do. I cannot help. My hands do not obey me. My feet only obey another. I am not able. I cannot… I cannot…’

‘We will take care of you, Tharmeduil. If you need to be led, we will lead you safely to where you need to be for your well-being…’

‘We ought not go. If we do not go, then we will not burn. But then we will not stop them, and if they are not stopped, they will rage through Middle Earth. And it is too late to stop the others from going, and if we are not there, they will burn in our place and much more will be lost. We cannot let it be lost. We have to go. But tell them to bring the healers… oh. But they each have one, so that is good…’

This made no sense! This was mere ravings… Except by now Nestoril understood this was just the start of the process and that over the next few days after his attack faded, Tharmeduil would refine and redefine his visions, bringing some kind of order to them. Indeed, they had even been playing a sort of game, checking off his predictions against actual events.

‘Sometimes… sometimes he forgets he isn’t him. Our adar is not his adar. He can’t see. He can’t see. He may not again, ever. The willow has a bandage on it, will it help? Who can know? No need to bring us back, but you can’t go straight away, he won’t let you, though you should…’

His voice was rising, impassioned, and Nestoril sought to calm him.

‘Tharmeduil, how is your pain now? Not your visionary pain, but the actual discomfort in your head?’

‘My head is clearing. My head is clearing. It is not wrong to bring us home and leave again, but it wastes time. He cannot see that. He is in too much pain… Too much…’

Tharmedil gasped and his body spasmed. Trying to support him, hold him still, Nestoril was peripherally aware of a knocking at the outer door. It sounded loud, as if it had been going on for a while, and indeed, it could have been.

‘Oh, please!’ she called loudly. ‘A help here! Come in, quickly!’

The door opened and she heard Legolas calling out.

‘Where are you? What’s wrong?’

‘Through here, my prince!’

Legolas hurried through just as Tharmeduil cried out and rolled towards the edge of the bed. Legolas reached him just in time to slide onto his knees and catch his brother’s shoulders, preventing him from falling while Nestoril tried to pull him back. He saw the relief in her eyes but had not time to say anything because Tharmeduil pushed forward again, retching, his head buried in Legolas’ chest.

Legolas lifted his eyes heavenswards, but without complaint, just moved forwards and supported Tharmeduil’s head, holding his hair back.

Nestoril handed him a damp cloth and he slid it into place on Tharmeduil’s forehead until, finally, the fit of vomiting passed and Tharmeduil tried to move, reaching for the cloth to wipe his face with as he tried to get back onto the bed.

‘Legolas… How long have you been back?’ he asked. 

Behind Tharmeduil, Legolas saw Nestoril’s eyes close and open in relief.

‘Long enough to take my friends to the healer hall, report to my commander, listen to father practice his stern voice…’ Legolas grinned. ‘Oh, and to eat, bathe and put nice clean clothes on!’

‘Ah, I’m sorry! I…’

‘Do not worry,’ Legolas said lightly. ‘It’s not the first time in the last week or so, in truth. Just the first time for these garments.’

‘It could have been worse,’ Nestoril said. ‘Your brother declined his supper, fearing this might happen.’

‘Ha! My thanks, then, Tharmeduil! May I use your bathing room?’

‘And my clothes, if it helps.’

‘I think I might do so. Thank you.’

While Legolas was washing and donning borrowed clothes, Nestoril helped Tharmeduil get comfortable. Thanks to Legolas’ sacrificial lap, and quick thinking, Tharmeduil’s hair had escaped, and a fresh damp cloth soon had him feeling better.

‘How is the pain now?’

‘Fading, at last. Not so bad. But it was worse, this one. More intense. Did I say much?’

‘We can go through it later.’ Nestoril got to her feet. ‘I think you’d be better in the healer hall tonight…’

‘But if I do that, it will bring the headache back on. I know you wouldn’t wish it on me. Would you?’

The healer raised an eyebrow appraisingly. ‘Now, how do I know whether this is something you’ve seen or something you think could happen? I have many more facilities available to me at the healer hall…’

‘But I’m more comfortable with my own things about me. Nestoril…!’

She sighed. ‘But I have to get back to my other duties and if you were there I could attend you, too. There are your insights to record, and I would want you to take a draught, at least…’

‘Legolas will stay with me… would stay with me,’ Tharmeduil suggested as his brother came back in in not-quite-fitting clothes. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

Legolas took a deep breath and pushed away thoughts of his own bed for the first time in almost two weeks.

‘Of course I would,’ he said.

Nestoril held his gaze, smiling gratitude and understanding.

‘Well, I will go to my healer hall and bespeak such things as are needed here. I’ll take a few moments with my duty assistants and then return. Tharmeduil, if you wish to freshen up, I’m sure your brother will help if you need it.’


	27. Interruptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil is mistaken in thinking his day is done.

Just as Thranduil was about to rise from seat in the study and seek the dining hall, there came a familiar knock at his door.

‘What is it now, Arveldir?’ he asked, trying not to sound as annoyed as he felt. There had been too many matters to deal with today already; a formal letter in response to the formal response from Rivendell suggesting a date for the two deputations to meet on the plain of the Great River. Preparations to be made for a scouting party to explore towards the preferred location for the meeting to ensure the route would be easy to traverse and comparatively safe. His youngest son to welcome home, although that had not been a matter to deal with so much as a welcome end to the day’s duty.

Or he had hoped it to be the end of the day’s duty.

Arveldir’s face, when he entered, was worried.

‘My king, I have Healer Nestoril outside…’

Thranduil’s sense of grievance vanished.

‘Nestoril, please, come in. Arveldir, thank you. I will not be dining in the Great Hall tonight after all, let it be known not to wait the serving.’

He gestured to her a seat and waited anxiously while she composed herself.

‘My king, your son has had another attack. He is already recovering from it, so please, do not alarm yourself unduly…’

‘Tell me?’

‘It came on, perhaps fortuitously, while I was with him for my evening visit, and so I was able to attend him through it. Also, Prince Legolas arrived and helped, indeed, he is sitting with Prince Tharmeduil now so that I may speak to you. It was a relatively short attack, during which he spoke of several disturbing images. He has taken a restorative and is resting quietly now.’

She paused to allow the king time to assimilate this. No; not the king. Tharmeduil’s father, for although she had feared Thranduil would retreat behind his regal mask, he hadn’t yet done so and the worry was plain to read in his eyes.

‘I see. I take it he has suffered no lingering effects?’

Nestoril tried to disguise her sigh.

‘It is a little early to say. But, generally, he has recovered well…’

‘Healer? What more is there of news?’

‘There is a slight numbness to his left hand; a very minor thing, affecting just the last two digits and it is entirely likely that…’

Thranduil stopped listening. He remembered his consort, how she had taken attack after attack, her body becoming more crippled and damaged after each occasion. He remembered how her willowy form had twisted and failed and stopped feeling…

‘My king!’

Nestoril’s sharper-than-usual tone brought him back.

‘Forgive me, Healer. I was… remembering his mother.’

‘My king, we knew less, then. And your son is only very slightly affected; it may well pass. It is but that I would be failing in my duty if I did not keep you apprised of matters…’

‘Will you take him to the healer hall, now?’

‘He does not wish it. I would prefer to have him under my eye, but he claims his headache will return if he moves to my halls.’ She gave a slight smile. ‘I fear he is using his condition as leverage so that I will permit him his rooms.’

‘I could, perhaps, persuade him?’

Nestoril shook her head. ‘Prince Legolas has offered to stay with him tonight.’

‘Offered? He is just back from a seven day tour of duty which became twelve…’

‘Agreed, then.’ Nestoril’s mouth curved in a larger smile. ‘He is really a very good brother.’

‘Yes, I must confess that I find that I need to apologise for his behaviour far less than for Iauron’s, for example. May I see my son, or would it worry him unduly if I were to do so?’

‘If you would be happy to wait until the morning, my king, it might be better for him. It will also give me more time to properly assess his condition.’

‘Of course. Thank you, Healer Nestoril.’

He rose with her and walked her to the door.

‘I will visit my son in the morning, then.’

‘Please, my king… Try not to worry.’

Thranduil returned to his desk and attempted to concentrate on something else for an hour. He busied himself with papers and considered the strange news from Mirkwood brought by Commander Bregon and supported by his own son’s story; the arachnids had been migrating – fleeing towards the south east with no obvious reason. And not just the arachnids; the forest in that region had seemed empty, silent. He would need to consult with Arveldir, of course, but it seemed to him that there was a need to try to find out why.

Particularly if a large deputation from the palace was going to be travelling that way in order to meet the Rivendell folk at midsummer, the appointed time for the formal meeting. He was beginning to draw up rough timetables, factoring in the inertia of a large company of dignitaries compared with the swiftness of warrior companies, making adjustments for the fact that the company would be on horseback, but that there would be added time needed for making and breaking camp… not his problem, in truth, but it kept his mind occupied.

And then another knock at the door.

‘Yes, what now?’

‘It’s just me, Adar.’

Thranduil looked up in surprise; Iauron was in the doorway, and he had a large tray balanced in one hand while he held the door with the other.

‘Come in, Iauron. What have you there?’

‘Food,’ Iauron said, finding a space on his father’s desk for the tray. ‘Arveldir announced they weren’t to wait the serving for you, so it was pretty obvious you were skipping supper again.’

Thranduil had hastily moved papers aside for the tray.

‘And what business is it of yours, if I do?’

‘None, Father. But when we were sparring last week, I noticed you were looking a bit sparse…’

‘A bit…?’

‘Well, there’s slender and then there’s thin, Adar, and…’

‘Iauron, you seem to be under some misapprehension…’

‘No. I thought you might be bored and needed someone to annoy you. Can I join you for supper, Adar? I brought enough for two… is it true Legolas is home?’

Thranduil sighed, managing to keep his face stern.

‘Very well. Sit, eat with me. And yes, he is returned.’ He helped himself to food, suddenly aware that, yes, he was hungry and, well, perhaps he had been forgetting to eat on occasion. ‘It seems he had an interesting patrol.’

‘I could do with one of those myself,’ Iauron said around a mouthful of venison. ‘Training ground is all very well, but I hear we’re sending scouts out soon…?’

‘They will leave in the next few days. Not that I want you joining them; you have sufficient experience of the woods already…’

‘You can never have too much experience in the woods, Adar. You say so yourself…’

‘It would be better if you were at home. Tharmeduil is ill again.’

Iauron dropped the bread he was mopping his plate with.

‘What? Father, I didn’t know! When did it happen? How bad is he?’

‘Be calm. It was this evening only and Healer Nestoril says he is already much recovered. You can see him in the morning.’

‘Does Legolas know?’

‘I understand Legolas arrived to visit him during the incident and has been prevailed upon to assist. He has had some experience of nursing duties during his patrol, so I hear.’

‘Oh? What happened?’

‘His lack of experience in the locations of the sentry outposts meant he was more fitted to looking after sick warriors than anything more warrior-like…’

Iauron listened, fascinated and entertained, while his adar recounted Legolas’ misadventures to him. His plan of distracting his father into eating seemed to have worked, if not quite in the way he’d intended. 

‘You know, Adar, after hearing the full tale, I’ll admit I’m not quite so sorry not to be going on patrol after all.’

‘Besides, if you were away, you would not be able to spend your afternoons annoying Tharmeduil.’ Thranduil permitted himself a smile at the surprised expression on Iauron’s face. ‘Oh, yes – I know you do so. And I notice you don’t draw attention to the fact. Can it be that once more I have no reason to be disappointed in you?’

Iauron grinned. ‘Don’t worry, Adar – I’m sure it won’t last!’


	28. Interlude in Red, Black and Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When events long-since over threaten to impact the present

Sometime the earth gives up its secrets readily. At other times, it guards them so jealously that they have to be ripped, torn from it.

And at other times it seems the earth cannot make up its mind whether to hold on to things or not.

Particularly when the past awakens into a new future…

It is said that after the great battles of the War of Wrath, the surviving dragons went north, into and beyond the Withered Heath or into the Northern Wastes, and there fell out of time. But who was there to see how many survived? Of what nature they were? How many, male and female, fire-drake, cold-drake, wyrm? Winged like Ancalagon or fiery, as was Glaurung?

One female. That’s all it took.

One female and one male, rising in a brief, bright mating flight over the rims of the mountains, the male to crash and die as she turned her head and in her passion took his throat in her jaws and drank him dry even as he fell.

Who was there to see this? Did any note the distant flickers of sun on the scales in the sky and wonder what it meant?

 

The female landed near the ruin of her mate and found a lair in the rocks near his broken body. This was not the usual way of dragons, of course; normally she would have hunted fresh meat to nourish her body while her eggs within her grew, but times had changed and there was nothing more here to feed on, and so she ate from the carcass until it was time for her to lay her eggs.

A pitiful clutch it would have seemed to those who knew – for the great dragons of old would lay two dozen or more at a time. But the mingling and pooling of their different sorts was not without effect and only seven eggs were laid.

But the female did not know how paltry was her clutch. She brooded them anyway, wrapping her long red body around them, bringing her tail over her nose and allowing the heat of her inner fires to warm them.

Exhausted by the earlier exertions of the mating flight, weakened by the demands of her huge body, the female dragon – the last breeding female dragon – fell into a sleep from which she would not wake again.

And the dragonets inside the eggs grew and turned until their dam’s body became too cool to supply their growth and they fell into cold-sleep.

And the world turned.

And time passed.

Something changed, something became so infinitesimally different that all the living creatures in the region fled – west, south north – and the earth bucked and bounced and opened and the last dragon, now a bag of hide and bones, still wound around her eggs, fell with them deep into a fissure in the earth.  
So deep did she and her clutch fall that the earth there was warm, warm enough in time, to reawaken the dormant life in the eggs. 

And as the land over them settled into new contours, and the creatures outside came back, and the fissures closed, the dragonets began, once more, to grow.

And more time trickled by until, in the world outside, sensing something, the spiders were leaving Mirkwood and fleeing south-east through Mirkwood, trampling the forest and attacking anything or anyone that was in their way, over-running sentry posts and dying under the sky storm of elvish arrows.   
The exodus coincided with, but was not sparked by, the eggs’ readiness to hatch.

The place in which the last clutch now lay was deep inside the dark of the earth where there was a gentle, residual warmth from the core of the world. Still surrounded by the bones of their dam and a few shreds of lingering hide, the eggs began to rock and roll within the skeletal nest. Well – six of the seven stirred and moved. The seventh, long since addled, lay still, devoid of promise.

A faint noise from inside one of the more vigorous of the eggs as the dragonet inside began to really move. Its head with the little bump of egg tooth on the snout began to have an effect on the inner membrane of the egg, to bump against the shell from the inside. A tiny hole appeared as the egg pitted, and the little cries of the creature within became louder, loud enough to be heard inside the other viable eggs. Something about the sounds encouraged the other dragonets, and soon another egg was pitting, its infant creature struggling for freedom after the long, long confinement.

Dragons are sapient creatures, and history and legend tells that they have long memories. Just how long has never been determined; those who’d had the dubious blessing of conversation with a dragon had somehow never got around to asking if the dragon could remember being _in ovum_. But if so, and if the sapience of dragons developed at an early stage, then what of these, this last clutch? Would they remember the long, long years between initial quickening and relapse into cold-sleep? Had they dreamed?

What effect would the long, long gestation have had on their tempers?

Their sanity?

A hole at the end of one of the eggs and a head pushed out, dark with amniotic fluid. Forelimbs and body rapidly followed, and one final heave freed the dragonet from its egg. It flopped, exhausted, on the hard surface of the nest, giving its little, piping call to encourage its siblings. 

At present it had no need to feed; the egg sac that had nourished it still held enough goodness for a day or two at least, and so it gathered its strength and waiting for the next of its siblings to hatch.

Within an hour, three more eggs had hatched and the hatchlings in various stages of recovery. The first out was mobile now, getting used to feet and tail, although as yet it hadn’t tried to unfurl the tiny wings on its back. It was a soft, grey colour, more like to a wyrm than a drake, and it raised its head and hissed when one of the newer hatchlings fell over its long tail. This inconsiderate newcomer was a delicate pale red, but was lacking in wings completely, a throwback, perhaps, to Glaurung, the first named dragon. The two other hatchlings were both black, but one had no wings while the other did, and was already working those, although it hadn’t seemed to realise it had other limbs to learn to manage.

Soon, however, all four were mobile, and explored around their bone-ringed environs. Walking over the as-yet-unhatched eggs caused the two remaining dragonets to push against their egg cases and renew their efforts to free themselves.

Within the hour they were out; two more red dragons, one winged, one not. Of course, flight would come later and so for the moment, there was no superiority of winged over unwinged. Nor were the dragonets old enough yet for flame, and so whether or not they were cold-drakes or hot would also wait to be answered.

But while all the dragons made a tumble together, seeking companionship and mutual warmth, the first-hatched, the grey winged wyrm, made its eyes into slits and drew away into itself.


	29. Fulfilled Prophecies?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas is privy to the workings of Tharmeduil's visionary mind...

Legolas was up and dressed when he heard a soft tapping at the outer door of Tharmeduil’s rooms.

‘Healer Nestoril, good morning. Will you come in?’

‘I will indeed, my prince. How was the night?’

‘He’s been awake a lot, writing and drawing, but he’s sleeping now. He’s not been ill again, though. No blood, no headaches.’

‘That’s excellent news. But what of you, Prince Legolas?’

‘It’s odd, hearing myself called ‘prince’ again.’ He frowned. ‘But, thank you for arranging for the bedding to be sent in. Not my own bed, but better than an open-sided flet. I don’t suppose you know how my friends are?’

She smiled. ‘I thought you’d ask. My healers say the care they’ve had has been instrumental in making sure they suffer no long-term issues…’

‘Long-term? But…’

‘Hunting venom and attack venom are not the same – we do not often come across attack venom and this sort seems to have been especially virulent.’

‘The queens’ guard spiders,’ Legolas said. ‘I’ve seen them at work, bigger than horses and as hard to kill as a hungry warg pack. But… my friends?’

‘They will be fine. It may take a few weeks before the aches in their limbs properly leaves them and they are fit for duty, but don’t fear – they’ll be released from the healer halls by tomorrow at the latest. One – Govon – asked that his thanks be passed on to you.’

Legolas smiled. ‘Govon was commander of the flet, and was worst affected. I worried over him.’

‘Well, there is no need; he will be very well in time. Now. It has become a habit with me to break my fast with your brother. Today, I bespoke enough for three, if you will?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ 

‘Nestoril – is it you?’ Tharmeduil’s voice said from the inner room.

‘Indeed it is I,’ Nestoril smiled and went in to him, trying to look as if she wasn’t in a hurry. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘I’ve had a lot to think about,’ Tharmeduil said. ‘Some of the things I saw…’

‘Well, we can work on it after breakfast, if you like. Any pain today?’ She checked him over as she worked; his pulse was steady and strong, his eyes had cleared, and although he looked a little pale, he seemed well. ‘Any numbness now?’

‘No – no, it’s fine, Nestoril. See?’ he showed her how his entire left hand moved freely now, responded, all the fingers moving as they should.

‘Good. Get yourself washed and dressed. Breakfast will be here soon. Your brother is going to join us.’

 

Nestoril kept a quiet observation on her charge during breakfast. She said nothing, but saw everything. The very minor tremor to Tharmeduil’s left hand, the slight pallor to his skin. But he talked and smiled easily enough, even if he didn’t laugh.

‘Oh, one thing, Legolas…’ Tharmeduil began once eating was finished and they were savouring hot fruit tisanes. ‘We – Nestoril and I spend so much time together that we tend to forget our titles a bit. And she’s even been known to remove that head-covering of hers…’ He glanced at the healer, whose was currently wearing her blue head rail. ‘Sometimes.’

‘It’s my opinion,’ Nestoril began, ignoring the comment about her head-covering, ‘that my attendance seems less intrusive if we forget I’m a healer and your brother a prince.’

‘Don’t let me stop you!’ Legolas said with his bright grin. ‘For five days on the flet I was: ‘Hey, fair elf!’ to my charges. I quite liked not being a prince, although Govon was a bit startled when his vision cleared and he recognised who this particular ‘fair elf’ was!’

‘Oh, was he the one I saw you cuddling?’

‘What did you say?’

Nestoril smiled at the shocked expression on Legolas’ face and hastened to explain Tharmeduil’s question to him.

‘One thing we do now is record your brother’s insights. In one, he was sure he saw you…’

‘Shall we look over them again, Nestoril?’ Tharmeduil suggested. ‘Now more things have happened?’

‘All right. Clear the table and I’ll fetch the records.’

Curious, Legolas helped his brother gather up the breakfast things onto a tray and moved it off the table while Nestoril brought over a roll of parchment sheets from on top of a dresser.

‘Start with these,’ she said, turning back to the dresser where more papers and notebooks were stacked. ‘I’ll bring the rest presently.’ 

‘It was one of the early ones, Nestoril…’ Tharmeduil began spreading the pages out while Legolas looked on, delighted and intrigued.

‘Did you do all this? It’s very beautiful!’ he said.

The parchment spread before him was covered with many small, colourful pictures and patterns, interweaving, randomly placed. Some had been circled with a charcoal line; an image of spiders rushing down the page, a hawk in flight, his father speaking with a group of warriors.

Tharmeduil tapped a spot on the page where someone who was obviously Legolas was staring into the eyes of another elf, cradling him in his arms.

‘That’s Govon!’ Legolas exclaimed. ‘And while I hate to disappoint you, he was very sick at the time and I was concerned for him; I was merely…’

‘You say so now. Perhaps the cuddling of Govon is in your future? He wouldn’t mind, you know…’

‘Tharmeduil!’ Legolas protested. ‘I do not know why everyone is so keen to assign me to someone…’

‘Perhaps because we don’t like to see you alone. We know you feel it, sometimes.’

Legolas opened his mouth to expostulate, but Nestoril returned then with more papers and notebooks.

‘So, we can circle the scene with Govon,’ she suggested, careful not to use the word ‘cuddle’. ‘Ah. I note that on the first page there is only this, now.’ She indicated an area of the page that seemed to show a divided landscape; it was a recurring theme on all the sheets and they had not quite sorted out its meaning yet. ‘But as this appears on other pages, shall we mark it anyway?

Tharmeduil nodded. ‘It feels good, to know everything on there has been dealt with.’

‘Indeed. And what else can we see now that has come to pass?’

‘Did you go and bandage that tree yet?’

Nestoril started, for she had indeed been thinking about returning to the grove of the fëar trees, although she doubted it would have occurred to her to apply a dressing to Tharmeduil’s silver birch… but if he had seen it, perhaps it might help…

‘Not yet. But I was intending to do so, when I have some time to spare.’

‘Better leave that for now, then. But here.’ Tharmeduil went to another sheet. On it was a small picture of four figures approaching the Great Gate. They held themselves tall, but there was something about the colours set around them to suggest something amiss. ‘And here…’ Another image, not far from the arriving figures, and it showed someone curled up in pain, someone who seemed, to Legolas, to have more than a passing resemblance to Tharmeduil.

‘You, coming home,’ Tharmeduil said. ‘And me being ill last night.’

‘You knew? You knew when you’d be ill?’

Tharmeduil nodded. ‘More or less.’ He grinned. ‘You know, you got off lightly last night. If I hadn’t known, I’d have had more to eat and…’

‘Yes. You are my brother and I love you dearly, but that really was rather a test of my fraternal affection, especially as your clothing does not fit me.’

‘Well, it’s not likely to happen again,’ Tharmeduil said. ‘These attacks stop around Midsummer or just after.’

‘What’s this?’ Nestoril said, reaching for a notebook and a writing stick. ‘Is this new, or…?’

‘No. It’s just… clearer. There are more things to happen before then…’

‘Go on, Tharmeduil?’

Legolas watched in fascination as Tharmeduil spoke and Nestoril began to hastily write in the notebook.

‘…it’s to do with the journey I keep seeing. A big one, it’s… two houses coming together at the Great River… We’re all there, you too, Nestoril… I’m ill, a lot, on the journey, when we get there… it’s like I’m using the visions… but… then it stops. Everything becomes very calm and very dark. It’s like the most beautiful night under the stars, all is soft and gentle and… and safe. I’m aware of sadness, but I don’t know why and I don’t know if it’s me that’s sad or if it comes from outside myself…’

He stopped and smiled swiftly.

‘Nestoril, don’t worry about it! I’m sure it’ll be fine. Oh, and we should cross off the one where my father and Iauron are here, too, because Adar is on his way now and he’s got our brother with him…’

Legolas made to get to his feet. ‘Perhaps I should just…’

‘Oh, no!’ Tharmeduil grabbed his wrist. ‘It’s on the paper that you’re here, so here is where you have to be!’


	30. Yarnbombing, Imladris-style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arwen makes gifts for the Royal House of Mirkwood...

Arwen smiled to herself as she worked, her crochet hook flashing in the sunlight. Behind her, the long glazed doors to her private rooms stood open while she and her companion-handmaid sat out in the bright garden beyond. It was a pleasant, sheltered place to sit and work; the sun was warm for the time of year, the breeze kept at bay by the building at her back and the deep, green hedges around the grassy lawn.

A date for the meeting between Imladris and Mirkwood had been agreed and her father had suggested she start to make preparations, for it was a long journey and such finery as she chose to take had to be ready for the third week of May at the latest. It was now mid-April, her dresses were ordered, her shoes chosen and she was now at work on appropriate gifts for the important persons in the Mirkwood contingent.  
Arwen had given the matter considerable thought, and had come to the conclusion that, in a court largely lacking the feminine touch, perhaps some soft furnishings might bring a note of elegant comfort to Mirkwood’s palace, especially as she had heard it was a gloomy place indeed.

She had spent the last two days crocheting an intricate pattern of clustered stitches into squares before combining them into larger pieces to make a cushion for King Thranduil’s throne; it was carved from stone, she had heard, and very grey and cold. But now there was a nice, bright padded pillow to cheer it up and make it more appealing. Cosy. 

The king’s gift sorted, she had moved on to presents for the royal princes. Since they were brothers, and she had no wish to show favouritism in these tokens, she had decided to make them all the same thing; a pair of ear warmers each, just the thing to keep the points pert and pink and warm in the coldest of weather.

One pair of pale blue ear warmers finished, Arwen was on the second row of the next one when she stopped and looked up.

‘Do you hear that?’ she asked.

‘Hear what, my lady?’ her companion-maid asked. ‘There is nothing.’

‘Yes. No birdsong. The valley is too still.’

And then there did come a noise, a faint rumble, and the ground began to shiver and shake.

Biting down a comment to the effect that perhaps Lady Arwen should have kept her observations on the stillness of the valley to herself, the companion hurried to Arwen’s side. Both shuddered and shivered as the ground beneath them danced and trembled. From within the rooms behind came a rattle and a clatter as something fell from a shelf or a table.

Gradually the tremors subsided, stopped.

‘Oh! What was that?’ Arwen gasped.

‘I do not know. Are you hurt?’ her companion asked.

‘Yes, indeed. But that was so strange!’

‘Lady Arwen? Where are you?’ The voice came from inside the building, and she recognised it as belonging to her father’s chief advisor. ‘My lady?’

‘We’re out here, Erestor,’ she called. ‘And quite well.’

The advisor appeared at the door to Arwen’s rooms and came towards her, his usual expression of mild disapproval replaced by one of startled concern.

‘Your father sent me to seek you.’

‘Thank you, Erestor,’ Arwen replied. ‘What was that? Do you know?’

‘An earth shock, we think. They happen from time to time, but I have not known one in this region for quite some time.’ He offered his thin hand to help her up from her seat on the grass. ‘May I help you?’

‘I can manage.’ Arwen gathered her crochet and passed it to her companion-maid before jumping to her feet. 

‘You’ve been busy, I see.’ Erestor smiled his polite, tight smile. ‘Gifts for the Royal House of Mirkwood, I presume?’

‘Indeed,’ Arwen said. ‘I hear it’s a cold and gloomy place, so a little wool work with brighten and soften the edges a little.’

A sudden mental image of King Thranduil’s throne covered with a bright crocheted blanket and the points of the famed moose-antler canopy festooned with dangling multihued bunting cheered Erestor’s outlook considerably and he actually forgot himself so far as to really smile; Lord Elrond’s study was already adorned with Lady Arwen’s practice pieces, proving just what a loving father she had and keeping Erestor quietly entertained for days now.

‘I’m sure the result will be quite charming,’ he said, walking beside her to Elrond’s study and knocking on its open door for her. ‘My lord Elrond, here is Lady Arwen.’

‘Thank you, Erestor. Arwen, my dear, come in. Shut the door.’

‘Father, what is it? What was that? Erestor said an earth shock, but…’

‘Sit down. It was only an earth tremor, a mild one. Mild here, that is. Without knowing where it began or how far away it was, I cannot say for certain. I would have sent for you later today anyway, but after that, I wanted to make sure…’

Was Adar going to ask her if she really wanted to go ahead with meeting Belegor… with Iauron again? He’d been asking here every few days since the whole tale had come to light, not with any view to swaying her, he had said, but just to check. Before he put too many resources into it.

‘…you were not afraid. It is possible there may be more of these tremors over the next few days; it is the way of such things.’

She gave a little sigh of relief. It had become tedious, repeating that, yes, she wanted to meet Iauron in spite of the mild deception of their initial borrowed identities.

‘And I write to Mirkwood today, by messenger hawk, so it will be a short missive, but if you had a brief message for your swain, I would be happy to include it. I would need it in my hand by the mid-afternoon chimes, though, for the hawk will be released shortly after while there is still enough daylight for the bird to reach the cover of the forest to roost overnight.’

‘Thank you, father.’ Arwen smiled. ‘I’ll start thinking about it at once.’


	31. A Flet-Dream Coming True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas seeks out a comrade

Legolas went straight to his chambers where he exchanged his borrowed clothes for some of his own that properly fitted him, intending to head for the barracks and find out more details of the arachnid migration; the repeated images in Tharmeduil’s records had made him eager for more information.

About to leave the chamber, he noticed a basket had been left on the table near the door in his sitting room and went over to examine it.

Inside he found a loaf of fresh bread, butter and honey and cheese and a bottle of good, red wine. And a note, the contents of which made him smile.

‘My prince,’ it began. ‘In memory of the nights we sat up talking about what we’d have first when we got home, and with thanks for your care of the company. We expect to be released from the healer hall and back at our own tables for our midday meals.’

Yes. There had been at least three nights they’d spent dreaming of home. Govan’s two sentries had spent much time talking about their wives and their families, but he had claimed he wanted simpler pleasures; bread and butter and wine had seemed riches beyond measure after a week of lembas and water. The gift seemed disproportionally thoughtful, and he wondered what Govon had been thinking when he’d sent it. Probably no more than was in the card; just thanks. Now, what had been Govon’s flet-dream? Ah, yes. ‘To sit at ease on the greensward outside the palace and drink beer with a friend or two.’

Well, maybe he could do something about that.

Legolas found himself feeling unexpectedly nervous as he made his way through the palace, the basket, now considerably heavier, at his side. He’d talked the cellarer out of a few bottles of the fine, light honeyed beer that was brewed on a very small scale in the palace; it was much superior to the imported brew from Laketown but so little was made that it was usually kept for the high table. 

He found himself wondering as he walked. It had seemed such a good notion when it had occurred to him; to personally visit Govon with beer and offer to be one of the good friends he sat at ease with on the greensward, but the nearer Legolas got to Govon’s chambers, the more uneasy he became. Warriors typically lived in the barracks, or in small, simple chambers in the wing nearest them. But Govon seemed to have chambers further from the practice ground than was usual, and in the one of the family areas. During their conversations, the captain hadn’t mentioned a wife or a lover, but that didn’t mean such a one did not exist, and how then to extricate himself without looking like an utter fool?

But the beer was clinking in the basket and he had come so far…

He found the right corridor and the right chamber and knocked lightly on the door, putting a polite and friendly smile on his face and hoping his friend would answer.  
Instead, all his worst fears personified opened the door; a beautiful elf with long, tawny hair and huge brown eyes smiled and dropped a curtsey to him.

‘Your highness! This is an honour indeed!’ she said.

‘Forgive the intrusion – I was looking for Captain Govon? I understand he’s being released from the healer hall this day?’

‘Indeed, my prince, and he has spoken much of your great help to him. But I am afraid he is not home.’

‘May I then leave something for him? A token only…’

‘If you wish, my prince. But my brother said he was seeking the air – you would not think, would you, that he had been in the air for a month just gone? He…’

Legolas stopped listening. Her brother?

‘Forgive me? I did not quite…’

‘He wanted to sit on the grass somewhere, he said.’

‘Thank you; I’ll see if I can find him, then, and trouble you no further.’

 

He found Govon soon enough; although there were three or four open, grassy areas outside the palace, Legolas headed for the one that best seemed to fit the descriptions he’d heard so often; a clear glade with a raised grassy bank which caught the sun for most of the day, close enough to the practice grounds that you could hear the drills, sometimes, which put off most of the courting couples and the families with elflings.

Govon was resting on his back with one foot drawn towards his body, his knee raised and his hands behind his head. The dark honey tones of his hair spread out like rich silk and his eyes were closed. His fine lips were drawn up into a smile of peace and Legolas found suddenly his tongue felt too big in his mouth and he didn’t know what to say.

But for long enough he had been ‘hey, fair elf’, and Govon had been not simply Govan.

‘Hey, friend Captain!’ Legolas said softly from the edge of the glade. 

Govan’s smile widened, although he kept his eyes closed. ‘Hey, fair elf!’ he said.

‘I have beer, if you’d care to count me as one of those friends you said you’d take your ease with,’ Legolas said. He didn’t want to intrude on Govon’s peace, but there was something about his quiet calm that made Legolas wish to share in it, if he could.

‘That sounds like a flet-dream come true!’ Govon opened his eyes and sat up, his movements liquid, precise, his smile one of welcome. ‘You got the basket, then. I hope it was not too much?’

‘Too much for such small service as I gave, and for one alone.’ Confidence growing, Legolas crossed the space between them and lowered himself to the grass. ‘But not too much, if shared.’

He unstoppered a bottle of beer and passed it to Govon before opening one for himself.

‘No glasses, I’m afraid.’

‘Ah, it’s better from the bottle out of doors.’ Govan took a mouthful, his eyes closing as he savoured the brew. ‘This is the good stuff! How came you by this?’

Legolas laughed. ‘Ai, I told the cellarer a sob story and pointed out I hadn’t been at the high table for almost two weeks and therefore at least ten bottles were my due. Did you have your day meal yet?’ 

‘Not yet. My sister – you met her? A dear heart, still she would trammel me in and tie me to her apron if she could, but I needed the sky more than food. I’ll be glad when she marries!’

Legolas began unpacking the basket. ‘Then it’s fortunate that we have everything we could want here.’

‘Yes. Yes, we do, do we not?’ Govon’s voice was pensive. ‘All we could want.’

Conversation drifted like summer clouds as they ate. Govon’s health, and that of his sentries, the attentions of the healers, the fairness of the day kept them busy until the food was gone and the beer was gone and they’d opened the wine, passing the bottle between them like old comrades.

‘How does it feel to be back to your responsibilities?’ Govon asked. There was a caution in his words that alerted Legolas, but he wasn’t quite sure what Govon meant.

‘Well, I doubt my father will want me out of his sight for a month,’ he began, watching Govon under his lashes for some kind of clue. ‘And I have some duties, it’s true, but not so many.’

‘I had heard…’ Govon broke off, shaking his head. ‘No. It’s no matter. And none of my business.’

‘Govon, I can’t remember a time when one or other of we brothers weren’t the subject of gossip!’ Legolas turned to look at him. ‘Friend Captain, feel free to speak.’

‘There are two stories I have heard and not both can be true. But all Mirkwood is talking about the latest and if you don’t know what’s being said...’ He sighed. ‘This has been such a pleasant hour and I do not wish to mar it…’

‘Is it the tale where Canadion the Brave saved me from five spiders at once?’

Govon snorted and passed Legolas the wine bottle. ‘No. Who would believe that one? Although they might pretend to if Thiriston Cut-Face was listening!’ 

‘Well, then. I do not think there is another rumour at present that would be as bad as that one.’ Legolas took a pull of the wine and handed it back, trying to work out which of the many, many stories might matter so much to Govon that he hesitated to mention it. ‘Is it the tale that a human woman is carrying my child?’

Govon sprayed wine everywhere and coughed and choked while Legolas took advantage of it to pat Govon on the back and laugh at him.

‘Her name is Flora,’ Legolas said, once Govon had recovered. ‘And it’s true, I’m sponsoring her child and the palace is supporting her and the unborn peredhel. But I’m not the father, I’ve just taken the responsibility since the one who is responsible cannot do so. And, as you say, it does at least contradict some of the other rumours.’

Govon passed the bottle back to him mutely and Legolas recorked it. Now wasn’t the time to hide behind wine. Suddenly he was afraid to go on, to openly admit what had been tacitly accepted for so very long. Not because he was ashamed of his different preferences, but from fear that Govon would be shocked or horrified or even afraid.

‘Besides, it is the only way I am likely to get a child, by sponsoring, since the mystery of the female form, human or elven, completely passes me by.’ It came out in a rush and he did not dare look at Govon. ‘I know that there are those who believe this is unnatural and wrong, and others who think it is impossible for me to have male friends without being some sort of threat to them, but…’

Before Legolas could finish, the ground began to shimmer beneath him. The trees at the edge of the glade rustled as if a wind stirred their branches. He looked around wildly as a crack sounded from above as a branch on the tree just behind them gave way. Something slammed into him, knocking him away and onto his back – Govon, protecting him, holding him firmly in place as the branch crashed down just a hand’s breadth from where he’d been sitting. The ground grew quiet again but still Govan lay stretched protectively over him, his face inches away from Legolas’ own.

‘Govon? Thank you. I… I was trying to say that…’

‘Fair elf,’ Govon said. ‘Hold peace. I know what you’re trying to say and I am neither afraid nor threatened. In fact, I’m quite glad to learn this is true.’ He shifted position slightly against Legolas, holding his gaze. ‘Or can you not tell?’

Legolas brought his arms around Govon and lifted his face towards him, and their lips met in the briefest of touches.

‘Should we continue this elsewhere?’ Legolas suggested. ‘Or shall we wait and see if any come to look for us after that earth tremor?’

‘Earth tremor?’ Govon said. ‘I thought it was just me!’


	32. Of Trees and Tremors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the earth tremor experienced in Imladris makes itself felt as far as Mirkwood, with surprising results...

Nestoril had left Tharmeduil with his family and excused herself, pleading business at her healer hall and promising to look in on him again after the midday meal. It had been the first time the king had seen the records of his son’s insights, and he had seemed fascinated and engaged in understanding what was going on. She did hope that Tharmeduil had not used the word ‘cuddle’ in connexion with Prince Legolas while his father was there, though.

After making sure all was well in her halls and personally visiting the three spider-sick warriors to release them from her care, (Govon seemed as if he could be a charming companion for someone or other and she had used a few well-chosen, discreet phrases to speak highly of Legolas’ care of him) she collected a few dressings from the store and went to her study to make sure there was nothing urgent needing her attention.

Everything being in order, she quickly wrote up an account of Tharmeduil’s attack for the records before collecting her bow and quiver, leaving word at the desk that she was going out and exiting the palace complex at the nearest doorway.

Before long she was standing at the entrance to the grove of the fëar trees, making her reverential bow to the guardian holly trees.

Inside the calm, green space she walked from one tree to another, softly caressing the bark of each. When she came to the silver birch, she stood back after she’d touched it to look it over.

The tree stood tall, and it looked well. Nothing about it suggested sickness, but at the end of one of its branches, a few of the leaves, instead of being green and glossy and new, were already starting to curl and colour with autumnal tints.

Doubting whether it would work but wanting to try, anyway, she reached for a piece of caul silk from her belt pouch and placed it on the branch, binding it into place with a simple dressing strip. Briefly she felt foolish, and was glad there was nobody to see her practicing old sympathetic magic here. But she felt a lightness in the air around her, as if something had been freed, released, and it made her smile.

Well. One thing was certain; it would do no harm to the tree to have a bandage on it for a few days. Satisfied that there was one more image Tharmeduil could circle on his papers, she went back to her healer hall feeling obscurely comforted.

She had taken her day meal with some of the other healers and was back in her study when it happened; everything began to shudder softly and the papers on her desk shivered and trembled. The decanter and glasses on the little table near the window chinked together like musical chattering teeth. Alarmed, she took hold of her desk as if to steady it, and then, within seconds of it starting, the shaking subsided.

Nestoril left her study and hurried to the duty desk in the main entrance of the healer hall.

‘Is everybody safe?’ she asked. 

‘We’re just checking now, Healer Nestoril. At least we only have a few charges at present. And it was brief, whatever it was!’

‘An earth shock, I think. I was in one once, many years ago, stronger than this one. Sometimes they leave much devastation!’

An assistant duty healer appeared at the door which led to healing rooms.

‘All is well; I have reassured everyone and there has been no damage.’

‘Excellent news, indeed. Now, I promised I would visit Prince Tharmeduil this afternoon.’

‘Oh? Has our prince been ill again?’ the duty healer asked.

‘A little,’ Nestoril admitted. ‘I have recorded the event as usual. The draft is in my study at present; I intend to update after my visit. If you need me, send to me.’

She arrived at Tharmeduil’s rooms to find him in high excitement and Iauron trying to calm him.

‘That was it, Nestoril!’ Tharmeduil exclaimed. ‘The shaking! That recurring thing on all the pages, the one I couldn’t describe! You know – that first night I drew it, you thought it was mountains…’

‘Yes? Let me get my notes…’

She smiled swiftly and took a seat at the table, leafing through her notebook. 

‘Ah, I have it, my prince! Weaknesses, you said. And the spiders… I have here that they were fleeing something trapped in the earth?’

‘Yes…’ Tharmeduil frowned. ‘But that’s not it. They knew… That tremor we felt, they knew it was coming, somehow. They weren’t aware of the trapped things. Does that make sense?’

‘I know very little of the behaviour of the earth beneath us, or about the ways of spiders,’ Nestoril admitted.

‘We need my brother,’ Tharmeduil announced. ‘Legolas was there when the spiders fled…’

‘This is true,’ Iauron said. ‘I’ll go and get him.’

‘Don’t just barge in, will you?’ Tharmeduil said. 

‘What?’

Tharmeduil tapped a corner of one of the sheets of parchment. This one showed, not Legolas ‘cuddling’ Govon, but Govon apparently returning the favour.

‘Either knock and wait, or be prepared to apologise for intruding.’

 

Iauron shook his head as he made his way to his brother’s rooms. More than half-convinced Tharmeduil had been joking, he was about to grab the door handle when he heard laughter from inside – two voices, his brother’s and another, deeper in tone.

Deeper? He sighed and knocked and the voices fell abruptly silent.

It was a moment or two before the door opened, just a little, Legolas in the doorway as if screening the room behind. His face was slightly flushed, his eyes bright, and one of his braids was coming undone. He’d cast aside his tunic and was just wearing a loose shirt over his leggings.

‘Iauron! What is it?’

‘Tharmeduil was asking for you – do not worry, he’s fine – it’s just something on those drawings of his. But you’re busy?’

‘Yes, I have a guest. You go ahead, I’ll speak with my friend and follow you shortly.’

Iauron didn’t move. Instead, he grinned. ‘Are you not going to introduce me?’

‘No.’ Legolas managed to smile in return and shut the door in his face.

Inside his rooms, he grimaced and shrugged. ‘Ai! Govon, my brother wants me! Tharmeduil has been ill and…’

‘So that tale is true? I didn’t like to ask…’

‘Yes. I don’t know much, though, with being away. So, I am most sorry, but I have to leave.’ Legolas began to tidy himself, neatening his shirt and pulling on a fresh tunic.

‘If you would like to wait here for me…?’

‘I would.’ Govon got to his feet with a small smile and reached out to Legolas’ hair, nimbly re-plaiting the loose braid and locating the clasp to close over it. ‘But my sister will be worried after the tremor. Would you care to take your night meal with us later? I’m sure she’d like the company and…’

Legolas hesitated. Yes, he wanted to spend more time with Govon and he cursed Iauron for intruding… but had the moment have passed?

And yet the way Govon stroked his braid into place made it feel like the moment was still, really, ahead of them.

‘I could walk you back, after?’ Govon added. ‘If you wished?’

‘Thank you, Govon. If I won’t be an intrusion…’

‘Ai, Merlinith would love it! My only fear is she might find a nice lady to join us to keep me entertained… She ought to know better, but there you are.’

‘Then I accept with pleasure. Would you walk out with me? If Iauron is there, I’ll introduce you.’

But Iauron had retreated, and was lurking around the corner in the passageway, which was perhaps just as well because it meant he didn’t have to witness his brother being hugged and thoroughly kissed by Govon.

‘What are you grinning about, Legolas?’ Iauron demanded when his brother came into sight at last.

‘Nothing you’d want to know. Come on, then.’

Legolas was still smiling inside when he joined Tharmeduil and Nestoril at the table.

‘What can I help you with, Tharmeduil?’

‘You can tell me all about your spiders. And what happened in the forest? Did it all go quiet?’

‘Well, when I was there, they came through in a rush. But, yes, there was too much silence around… as we went on, too, from flet to flet, there was the same tale. Although if you really want to know, you should speak to one who was there before the spiders came through.’

Tharmeduil grinned. ‘And you wouldn’t happen to know such a one by any chance, would you?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who may also be reading 'A New Beginning' the co-authored Inheritance Cycle crossover story I'm writing with Gemstarzah, please note that the Middle Earth universe written there is not the same as this one; the two are mutually exclusive


	33. Interlude Inside the Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the dragonets are growing up...

It was several days before the dragonets used up the reserves of their egg sacs and began to feel hunger. The firstborn, the grey wyrm, discovered the food source first; the bones of their dam, old and dry, but still with some nutritional value lurking in the remains of the marrow, and dragons are good at not dying, given the chance. So the grey one tugged at the last bits of hide and crunched at the bones and snarled when its siblings joined in.

For weeks they licked and gnawed and worked the last of the goodness from the carcass and then looked around at each other and themselves. The growls had become communications, words, half-phrases: ‘Mine!’ Or: ‘Drop, thief!’ and they began to have names for themselves. The grey wyrm called himself Angrisla, Terror and was first to get between the squabblers and take whatever they were arguing about for himself. And so the other dragonets learned to share, so their brother didn’t steal from them what little there was. Daedor and Doldor the two black ones called themselves, Shadow and Night. Daedor had wings, but Doldor none. Caranor, Carenoril, Coloneth were the three red dragonets, and they began to hiss and talk together and wonder where they were and was this all there was?

And they grew.

By the time Imladris shook with the earth tremor that spread across hundreds of miles to shudder the land beneath Legolas and Govon and to rattle the glasses on Nestoril’s table, the dragonets were as big as sheep.

But not nearly as well-mannered and far more curious.

‘What?’ Daedor hissed as the earth danced and rumbled, far more strongly here than in Imladris hundreds of miles away, and ‘Who?’ Coloneth whimpered and ‘Where?’ Angrisla asked, looking up to the opening in the cave roof above. ‘How to?’

‘Why?’ Carenoril asked. She was one of the very few who would ever question Angrisla; she had observed her wingless sibling fall over him when newly hatched, and had seen he did nothing but grumble, and so she ignored his hissing and snarling and was less impressed than the others.

‘Out. Eat gone. More eat need.’

More eat need. There it was: they needed to eat. If the dragonets couldn’t escape their lair, they would starve.

The shaking continued, and from somewhere overhead, a chunk of rock broke free and fell down. Alarmed, Angrisla and Carenoril jumped back, and their wings flared and fluttered and carried them up a few feet. But Coloneth was beneath the rock as it fell, and she, being unwinged, failed to get out of the way in time. She squealed when it pinned her, once, piteously, and then she fell still as the dark blood leaked from her and the six dragonets became five.

Angrisla went over and began to lick and lap at the liquid. Soon, too hungry not to, Carenoril joined him and presently the other three surviving dragonets came to scavenge.

Hunger sated, Carenoril drew close to Angrisla where he lay coiled lazily. She dropped her snout over his back and he grumbled at her until she curled her own body around his. But she had decided he was where survival lay, and she would follow him to it at whatever cost.

Sleeping and waking to chew the last of the bones of their sibling and sleeping again. Carenoril remembered the flutter of her wings, and she began to play with them, dancing and jumping and trying out lots of different movements until she learned the sequence that would take her up into the air for short bouts of time. But it was tiring, learning to fly. Angrisla, who had spent hours watching her from his slitted yellow eyes, learned a lot from simple observation so that when he, too, tried his wings, he had some success more quickly. But the wings of a wyrm are not like the wings of a drake; the wyrm was an older form and his body longer, more snake-like in form and the wings smaller, their proportions different from those of the drake. Carenoril’s wings were larger and well-developed, since the drake-form was more evolved and adapted.

Daedor joined the dance, and soon he had flight, too, and the three, grey and red and black, circled and played in the air, and then gathered together away from the two wingless ones and held a short, sibilant conversation.

And Dodor and Caranor drew together, and began to be afraid.

‘More need eat. Eat gone. We up,’ Angrisla said. ‘They no up. No fly things.’

‘We up, we find eat?’ Carenoril asked. 

‘How say? Must go to see. Need eat,’ Angrisla said.

‘Dodor not go up?’ Daedor said, for he had spent a lot of time with his brother. ‘What for Dodor? We bring eat?’

‘No bring eat,’ Angrisla said. ‘Dodor, Caranor no up, no eat. Stay and feel emptiness.’

‘Bad feel, when no eat. Like big bones, no eat, no dance.’

An idea began to form in Angrisla’s scaly head.

‘Bad feel long time. Then like Coloneth, never move more.’ His black forked tongue swished out around his snout. ‘Long pain before last squeak. Kindness to end. Waste of good meat, else.’

‘Dodor go,’ Carenoril said. Dodor being a black dragon, she didn’t feel the same kinship she did for Caranor. ‘Wait, see Caronor climb up?’

‘No.’ Daedor rose up on his haunches. ‘Dodor climb; Caranor go.’

‘Caranor mine!’ Carenoril hissed.

‘Dodor mine!’

Angrisla growled and hissed at them, and they fell quiet. He turned his wicked grey head and narrowed his yellow eyes at Dodor and Caranor.

‘Miiiiine…’ he said slowly, and pounced at the two wingless dragonets. Both cowered and hissed and backed away, but as Caranor hissed, she filled her body up with air and growled and something changed, ignited within her and her red body glowed brightly and a spurt of flame shot out.

Angrisla took a half-step back, alarmed. Dodor cowered away from his wingless sibling, and separated himself nicely so that Angrisla leapt, wings flaring, and landed on top of the black dragonet, snapping with jaws made strong on the bones of his dam, and broke his neck, dragging the suddenly limp form away from Caranor.

Daedor whimpered and huddled in to Carenoril, but she flicked him contemptuously with her tail and sauntered over to join Angrisla. Presently, greatly daring, Caranor joined them at the carcass.

And then there were four, but Daedor did not eat his sibling black.

Instead, he shivered and curled himself up in a tight coil, and pretended not to be afraid.


	34. A Working Audience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil decides on a little more weapons practice...

Arveldir glanced at the telling-of-hours lamp at the junction of the corridors as he followed King Thranduil towards the sparring chamber. Three elves were waiting outside, and must have been there for half an hour already, since the king was later than planned; even so, it was still very early.

Still, it was not for the king to apologise for tardiness, nor would Arveldir do so on his behalf. Instead, he opened the door to the chamber and bowed his king inside before turning back to them.

‘Good, you are all here. I trust you have made the most of the time to discuss matters between yourselves?’

Commander Bregon was the only one prepared to speak.

‘Indeed, Master Arveldir, we all know each other from our duties in the barracks.’ He nodded towards the big, powerful elf glowering in the corner. ‘Thiriston here is my second. We’ve not long returned from patrol…’

‘I know. This is one reason you were sent for. You brought your choice of weapons with you, as suggested?’

‘What is this? Does his most high majesty not have enough willing sparring partners already?’ Thiriston snarled, his anger at the early hour evident from his tone.

‘Oh, his majesty has access to the very best.’ Arveldir looked Thiriston over calmly. ‘But, still he requested you by name, Cut-Face. And so, I will enquire of our king’s pleasure.’

The third elf waited until Arveldir had gone before giving Thiriston a withering look, although it was Bregon he addressed.

‘Do you take such subordination from your second regularly, Commander?’

‘Never, when it’s addressed to my command, Captain Rawon. And were it not for the fact that my second has not long returned from a hard tour of duty, he’d not get away with it to the king’s advisor, either.’ He permitted himself a small smile. ‘Although it appears Master Arveldir can fight his own battles.’

Inside the sparring chamber Arveldir closed the door and walked towards Thranduil.

‘My king, are you sure about this?’

‘Mind your manners, Arveldir, or I might give you a turn, too. What would your weapon be, I wonder?’

‘I’m rather good with the pen, my king. And a swift verbal comeback.’

‘Sarcasm at dawn it shall be, then, when I next fail of sparring partners. No; I have discovered that I rather enjoyed combining my weapons practice with conversation. Take this.’

The king shrugged out of his red and gold coat and Arveldir folded it over his arm. The high collared silver-threaded tunic followed, leaving Thranduil in his shirt, leggings, and boots.

‘I’ll have the Commander Bregon first. Then his second, and Rawon last.

‘Yes, my king.’ Rawon wouldn’t like that! He was ranking captain, in charge of the barracks and all the warriors and captains therein, and to be shown in third could be considered an insult, especially as the lowest rank had been given second spot in the running order. ‘It shall be as you wish.’

‘Wait a moment – take this, too.’ Thranduil pulled the shirt off over his head and added it to the pile of clothing in Arveldir’s arms, revealing his sleek, strong torso. ‘Set those down on the trunk by the door. Then send in Bregon.’

Thranduil unsheathed his twin swords and began slow sweeps with the weapons, the blades flashing and glittering in the lamplight of the sparring room. He turned, following the flow of the blades, twisted back, using the dance of the double weapons to warm up his body and prepare his muscles for more strenuous activity.

The fact of the matter was that sparring with Iauron had been an awakening. He had felt so much clearer in his mind, thinking and talking while he mock-fought, as if the fact that there were edged weapons whirling about him gave his thoughts a sharpness, a quickness that he hadn’t expected. Perhaps the battle-stance prepared him mentally and made him more alert, and that spilled over into improved performance of mind as well as body.

He had decided to try it out again, this time with some of his warriors. Oh, it was not unknown for him to turn up, unannounced, at their training ground to join in the practice with short-staff or sword, but this was the first time he’d invited specific individuals to spar with him.

He heard the door close through the swish of his blades and ended his movement to finish facing the entrance, one sword around and down his back, the other crossing his body. He held the stance, then drew the swords back and stood tall. He was barely even breathing hard, but he could feel the perspiration bead on his bare chest and across his shoulders.

‘Commander Bregon, well met! Do you have a weapon of choice?’

Bregon bowed and smiled.

‘Since you demonstrate the old style so well, my king, and I have few chances to practice it, may I go against your twin blades with double-lhaing?’

‘Of course you may. We will talk as we work, for that is my main purpose.’ Thranduil gestured towards the weapons racks. ‘Please; choose your lhaing.’

‘Master Arveldir told us to bring our weapons, if you’ll permit?’

The king inclined his head and took up his starting position, both sword points touching the sand of the practice circle floor. Bregon drew his own weapons and stood opposite his king. Both made the ceremonial bow and swept the swords into action.

The duet was graceful, stately, each move from a preordained set of practice training, beginning with the simple and becoming faster and increasingly complex. Right blade on opponent’s left, left on right, cross wrists and circle… they fell into the dance, feeling each other’s pace and strength, swords singing and whirling until it became just a pattern. Bregon was shorter and had the lesser reach; in any real fight, Thranduil would have disarmed him in a moment, but the twin-sword form was a ritualistic demonstration, and demanded to be performed to the utmost end.

‘And so, Commander, after an attack from some scores of arachnids, including some guard spiders, you sent Prince Legolas through the forest from flet to flet…’

The four blades locked, interwoven. It was almost impossible to tell which sword belonged to whom. Push and break and a slither of metal as the blades disengaged.  
‘I did indeed, my king. He served well, I am sure you would have been proud.’

‘He was four days late home, in the wake of injured warriors and with no news reaching me for a week.’

‘True, my king. So it was for the families of all those kept on the flets through sickness.’

The swords shimmered apart and the session moved into a different phase. Bregon took a chance; there was a move he had always admired but not always pulled off. He tried it now, spinning away and dropping one sword behind him while raising the other, also at his back. Both lhaing were now crossed and facing Thranduil, although Bregon’s back was turned to him. A spin and unwinding the blades brought them up to cross in front of him as he ended once more facing the king, Thranduil’s twin blades meeting his.

‘An excellent flurry, Bregon!’ The king smiled. ‘I do not know what happened, but my son returned to me happier than I have seen him for some time. Perhaps having spiders bleed and warriors vomit on him has done him good.’

‘Indeed, my king, had I known… Ai, but it is how it is, my king. One never knows.’

‘Yet there are things you know.’ Thranduil pulled out of the riposte and swirled the blades again, Bregon matching them, flash and clash. ‘How was the forest? What was different? Only the arachnids?’

‘No, my king, not only. There was great silence, some way in.’ Bregon stepped away from the close combat, making a slow spin with one blade extended at shoulder height, the other across his body to take up another movement when the circle was done. ‘All was hushed. We thought, at first, that the spiders had caused the silence, but the trees tell another tale, one of holding tightly to the earth lest it moved.’

‘But that was how long before yesterday’s tremor?’

‘Ten days.’ Bregon brought the twin lhaing into the crossed finish position before his body and bowed between the hilts towards his king. ‘There are old tales, told amongst the Sylvan historians, how the creatures in the forest will flee away before the earth stirs. But I have never witnessed it, unless this was such.’

Thranduil made his own circle with the blades, faster than Bregon’s had been, and finished with crossed blades and a smile.

‘Thank you, Bregon. A most entertaining and informative practice.’

‘My king, you honour me.’

‘And… yes. Had you sent my son home sooner, I would have had less cause for pride in him. So both he and I should thank you for that.’ Thranduil swung the two swords casually and slid both into their scabbards. ‘Please send in that villain Thiriston now. I do hope he is properly annoyed at the earliness of the hour.’


	35. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Govon and Legolas discuss the uses of knife honing oil.

Legolas stirred, stretched, closing his eyes to fully enjoy the sensation of his own bed, his own pillows. He ached gently; his throat, his body… but it was a pleasant, joyous ache. Memory claimed him, and he found his mouth lifting as he remembered…

An interesting evening in company with Govon and his sister Merlinith and her friend, invited to make it even numbers for supper. Good, simple food and, once the ladies got over their awe and their propensity to try to flirt, pleasant conversation.

And Govon, smiling across at him, sharing jokes, referencing the earth tremor.

Legolas sighed and turned over in the bed. He remembered companionship, warmth.

But he was less warm now, and alone in the bed.

His heart fell even as he realised that, maybe, it might be for the best. The night had been amazing, better than he could ever have imagined or anticipated, and he had fallen asleep with Govon’s head on his shoulder, Govon’s arm across his chest, and his fëa had been at peace for the first time in decades.

What, had Govon gone? Why? Was he simply being discreet? Or could it be he had realised it had been a moment only and that any more would be the start of a horrible, terrible mistake?

The thought made his breath catch in his throat and he sat up hastily, denying the sorrow that threatened to rise up in him as the covers tumbled down to gather in his lap.

‘You’re awake, fair elf.’ Govon’s voice was lazy and slow, and at the sound Legolas looked across.

‘Friend captain!’ he exclaimed, unable to keep the delight from his voice. ‘You’re still here!’

‘After what passed between us, it would have been impolite, at the very least, to leave unremarked.’ 

Govon smiled and turned his head to look out of the window towards the early, bright morning. His braids had come undone – indeed, Legolas remembered releasing them, strand by strand, and now there were stripes, ripples in Govon’s hair as reminders of where the braids had been confined.

‘What are you doing over there?’ Legolas asked.

‘I’ve been watching you sleep. And wondering how long before you would wake. One of us was snoring.’ 

Govon smiled as he got to his feet and crossed the room. His hair fell around his bare shoulders, covered the tops of his arms, and Legolas filled his eyes with the sight of Govon’s fine form. The warrior was a little on the thin side, perhaps, the result of his recent illness and diet of lembas and water. A scar ran in an arc over his left hip, the result of a skirmish with orcs, Legolas remembered. The captain had other scars, and he had told the story of each of them while Legolas kissed and tongued every mark of war on his lover’s body. 

Govon sat down on the bed and reached a hand out to finger Legolas’ silver blond hair.

‘And I’m over here now.’

Legolas turned his face towards Govon’s hand, kissing his wrist and the base of his thumb softly as he slid over, making room beside him in the bed and lifting the covers.  
‘One thing,’ Legolas said, drawing Govon close against him, ‘and I have not said, but I should… I am not looking for a casual arrangement… If this is not what… that is, I know it can be that those who have to rely on others for care might find themselves… only later to realise…’

‘Fair elf,’ Govon said, ‘there are better things to do with your lovely mouth than talk with it.’

He lifted gentle fingers to caress the tip of Legolas’ ear, to drift down and brush the hair back from his face, and reached to kiss him, savouring the slow slide of tongues, the sudden rise beneath his hips as the fair elf’s body responded, the pulse and kick of his own desire surging. He fell into the moment, the swell of sensation and pleasure, aware of more than an echo of the same delight in the body beneath his.

But then strong, sure arms took him, and rolled him, so that he was on his back and Legolas pinning him down, gently teasing free of the kiss to smile down.  
‘Friend captain, your eyes are amazing,’ he said. ‘The true hazel, that mingling of brown and green that is so rare!’

Govon smiled in response, flexing his hips to bring himself into closer contact. ‘And you’re talking again, melleth.’

Legolas ducked his head to hide his delight at the endearment. How long had it been since anyone had called him that? Ai, so many years, not since… But it had never sounded so well, not even then.

Once more Govon pushed with his hips, trying to shift Legolas onto his back.

‘What are you thinking, Govon?’ Legolas said in teasing voice. ‘You’ve been ill, you need to rest…’

‘You didn’t say that last night.’

‘Ai, so now I have guilt for exhausting you. Be still, let me make amends.’

‘And yet your mouth, it is still talking!’

Legolas smiled and wriggled slightly further down in the bed, causing Govon to whimper in response to the delicious friction. There was a mark on Govon’s right shoulder, a small scar just below his collar bone, and Legolas found it with gentle lips and circling tongue.

‘I missed this first time… how came you by it?’ he asked, his voice a rough whisper.

‘A flint-tipped arrow in the dark. It passed straight through, and my comrades felled the orc that gave it me.’

‘And you are well of it, now?’

Govon sighed and relaxed into the heat of Legolas’ mouth, the slide of pale hair across his body. ‘It feels very well now.’

The soft suction of the mouth on his skin moved, slid across to his sternum and down, slowly down to his stomach, lingering to work his navel, Legolas’ tongue exploring lightly before trailing towards the long, curved scar over Govon’s left hip, pushing Govon’s legs apart so that his body rested between them, his heart beating against the hardness of Govon’s arousal. He found the furthest edge of the scar, beginning just behind the bone so he had to tuck his head down to reach and his voice was a muffled query.

‘Tell me again the tale of this one?’

Govon swallowed and his head tipped back.

‘Sword… one of those big orcs, warg-mounted. Arrow through the eye of the warg, it pitched the orc off. He stood to fight me… while busy with him, a second came up. The first I stabbed through the throat…’ He broke off as Legolas licked the long length of the scar over and around to where it finished at his groin, inches away…  
‘Go on?’ Legolas’ voice vibrated against his skin.

‘Second went to skewer me, but I turned, and so was merely cut, not cut in two. I beheaded him.’

‘And how is this now?’

‘It is… getting better. Perhaps it needs a little more… Ai!’ he gasped and tried to prevent his back from arcing, and he felt Legolas smile against his scar.

‘I think there is more of this scar, hidden here,’ Legolas whispered, and continued the movements of his mouth until he came to something that was most certainly not scarred, but he gave it the same attention anyway, while Govon groaned and clutched the sheets and grabbed at his lover’s hair to steady him until the intensity of teeth and tongue were too much and he cried out and spasmed and fell out of pleasure and into blissful completion.

Legolas gave him a moment before breaking free and working his way up to push Govon onto his side, lying against him.

‘You’ll be wanting the oil, then?’ Govon asked languidly, grinding his buttocks back against Legolas.

‘Please.’ He struggled not to gasp the word. ‘It’s on your side.’

The captain reached out for the little flask, for the first time really noticing it as he prepared to pass it across.

‘Honing oil? This is what we used last night? _Blade honing oil?_ What kind of way is that to treat your lover?’

‘Well, I have no other – I had not expected… besides, it served its purpose, I seem to recall…’

Govon laughed, and passed the flask to Legolas. ‘Ah, well at least we’ll both still smell like warriors, after.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> melleth - love


	36. Knife Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which King Thranduil's morning audiences continue with Thiriston Cut-Face...

Thranduil wiped his shoulders with a towel and glanced over his shoulder towards the door as Bregon’s second-in-command entered.

‘Ah, Thiriston. Your choice of weapon is axe, I believe?’ He paused to look the fellow over… he was unusually big, huge even, wide of shoulder and almost hulking in stance. ‘I have to say, you’re rather tall for a dwarf!’

Thiriston bared his teeth in what might have been meant to be a grin.

‘My king is most amusing.’

‘Am I? It is not intentional, I assure you. Well. What is your weapon of choice? Long knives? Empty-hand? Quarterstaff? Lhang or lhaing?’

‘I would feel uncomfortable fighting my king, sire. I might find myself charged with treason.’

‘Very well, then. Target practice, throwing knives if you fear to face me in combat. What say you?’

‘I do not… Very well, my king. Since there is no room here for archery, knives will do.’

There were two targets at the far end of the practice chamber and Thranduil went over to the weapons racks to select half a dozen bone-handled throwing knives. 

Almost casually Thranduil tumbled a knife through the air to land in the inner red of the target. ‘Of course, I have the advantage of knowing these knives and this target.’

‘I learn swiftly,’ Thiriston said, grabbing a random selection of knives and coming to stand next to the king. His first practice throw tumbled a half-turn too far, and rebounded off the target, causing him to swear.

‘Take another practice throw,’ Thranduil said. ‘We have the time.’

The king’s condescension annoyed Thiriston Cut-Face and he bit back the growl that threatened to start in his throat. He readjusted technique and the next knife hammered home to the outer yellow.

‘Excellent,’ Thranduil said, his voice almost a purr. ‘Five knives each. By turns, then, or at will?’

‘As my king pleases.’

‘At will, then.’ Thranduil tugged his practice blade out of the target and retreated behind the throwing line. He arced a knife through the air where it lodged in the inner red, waiting for Thiriston to be ready to launch before addressing him. ‘You know something of queens, largely due to your partner, I understand?’

The knife flew wildly, just clipping the edge of the target and hanging in.

‘Your meaning, my king?’ Thiriston hissed.

‘The arachnids. The egg-bearing queens; you know a lot about them? The one you work with, you have a partnership where you distract the queen and he harvests the silk so prized by our healers?’

‘I see your meaning.’ Thiriston launched another knife which this time hit the inner red. On the next target along, Thranduil’s knife hit the bull. ‘Yes, we hunt the cauls…’

‘It must be a great source of comfort that you can share work as well as whatever else it is you do.’

Thiriston bridled, and for a moment imagined the knife in his hand heading straight for the king’s heart, if he even had one.

‘My king…?’

‘To have a specialist knowledge to set you aside from the rest.’ Thranduil’s knife hit home in the bull. ‘There is not necessarily anything wrong with knowing your own worth.’

Thiriston prepared another knife and hurled it wildly at the target. It hit the outer red, and the whole target rocked dangerously from the force of the throw.

‘It is about Canadion I wish to speak.’ Thranduil’s fourth knife tumbled easily into the inner red once more.

‘My king?’ The repeated words were icy as Thiriston replied. But at least this time he’d held his throw, and managed to make the inner yellow.  
‘Yes.’ The king’s last blade tumbled gracefully into the bull. Thiriston managed the outer red again. 

Thranduil stood back and looked at the wreckage of the targets. His own was fairly tidy; he’d tried not to be too good and so his five blades, while clustered, where spread modestly through the bull and the inner red.

Thiriston had fared otherwise. Had he been throwing at an enemy, only two of his blades would have done more than slightly alarm the opponent.  
The king hid his smile as he pulled Cut-Face’s blades from the target, returning to the warrior’s side. He’d been enjoying himself hugely, baiting the hulking Thiriston, provoking, pushing at his temper and had not been disappointed; Thiriston had the heart of a dragon, but had managed to keep his anger in check.

Thus far.

‘Perhaps you were unfortunate in your choice of knives, Thiriston?’ he suggested and lobbed the first blade at the target. Inner red. ‘Now, while I have you here, I wanted to tell you I will be seeking an interview with your pretty-faced Canadion.’ The second blade hummed the air, came to rest a hair’s breadth from the first. ‘He is not a warrior, though, and so he will be brought to the throne room.’

‘My king tells me this because…?’

‘Oh, not to ask permission.’ The third blade made the bull. ‘But don’t fear; I have no intention of castigating him for spreading tales that his cousin was afraid and Canadion made the kills properly attributable elsewhere…’ A second bull from blade four. ‘Nor is it to tell him to keep his unnatural proclivities away from my family.’ The fifth blade slipped between the inner reds and the bull. ‘Ah. Perhaps it was not the blades after all, perhaps you may have been distracted by something? In short, I wish to question your bed-friend about his kin. That is all.’

‘I will tell him, my king,’ Thiriston said, his fury at being outmatched with the knives only further whetted by the king’s casual acknowledgement of the relationship. He ought, perhaps have been relieved that Canadion’s talking hadn’t got him into trouble, but it was difficult under the constant needling.

‘Indeed, I doubt you will be able to, since by now he is probably already kicking his heels outside my throne room. And the longer I delay here with you, the longer he will wait.’

It wasn’t quite a dismissal, so Thiriston bowed.

‘Perhaps your majesty would be so gracious as to offer me a rematch? The short bow, outside?’

‘Oh, I do not think so!’ Thranduil laughed. ‘With the short bow, I cannot hit a cow at five paces; I do not like how the strings tug at my fingers and so I never practiced. Do not let me keep you from your day, Thiriston! And send Rawon in!’

 

Thranduil had cooled off a little now, and shrugged his way back into his shirt, replacing the knives in their rack as High Captain Rawon entered.

‘My king requested my attendance?’

‘Indeed, Captain. An interesting fellow that Thiriston, is he not? The captains despise him, the warriors fear him, and yet he’s earned the faithfulness of the tawdriest little slut in all of Mirkwood and made him behave himself for the last ten years or more. I pushed him to the limits of his temper and he did not offend me. What’s more, his commander defends him.’

‘He does, sire. Even to me.’

‘Do you have a weapon of choice, Rawon?’

‘Single lhang, if my king permits. I didn’t bring my own, I have it with the armourer being reground.’

‘Very well.’ The king unstrapped his double scabbards and set them to one side, choosing a lhang from the rack and trying the air with it while Rawon selected one for himself. ‘I sent for you last since I wanted to gather what information I could from Bregon and Cut-Face first. And now I will tell you what I want, you will tell me it is impossible, and we will eventually come to an arrangement.’

Thranduil moved to the edge of the practice circle, presented his shoulder towards Rawon in classic stance and touched the tip of the lhang down, waiting for the captain to join him.

‘My king?’ Rawon mirrored Thranduil’s stance and made the same touch. ‘What do you need?’

Thranduil lifted the lhang and advanced, Rawon met the blade and the dance of steel began.

‘I need a large patrol to go out to ensure a clear route to the Great River. It needs to be free of arachnids and the forest needs preparation. Scope out campsites, assuming a large party of dignitaries who are not used to walking more than three miles in one go or riding for more than half a day without the need for embrocation.’

The lhaing clashed and met and parted.

‘This can be done, sire.’

‘They need to leave within two days. And at the same time, another large party needs to follow the trail of the arachnid migration. Bregon did well, destroying many spiders, eggs and queens, which should make next year easier, but I need to know where the survivors are, what they are doing, and at all costs they must be prevented from returning to their own territory.’

‘But, my king…!’

Thranduil sighed and turned in an elegant spin to flick the tip of Rawon’s lhang so that he was almost disarmed.

‘That is to say, my king, I understand the need. If the arachnids have willingly left the territory…’ Rawon twisted and attempted to get under Thranduil’s guard; it looked as if he might succeed but at the last minute the king’s supple wrist twisted his blade around and under Rawon’s guard. ‘…then it would be folly to allow them back in. Very well. I will see what may be done.’

‘And double the guard on the flets.’

‘Double? There’s hardly room for three to a flet as it is!’

‘Then have them install double levels as they go. This last is not negotiable, Rawon.’ With an easy circle, the king’s lhang pushed Rawon’s blade to the ground and he stepped away and bowed to the captain. ‘Thank you. Most entertaining. See what you can come up with and report to me tomorrow… perhaps in my study, the hour after breakfast.’

‘Thank you, my king.’

‘Send my advisor in, will you?’


	37. Hints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small commitments, and a sister who can't take a hint...

‘We should make an arrangement,’ Govon murmured into Legolas’ ear. ‘You bring the wine, and the beer, and I’ll provide the oil in future.’

In future? Legolas found a smile beginning deep inside his fëa.

‘Very well. I prefer strong fragrances if they are to be close to me. Florals are all very well, but not on my skin.’

‘Not even lavender?’

‘Lavender is for spider burns. Honing oil is infinitely preferable to lavender.’

Govon laughed. ‘Very well; no floral scents.’ He stretched and began to disentangle himself from the bedding, but then sighed and relaxed back against Legolas instead. ‘I should go. I told Merlinith not to wait up for me, that I would be home late… if I hasten, I may be able to slip in before she rises, and pretend I have not been out quite all night… it is only that she will assume I have been with the fair Gwilwilithil – what kind of a naneth names their daughter that? And I would not have her friend embarrassed by Merlinith thinking I have been all night with her.’

‘Well, if I were to come back with you, then Merlinith will not ask her lovely butterfly friend how much time she spent in your company, will she?’

‘True… but that will be quite a big hint to drop as to where I have spent the night and are you sure you wish her to know?’ Govon’s smile was challenging, and Legolas felt more hung on the question than just Merlinith’s finding out where Govon had been.

And he realised something, and so was able to speak with utter sincerity.

‘Melleth-nin, I do not care if everybody knows!’

Govon laughed. ‘I’m sure you don’t mean that! Not when you think about it… your father, your brothers….’

‘Well, I am sure my father and my brothers would not be surprised. But when you put it like that… maybe not all the palace just yet. But for the first time, I do not feel I need to hide what I am.’ As he said it, he felt as if something finally relaxed inside himself. ‘For too long I have walked as if I needed to apologise. Now I find I do not.’

He rolled across Govon and slid out of bed. ‘The bathing room calls me. The pool is big enough for us both, if you wish.’

‘I’ll be there in a moment.’ Govon sat up and stretched, feeling the tenderness left by teeth and overuse and exertion, feeling the lightness brought by completion and affection. What would he say, his fair elf, if he knew how it had been for Govon on the flet? How he had always known when Legolas had been near, however deep in the poison he’d sunk? The prince might laugh, dismiss it. But there had been something in Legolas’ declaration, his assertion that he wanted more than simply a casual bedfellow that made Govon think otherwise.

Not yet. He couldn’t speak of it yet.

He padded to the door of the bathing room. Legolas was standing in the pool, waist-deep in water from the hot springs that ran under the palace cave complex. He was scooping water in his hands to trickle it over his pale skin, the droplets glistening like pearls in the pale morning light coming through the clear crystal skylight in the roof above. His body was strong and lithe and the muscles were defined and perfect, and Govon felt briefly ashamed of his own presently-scrawny condition. 

Legolas turned and smiled at him, dropping down into the water, and Govon forgot about his self-consciousness. 

‘The temperature is perfect,’ Legolas said. ‘Just a little warmer than the skin. Come, join me? If I’m coming home with you, you don’t have to hurry quite so much, do you?’

Govon descended the steps into the pool, marvelling at the warmth and the spaciousness. Legolas’ chambers had seemed modest, furnished plainly considering his status, but the pool was luxurious, almost as big as the prince’s sleeping room.

A prince and a captain. Could it, would it work?

The only way to find out was to try.

‘Ai, after five weeks on a flet, this is bliss indeed!’ Govon said, relaxing into the water. ‘At home, we share a pool half this size with three other families, and Merlinith thinks it the height of luxury.’

‘It is the one thing I have always enjoyed, the privacy of my own bathing pool.’ Legolas smiled, his face transforming. ‘But sharing is better, I think.’

It was tempting to linger in the warm water, to continue the gradual exploration and discovery of each other, but time was passing and while it was wonderful to wash Govon’s hair and to feel the captain’s hands in his own scalp, Legolas was aware of the demands of the day and Tharmeduil’s question of the day before.

‘What does your day hold, Govon?’ he asked, reaching for a towel to pass to his lover before grabbing one for himself and leaving the pool.

‘Calming my sister… sourcing a decent body oil… apart from that, my time is yours, if you like.’

Legolas smiled as he took a smaller towel and began to dry Govon’s hair for him.

‘Well… and if this is not something you want to do, then feel free to say… my brother Tharmeduil wishes to speak with one who was on the flet before the spiders migrated through… it would be a way for you to meet him under informal circumstances.’

‘I thought he was ill?’

‘Yes… but not sick. It is difficult to explain… if you would like to meet him you will learn more. But if you would prefer not to, there are others I could ask, although it would not be the same…’

‘He would know, about us.’

Legolas gave a one-sided smile. ‘Ai, I think he already knows! Do you mind? But, Tharmeduil understands I am not like him and as well as my brother, he is a good friend. And your sister, she will know, soon, so it seems fitting. ’

‘Thank you.’ Govon reached out to lightly touch Legolas’ shoulder. ‘That you want me known as your lover honours me. I will come.’

Legolas turned to place his hands on Govon’s hips, smiling up at him. ‘That’s settled, then. So, we had better dress, I suppose. Help yourself to anything you need.’

Really? But there was nothing he needed urgently; he could change at home soon enough, although he did appropriate a couple of plain hair clasps from the bowl on top of the dresser in the prince’s sleeping chamber.

Legolas noticed, smiling. ‘Swap?’ he suggested, holding his hand out for Govon’s own clasps. The captain grinned and dropped his own clasps into Legolas’ palm. It felt like a commitment, albeit a small one, made bigger by the intimacy of braiding for each other and fixing the exchanged clasps in place.

It felt too soon to be leaving the sanctuary of his rooms. Legolas could have stayed with Govon there for day, weeks. Hours would have done… but the day beckoned and he followed Govon along the corridors to the captain’s family chambers.

Merlinith appeared at the doorway to the kitchen area when Govon opened the door and invited Legolas in.

‘Good morning! I didn’t hear you rise or leave for the baths, Govon. I see you’ve visited them together; you’ll take breakfast with my brother and me, my prince?’  
Legolas’ smile was rueful. ‘Alas, I am almost promised to break my fast with my brothers this morning. Govon, thank you for sharing your baths with me…’ He turned to walk back towards the door. ‘I will call for you later, yes?’

‘In person?’ Govon raised an eyebrow. ‘Surely one of the royal princes has people to do that for him?’

‘Yes. I suppose.’ He lowered his voice. ‘What is it with your sister? We arrive back, both with damp hair, and all she does is assume we were in the public bath together like any males might?’

Govon rolled his eyes. ‘Ai, perhaps she only sees what she wants to see, melleth!’

Legolas smiled at the endearment. ‘I would not want to distress her, but the whole point of my walking back with you…’

Govon reached out to take his hand for a moment. ‘I’ll wait for your messenger, fair elf!’

Legolas smiled again, reluctant to leave. ‘You’ll be brought straight to my brother’s rooms; they are not so far from mine that you won’t recognise the way.’

Merlinith’s voice floated down the corridor. ‘Govon? The food is ready! Oh, and Gwilwilithil said she might join us at lunch…’

Govon rolled his eyes. ‘Ai, Valar! I will go and tell Merlinith I shall be out!’ he said.


	38. Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...and then there were three...

Carenoril lifted her head from Angrisla’s rump with a start. The last echoes of a piteous squeak was reverberating around the dark chamber and from somewhere was a growl and a rending, tearing sound, the unmistakeable scent of blood. 

‘Caranor?’ she asked, to have nothing reply. ‘Caranor, where?’

But there was no reply; the four had become three.

Beneath her, Angrisla grumbled awake, smelling the aroma, lifting his own head.

‘Caranor!’ Carenoril jumped up and flapped and fluttered over towards the sounds. She huffed and breathed and suddenly her red body glowed orange inside and a spurt of bright flame from her nostrils revealed Daedor feasting on the body of her sibling. He hissed and snarled and filled himself up, spitting his own fire back.

Angrisla looked at the brightness of the other two dragonets’ fire-filled bodies, and tried to hiss and puff his own flame, but all that happened was a shot of dank air that made the other two cough.

He pretended it wasn’t him and watched the squabble, trying to think it through… Daedor had made Caranor dead. Daedor now eat Carnanor. All need eat. Carenoril sad, not eat Caranor. Would eat Daedor. If knew no hot-bright in Angrisla…

The thought was too complex for his still-developing vocabulary, but he nevertheless processed it and came to his own conclusions; Carenoril would probably be happy to kill and eat Daedor, but not eat her red sister’s carcass… Angrisla seemed to be lacking flame, in the same way that some of the dragonets had lacked wings – he was, if he did but know it, a cold-drake, but all he knew was that Carenoril and Daedor both could flame, and he was likely to be Daedor’s next target. 

And yet… 

Carenoril didn’t seem to like Daedor. Angrisla didn’t understand, couldn’t process the sibling bondings between the reds or the blacks; he’d had no grey sibling to bond with. But the ancient imperatives were lodged deep inside him, and one thing he did understand was that a male dragon needed a female dragon and that there was now only one female left.

If he was to survive, if he was to gain the female – and therefore the protection of her flame – he was going to have to stand with her now.

Angrisla had no flame, but he had a force of character and strong, strong jaws.

He growled and hissed, and launched himself at Daedor, hitting him feet-first in the stomach and knocking him away from the kill. Carenoril flamed and defended the body of her sibling and Daedor staggered away.

Returning to Carenoril, Angrisla settled beside her, humming softly. It was a soothing, calming sound, and he didn’t realise at first that it came from himself, or that he was enjoying the sounds. The smell of the blood rising from the kill was too much for him, though, and he lapped quietly at the pooling blood, hoping Carenoril would not notice.

But she did, and she pulled away and hissed at him.

‘Carenoril,’ he said softly. ‘Be thinking... Must eat. Need eat. Daedor bad end Caranor. But… Daedor eat, get strong, who eat next? We eat, we get strong.’ He dropped his voice. ‘Then who next eat? Carenoril, is sad, no Caranor. But now is dead. Not eat is waste. Eat, grow strong.’ He leaned in and his voice now was only just louder than thought. ‘Then stronger than Daedor.’

Carenoril said nothing, but she backed away from guarding her dead sister and allowed Angrisla access. He smiled to himself as he feasted, and even more when Daedor tried to approach and Carenoril flamed him away again.

Angrisla ate until his belly bulged, the meat all the sweeter for it being Daedor’s kill and for Daedor being kept from it by Carenoril. Knowing that Daedor would try to steal the rest, he had saved a goodly portion of the rump, and tugged it away, dropping it at Carenoril’s feet. ‘Need food,’ he said. ‘Make strong, eat. Like when waking from shell, we eat big one, dead for us to feed. Not waste chance, Carenoril. Lick. Taste. Eat…’

And, full of sorrow and fear and guilt and hunger, Carenoril ate, and Angrisla smiled and curled up beside her.

He woke with a start. The ground under him, the walls around him, were shaking and rumbling again. Carenoril twitched beside him, waking with a whimper.   
‘Calm,’ Angrisla said. ‘Still. Remember Coloneth, rock fall and last squeak? No want squeak Carenoril, I.’

It was a little, little earthquake, just an aftershock, but it set in motion things that had been happening high above, out of sight or perception of the trapped dragonets. Daedor, rejected and threatened now by the others, was first to notice, perhaps because he was hungry, still, and frightened of Carenoril’s rage and flame and Angrisla’s cold cunning.

So when the tremor began, Daedor took wing and flapped his way up, careful to avoid the constricting walls on either side of him. He rose a dozen or so body lengths – and he had grown again, was now the size of a large cow, had he known it – and came to a ledge in the wall. He tipped his nose up and huffed until flame came, and in the light saw that there was a vast amount of space above him. Suddenly, a crackle and crash, and a little flurry of rock thrown loose from above cascaded down and he tucked himself close against the wall.

Below, Angrisla saw the flash of flame, saw how high above went, so high it never seemed to stop. Could he get so high? Daedor had found a resting place… Angrisla might find one, also. But let Daedor waste his strength… Angrisla tucked his head over Carenoril’s flank. As he had let her do all the work learning to fly, so now he was prepared to let Daedor take all the risks of exploration. Rock was falling down from up, and Daedor was up, so maybe Daedor might be dead of rock soon…

The rock stopped falling, the walls stopped shaking. Slowly, slinking, Carenoril made her way across to the remains of her sister’s body and began to gnaw at the bones.

And suddenly the air changed.


	39. Morning meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which King Thranduil's morning takes a turn for the worse...

The tremor that had shaken and frightened the three dragonets was so minor that it didn’t reach as far as the Great Palace complex in Mirkwood, but nevertheless, as Canadion was finally admitted to King Thranduil’s throne room, he felt as if the ground was quaking beneath his feet.

Kept waiting for almost an hour, he’d had plenty of time to wonder why he’d been summoned. Was it to do with his unfortunate and possibly inaccurate representation of Prince Legolas’ courage during the attack of the spiders? Or had his own lack of fortitude been found out? It was not, he reminded himself, that he was a coward. He had once gone up against a warg with only a short belt knife to his name… No. It was just the spiders. Or was there something else the king wanted him for?

‘His majesty will see you now.’ The king’s advisor was dour and his voice disinterested. No comfort there, no hints, no clues.

He walked in, trying for his usual, easy, casual stride before making the proper obeisance, dropping to one knee and waiting.

‘Rise. Approach… Enough. No further.’

Canadion stood where instructed and looked up at his king through lowered lashes with a loose-mouthed smile, an expression that had served him well in the past. He had no idea if it would work on the king, but it was worth a try…

‘Arveldir?’ the king said in languid tones.

From behind Canadion, the voice of the advisor. ‘Yes, my king?’

‘You had better stay, I think.’

‘As my king pleases.’

Canadion took a better look at Thranduil. He’d never been called to the royal presence before, and the king had only ever been a distantly-glimpsed figure and subject of hushed family gossip. The long, silver-fair hair and tall form was familiar, of course. The dark brows over the dangerous bright blue eyes, now looking disinterested. Thranduil was seated almost sideways on his throne, one leg crossed over the other at the knee, the long, slender fingers of one hand toying with the chiselled chin. Imposing. Regal. And, actually, rather tempting, Canadion realised.

‘Canadion.’ The king moved suddenly, uncrossing his legs and sitting upright on his throne, the transition from bored king to alert ruler intimidating in its swiftness. ‘I understand you are a distant kin to my sons through the sisters of your mother.’

‘So my honoured naneth is forever telling me, majesty,’ Canadion replied.

Behind him, Arveldir cleared his throat; it would seem that the almost proper term of address wasn’t quite proper enough for his liking.

‘I wish to know whether there is any history in the family of foresight.’

‘Foresight, my king?’ Canadion was taken aback. Of all the things he expected the king to have heard about him, he had not expected that! ‘I promise your majesty I have not attempted any…’

‘It is not a crime to have foresight. Only to claim to have it to mislead the unwitting, can it be that you do not know this?’ the king asked.

‘Of course, majesty, but I do not have this… this curse…’

‘That was not the question,’ Thranduil said.

‘Your pardon.’ Canadion turned innocent, wide eyes on his king with a look that stopped only just short of insolence. ‘It may perhaps not be a curse. And had I known your most royal majesty required such knowledge from me, I would have done my utmost to make myself master of it. It grieves me to fail you so.’ He paused, risked running the tip of his tongue over his lower lip and continued. ‘For I would dearly like to please you, my king.’

‘How unfortunate for you!’ Thranduil said. ‘I do not think it at all likely. However, go away, speak to your naneth and your aunts and ask them about foresight in the family. You will not trouble me further; Lord Arveldir will deal with any information you are able to glean. Arveldir!’

‘Yes, my king?’

‘Show this… person out.’

 

Thranduil swept down the steps and out through the exit which led directly to his private chambers, all his previous enjoyment of the morning’s weapons-practice audiences fading. Such a waste of time! And the insolence of Canadion! It had been small compensation to refer to him as a ‘person’ and hand him over to Arveldir, but it was done, at least. He cast off his coat of red and gold and instead found something less heavy for over his tunic. 

A visit to Tharmeduil was in order; breakfast would be over but Nestoril would still be there. He would like to ask her opinion as to the possibility of other foresighted individuals existing amongst the Silvan elves, wanted to be sure his son had recovered from his latest bout of illness. 

He paused outside Tharmeduil’s chambers, hearing voices – many voices, raised in loud conversation and laughter, and was a little surprised. Was this fitting, for a sickroom?

Even though he was king, it was his habit to give a peremptory knock at his sons’ doors. After all, if he did not, it was possible he might see something he didn’t like. The voices died down swiftly. The door opened; Nestoril smiled a welcome. 

‘My king,’ she said in surprise, but her mouth held the shape of the laughter he had just heard. ‘This is an honour.’

As Thranduil entered the room a person he didn’t immediately recognise hastily rose from a seat to drop to one knee and bow his head.

‘Please rise.’ Thranduil glanced at the bent head. Did he know this elf…? Ah yes…

A long-ago memory, one of his less-pleasant recollections of being returned from Dagorlad. He had spoken to the families of each of the lost, even though it had taken weeks. This was one of those he’d visited, a youth barely older than he’d been himself… the memory connected with a name, and the name meant something more; he had been one of the three warriors under Legolas’ recent care.

‘It’s Captain Govon, is it not? I am here as a parent, Govon, not as a king,’ Thranduil allowed his voice to sound gentle. ‘I trust you are well again?’

‘Thank you, my king.’

Govon did as bid and returned to his seat next to Legolas. Iauron, also present, hastily got up from his chair and offered it to his father.

‘Tharmeduil, had I known you would have so many visitors, I would have come later,’ Thranduil said, arranging his long limbs tidily in the chair.

‘We are, perhaps, too many.’ Nestoril smiled at the king. ‘Prince Tharmeduil had some questions concerning the recent events in the forest and Captain Govon kindly agreed to help answer them.’

‘I see. Thank you for your service to my son, Captain.’

‘Come, Govon. My prince, I will be back in an hour.’

Nestoril and Govon having left, Thranduil looked around the room with puzzled eyes.

Iauron looked about to burst into laughter, Tharmeduil's expression was warily interested, and Legolas, looking utterly miserable and completely embarrassed, could not meet his father's gaze.

‘Whatever has been going on in here?’ Thranduil asked.


	40. Of the Nature of Truesight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril talks to Govon

‘Come to my study, Captain.’ Nestoril led the way along the corridor. ‘We can sit for a while until the king has finished annoying my patient.’

‘He knew me. The king remembered me.’

‘Of course. That is one reason why we love him.’ She gave her swift smile. ‘He is our king, he remembers all of us.’

‘I have a feeling he will never forget me after this morning,’ Govon said, grinning as Nestoril’s bright laugh rang out. ‘Ai, Valar! And it was going so well!’

‘I think it is still going very well.’ They had reached the healer hall now, and Nestoril took a moment to talk to her duty staff before leading Govon through to her study and gesturing towards the comfortable chairs. ‘You were able to help Prince Tharmeduil with his questions about conditions before the migration…’ She spared him a sparkling, cheeky glance. ‘And you’ve already featured several times in his drawings; you were not in the least a surprise to him, or to Prince Iauron…’

‘I still do not quite understand those,’ Govon admitted.

‘He has insights and dreams and is making a collation of them. While he draws, I write down his notes, and as those things he has made note of come to pass, we mark them off…’

‘Come to pass?’ Govon queried, startled. 

‘Yes, it is surprising how close he comes to some things… you’ll pardon my citing this example, but he has had great fun teasing Legolas about cuddling a warrior on a flet… which was you, Captain, and a very deft likeness – from when you were ill. Another image – and we have heard this morning from Legolas, just before the King joined us, how you pushed him safe from beneath a falling branch and landed over him – Tharmeduil had described this as you cuddling Legolas in return…’ She dipped her eyes away from Govon who was looking a little uncomfortable. ‘And there is a third image which Tharmeduil cited as uncontroversial proof that there was more to matters between you… I have seen this image, a very beautiful study, and most tastefully done and Tharmeduil has removed it from open display…’

‘Ai, Healer Nestoril…’

She reached out to lay her hand over his and smiled reassurance. ‘Do not mind it! You see, Iauron and Tharmeduil are both happy for their brother. If it brings you any comfort, Tharmeduil has many more less controversial images where you and Legolas feature together all of which suggest you will find a way to be together.’

‘Do you think the prince has truesight?’

Nestoril hesitated before inclining her head. ‘I have not named it as such to him, though. It is a name from the time of the Old Ways and fewer folk believe in it now. In part, that is a pity, for we have a wealth of traditions which are becoming lost to us, as if the people themselves reject them.’

‘It is difficult, with truesight,’ Govon said. ‘It is both blessing and curse. Those who do not have it, fear it, and sometimes those who do understand seek to use it wrongly.’

‘It sounds as if you speak with the voice of experience, Govon?’ Nestoril enquired gently.

‘My great-grand-naneth sometimes knew things. When it was time for the march to Dagorlad, I was not quite old enough to go. But, of course, I wanted to. And had my adar agreed, had he made himself responsible for me, they would have let me, for every warrior was needed. But Older Naneth took him aside and gave him such a talking too when he would have agreed, and then she went to my own naneth and although I did not hear, I saw her face pale at what was said.’   
Govon lifted his head.

‘And so I did not go to Dagorlad, to my shame, although older lads than I were kept at home in training for the last defence, should our warriors fail. Later I learned that Older Naneth had looked at me and seen me covered with blood, the blood of my father and my own mingling together. So my mother knew he would not come back, my father, but she knew that she did not have to lose both of us which she claimed was some comfort. But I, I did not know when he marched away that I would not see him again this side of the seas.’

Nestoril stared at him in astonishment. One of the things that had most troubled her was that she had no comparison for Tharmeduil, no other foresighted individuals she could ask about the mechanisms of their visions. And now here was Govon, with his tales of his great-grandmother…

‘We do not often speak of it,’ Govon continued, his tone almost apologetic for Nestoril was looking at him in such an odd way. ‘And Older Naneth certainly wrote nothing down or drew any images on paper. But perhaps that is simply because she never thought of it. Also, while she was respected, she was also considered by the neighbours as one to be feared, although there was nothing to her but kindness.’

He shrugged. ‘There was almost a fear of having the sight, an embarrassment, maybe. It may well be different for the son of the king, as it was different for the princes’ mother.’

‘People fear what they do not understand,’ Nestoril said softly. ‘But I have felt the lack of knowledge when it comes to Tharmeduil.’

‘If any of our family stories are of use, I will tell them gladly. But Older Naneth is no longer here. My mother went with her long ago on her final journey west.’  
Nestoril arched an eyebrow at that. It was unusual for any of the Silvan elves to sail west, many preferring to stay amongst their beloved forests. In truth, there was some debate, still, as to how far west they would be permitted to sail, and in her mind this accounted for their reluctance to leave the known unless pressed by some extremity.

‘But you are not alone here, I think?’

‘No, my sister Merlinith keeps house with me. We were granted permission to keep our family chambers when our mother left.’

He paused as there was a knock at Nestoril’s door and one of her assistants came in bearing a tray with the makings of tea on it and a note.

‘The chamomile tea I was expecting,’ Nestoril said once the tea was poured and her assistant had left. ‘The note is a surprise. I am invited to join the entire royal family at High Table tonight. A post-script informs me that other guests are to include you, Govon, and your sister, to whom the formal invitation is being sent.’  
‘When you say ‘invite’, I take it you mean ‘required to attend’? Or may I decline? And why am I invited?’

Nestoril looked at him with cool amusement. ‘As for my own invitation, I think it is because all the family are at table. Tharmeduil has not left his room in two weeks and I am his attending healer. And, yes, you could decline. But I would guess you are invited either because you were willing to speak to Prince Tharmeduil about your watch on the forest, or because the king knows you are his son’s friend…’ Govon groaned and Nestoril gave him a moment to compose himself before continuing. ‘…and so wishes to honour you…’

‘To honour me! To scare me off, most likely!’

‘And will he scare you off?’

‘No. No, he never could. I will attend, of course. Besides, Merlinith will love it! And I don’t doubt I will have to endure her flirting with Legolas, since she seems unable to help herself!’

Nestoril’s rich laugh rang out.

‘It is none of my business, and I know this,’ she began, sobering a little and sipping her tea. ‘But I have seen all three prince born and watched them grow up and I have nursed them through all their childhood ills. So it does my heart good when I see something happen to make any of them happy. You will not need it, but you have my support.’

‘Thank you, Healer.’ Govon finished his tea. ‘I suppose I had better go to my sister. She will have had the news and no doubt want to show me every item of clothing she possesses and ask to judge what is most fitting for the High Table.’ He sighed as he got to his feet. ‘And the sad thing is, I will probably know exactly what is right. Good day to you.’


	41. Disappointed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil finds out more than he was expecting...

Thranduil stared around Tharmeduil’s room, waiting for an answer to his question and frustrated that Nestoril had left. It was she he had really wanted to speak to… yet perhaps that would be best done without an audience. 

So. Both Iauron and Legolas present, which spoke well of their fraternal affection, but he could not shake the suspicion that something more was going on here today…

Nor could he help but notice that not one of his sons seemed interested in answering him.

‘Was there anything particularly difficult about my enquiry?’ he asked.

Legolas was looking exceptionally bright-eyed today, he realised. He liked to see his sons happy, and of late his youngest had seemed rather to be struggling. In fact, that trip into Mirkwood seemed to have done him the power of good and today he had seem especially cheerful… except now, for some unknown reason, his mood had changed.

What’s more, he was blushing.

Thranduil could not prevent an accusatory glance at Legolas.

‘Father?’ his youngest son said, uncertain. Thranduil waved a hand.

‘It would appear that you and I need to talk. Arveldir will come for you at some point.’

‘What’s the matter?’ Legolas swallowed, his lingering joy in the day suddenly fading. ‘If I’ve done something to upset you…’

‘We do not want to discuss this here. Not now. Not in front of your brothers.’

‘If it’s about…’ Legolas began and faltered. It wouldn’t embarrass him to defend his friendship with Govon, but it might embarrass his father…

‘If it’s about that captain of his, Adar, I already know,’ Tharmeduil said. He reached for his ever-present sheaf of decorated parchments. ‘It’s all over here and you can’t pretend you don’t mind because on page seven…’

‘Tharmeduil! Do not pretend to know how I feel simply from your own imaginings…’

‘Well, I know it’s no good threatening him with the disappointed lecture again,’ Tharmeduil went on, ‘because you always say one day we’ll be disappointed in you in turn…’

‘And, Father, if after everything Legolas has done for this kingdom, you were to suggest there’s anything wrong with him finding companionship with a captain of your warriors,’ Iauron put in, ‘especially a mature and respected individual of good family, some of whom died defending some of our family, then I think that day may have finally come when Tharmeduil and I will be disappointed in our own adar, which is not a thing I ever thought I would be…’

‘My brothers! Please, you are not helping…’

‘Yes, we actually are, Legolas, for once!’ Tharmeduil said. ‘On page twelve…’

‘Enough!’ Thranduil shouted. The room fell silent, but twin spots of red anger lit the king’s cheeks and Legolas was blushing more than ever.

Still, he rose from his seat and came to stand before his father.

‘In private or here, Adar, it doesn’t matter when we speak of this, the words will be the same. Govon didn’t know who I was for more than a week, he was so very ill. Arachnid hunting poison makes the eyes cloud, did you know that? So I had the dubious pleasure of being vomited on by three warriors who didn’t know who was the recipient of their illness… I minded when it was the lieutenants, I didn’t care when it was Govon. And when we got home, father, it was I sought him. My fëa needs him. It is that simple, Adar, and I am sorry if that is not what you meant when you told me, less than two weeks ago, to find someone I could delight in.’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps you could send me away, if it bothers you, as long as you send him away also…’

Thranduil shook his head, astonished. That his son would dare paraphrase his own words and quote them back at him…

That Legolas cared enough about this captain to face down his own father…

‘Adar,’ Iauron said gently. ‘You’re thinking of the kingdom. But you’re never going to step aside, we know this. We don’t care, and really, I don’t mind if you rule forever, you’re good at it. The thing being, if you ever do want to retire, then there’s me, and Tharmeduil before Legolas would need to step up.’ Out of the corner of his eye, Iauron saw Tharmeduil flinch but continued on. ‘And even then, there is another heir on the way, if it’s only his bonding with Govon would be such a problem…’

The king shook his head. ‘I cannot begin to consider the problems… the issues…’ He shrugged expansively. ‘When I spoke as I did, Legolas, it was because I thought there was someone already and you had been hiding it, my son, and that was why you had been less than happy…’ 

Legolas shook his head. ‘There was, once, but all was over a long time ago. I was… no longer required. But it does not matter; my fëa never once leapt towards that one…’

‘I think I have heard enough.’ The king got to his feet. ‘Tharmeduil, you are looking well, which is my main concern. Tonight we will all be at the High Table.’ He held each of their eyes. Tharmeduil looked delighted at the prospect of leaving his rooms for whatever reason, Iauron didn’t seem to care, but Legolas’ eyes had a wary look to them. 

‘When I say all,’ Thranduil went on. ‘I include Healer Nestoril and Captain Govon in that invitation. If he has family, they, also. And, my sons, however much you may feel I disappoint you in future, believe me it is nothing compared to what my own father did to let me down.’

‘What was that, Adar?’ Iauron asked, glad of a change of subject. 

Thranduil paused at the door. ‘Can it be that you do not realise? He died,’ Thranduil replied. ‘He was cut down in my sight and he died. He should not have done this and I have never been able to forgive him.’


	42. Long Ago and Far Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Iauron thinks he is helping...

‘He died?’ Iauron said into the silence following Thranduil’s departure. ‘That was Adar’s big disappointment in Grandadar Oropher, his dying in battle?’ He shook his head, laughing.

‘Ai, that’s our own dear Adar!’ Tharmeduil said. ‘Come on, Legolas, it will be well,’ he went on. ‘Truly, it will be fine.’ 

‘I’m glad of the thought,’ Legolas began, ‘but…’

‘Never mind him!’ Iauron nodded towards Legolas and grinned at Tharmeduil. ‘Seen any cuddling in my near future, brother?’

‘Ha! And if I had, I’d be more like to tell the poor maid’s father about it than your good self! Now, you two get out and leave me in peace – I want to work on my pictures!’

Iauron laughed and held the door for Legolas. ‘What are your plans for the rest of the day?’ he asked, closing the door after him. ‘Or has Adar completely ruined them?’

‘I hadn’t thought. I don’t feel I’m quite home yet, somehow. When you came back from patrol, didn’t it take you a day or so to get used to being back?’

Iauron thought about it. ‘No, not really. But, in fairness, I didn’t come back to news that one of my brothers was ill. I’d suggest we go to my rooms to work out what to do about Adar, but I guess you’d rather seek out your friend?’

‘I think I’d better give him time to recover.’ Legolas followed his brother along the corridor to Iauron’s rooms. ‘If Adar’s really going to demand him to attend High Table, he’ll need it… oh, and Govon has a sister…’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘Her name is Merlinith and Govon is excellent with the short bow, the long bow, the long knife, the short blade, the single and double sword…’

‘All right, all right – your new best friend does everything perfectly!’ Iauron said as they entered his rooms, shutting the door behind them and leaning with his back against it. He eyed his younger brother with amused interest. ‘You know, I’ve never seen you blush to the very tips of your ears before, Legolas!’ 

‘I was only trying to warn you that if you were to take any liberties with Govon’s sister, there would probably be consequences…’ 

‘Of course you were! And is he? Perfect, that is?’

‘Iauron…!’

‘Well, you looked content enough before Adar joined us. Isn’t swapping braid clasps just a little… adolescent, though?’

‘I don’t know; it’s not something I ever did before…’

‘Oh? Anything else happen with your captain that you never did before?’

‘Now you’re being impertinent!’

‘Sorry. It’s only that… I know I joke about a lot… but, seriously, I thought we knew each other pretty well… I’m sure I’d have noticed if you’d found someone sooner…’

‘Not if you were away, you wouldn’t have.’

‘Oh, so that’s it! Well, you were wearing your glum face before I went on border patrol and met Gaelbainil… or ‘Arwen’, as she’s really known, so it can’t have been then… Before that, last time I was away for any length of time was… it was years ago, and even then…’ he broke off, shaking his head and went to pull discarded clothes off a chair so Legolas could sit down, himself perching on top of a trunk covered with bits of old bow string and scattered oddments. ‘It’s a terrible thing to admit, but I don’t remember when I last thought of you as being happy, youngest brother?’

‘This morning, oldest brother. I was happy yesterday, and this morning.’

‘What, is it too late for me to start showing proper fraternal concern?’ Iauron grinned. ‘I meant before the captain, you oaf! So… who is there here – or who was there here – when I was away six years since…’ Iauron tipped his head to the side, waiting.

‘It was much longer ago than that. And it didn’t last long…’

‘Oho! So now we are getting somewhere! Who was it, Legolas? Who despoiled you?’

‘Iauron!’ Legolas scowled and began to get to his feet. ‘I have better things to do than provide entertainment for you and…’

‘Oh, shut up and sit down! Was it you doing the despoiling, then? Come, you know all about my adventures…’

‘Only because they do not seem to matter to you; if they mattered, I doubt you would be so forthcoming, unless you needed help…’

‘I’m sorry, youngest brother, I am, really! I don’t mean to sound so flippant… but I don’t know how else to talk to you about this! And you know you need to talk to one of us, so that we can help with Adar… did he really give you his most regal blessing?’

‘Something he said when we were last all hauled up before him… he seemed to know how it is with me… he even told me to find someone older, more discreet… but I didn’t realise until today that he thought there already was someone and that I was unhappy because I was hiding it. And as you heard me say, there was nothing to hide, as it was over many long years ago…’

‘And whoever it was…?’

‘Is of no importance now. And has been of no importance for a long time, even before I met Govon.’

‘Still, you’re not like me…’ Iauron shook his head at Legolas’ astonished stare. ‘No, I didn’t mean… I just meant, I treat things more lightly than you do. The more you feel, youngest brother, the more you open yourself to pain.’

‘But if I felt less, it wouldn’t be worth it. Well. If you must know…’

‘Yes, I think I must. Then if Adar wants me to be shocked and surprised about your past adventures, I can honestly say I’m not.’

‘Why do I feel this is less about you supporting me with Father and more about you being at a loose end and wanting to embarrass me?’

‘No, that really isn’t my intention,’ Iauron said in such genuine tones that Legolas would have believed him, had he not continued. ‘My intention is just to find out who your previous swains were so I can judge your taste in lovers! The thought of embarrassing you never crossed my mind!’

Legolas sighed. ‘I suppose my past is no different as for most of us, whether male or female… So there were one or two brief connections that never went anywhere… and then I met him.’

‘Who?’

‘No names. It doesn’t matter, besides, you probably wouldn’t want to be introduced to him one day and realise what he was to me at one time, that would be embarrassing. We were… friends… for quite some time. But it wasn’t right. ’ Legolas rubbed his hands together, looking at the floor between his feet as he spoke. ‘He it was impressed on me the importance of discretion, but it went too far. It seemed as if he was ashamed, not of what he was or what we were together, but of me. Only of me. And it made me feel I was less than I should be. So, I discovered I was not as important to him as I had thought, and while he was important to me, my fëa had not been touched strongly enough for it to give me much sorrow when we parted.’

‘Ai, Valar! I am sorry I asked, penneth!’ Iauron said quietly. ‘I had thought to hear a tale of youthful joy cut short by enraged parents… not of sorrow and unkindness! But now you must tell me who it was, so that I can call him to task for disrespecting the son of the king of Mirkwood!’

Legolas shook his head. ‘Indeed, it is so long since, and I of so little worth to him, I doubt he would remember me. And I have no wish to remember him, especially not now I have found Govon. As for Father, he will understand, or he will not. It may well be that I have to hear the lecture time and again from him, but he will not sway me. I must be cautious, I know, and remember that I am not from home this time and he is more likely to see things he would rather not – so if you truly wish to help me, Iauron, and you should see me behaving with less discretion than I should, then it will be a kindness in you to tell me. I will go now; I think I will bespeak some bread and cheese from the kitchens, and take my lunch outside on the greensward.’

‘If that’s what you want, of course…’ Iauron tailed off as something in his brother’s words struck him… ‘Wait up – what did you mean, not from home this time,’ Legolas? Legolas?’

But the door had closed and his brother had gone.


	43. Foodsource

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the surviving dragonets begin to explore their surroundings...

The last of the bones of Caranor were gone; Angrisla, and Carenoril, had finished them in the night while Daedor had slunk around trying to scavenge and been repeatedly chased off. Angrisla stirred from sleep, opening his wicked yellow eyes.

Something was different.

Everything was more bright and less-dark. The rough shapes of the rock had edges and shade and tone and when he looked into the far-above, there was a very narrow twisting line of bright, bright white, brighter by far than the orange of Carenoril’s flames.

Angrisla nudged Carenoril awake.

‘Up,’ he said. ‘Time we go up now. But we go.’

‘We?’

‘We is you and is me,’ Angrisla told her, staking a claim. ‘Daedor do what Daedor choose, but is not of we.’

‘Up, then.’

‘First I.’ Angrisla didn’t want to lead, particularly, but nor did he want his back exposed and with Carenoril following, he felt safe with the knowledge that her flame would defend them both.

Whirring his wings, he leapt up and began to stroke the air, lifting his long body until he reached the ledge where Daedor had rested the night before. He landed and backed along, making room for Carenoril alongside, and looked down at the place that had been home.

The thin ribbon of brightness did little, really, to illuminate the darkness beneath, but it picked out odd shapes of rock and glints and gleams. The earth here was shattered, fragmented, and the dragonets had been lucky to have found a comparatively flat and secure place to hatch and start their lives – if, that is, it is lucky to have been buried hundreds of feet beneath the surface of the world alongside the body of one’s dead dam and hatch with no notion of what or who you are…

Nature and nurture. For these dragonets, it could only be nature, and in this they were lucky; dragons are hatched wise, even if it sometimes takes them a little while to realise it.

So Angrisla looked down and saw where they had been, and he looked up and wondered what that bright ribbon was, and saw Daedor taking wing and rising up towards them.

‘Again, up?’ Carenoril suggested. ‘More place rest up, look?’

Following her gaze, Angrisla saw another ledge on the opposite side of the open space. It was twice as far again from the ground, and for a moment he hesitated…

…but then he opened his wings and jumped, finding it easier to take off from the ledge than the ground, and he circled and swooped up as Carenoril followed after, and he found he liked the sense of flying, of moving up.

Together the red and the grey dragonets flew up and around until the came to the ledge and landed. Carenoril looked around and squeaked in excitement.

‘See more along, not up here!’ she said, turning and pushing her snout into an open space at her back. She puffed and huffed, and a shot of flame illuminated a long tunnel.

It also disturbed something, for there was a strange rushing and a squealing so high as to be at the very tip of the dragonets’ exceptional hearing, and a cloud of little dark things burst over them and rushed out and up, towards the ribbon of light at the top.

And below in flight, desperately hungry and recognising something about the cloud of bats even though he had never seen or smelled or heard them before, Daedor snapped at the little things and swallowed them, gobbled them up. It took dozens to make a mouthful, hundreds to take the edge of his appetite, but there were thousands of the little things all in a panic at the sudden invasion of their cave by the bright orange flame from Carenoril.

‘See! Daedor eat!’ Angrisla said, and himself began to sift through the cloud of bats, gathering what he could. They were small and swift and crunchy, and more than once he found his jaws snapping on emptiness. He turned his head to huff in disgust, the breath coming from deep down where his missing flame should be, and a clump of bats in the way of his noxious breath dropped to the ground, lying stunned and senseless on the ledge.

This was good. He scavenged with his long tongue, eating the little bodies, inviting Carenoril to join the feast.

‘What is?’ she asked, picking at the morsels. ‘Small crunch, need many, but is good.’

‘Is many,’ Angrisla replied, as the panicking cloud of bats swirled around Daedor, up past Carenoril and himself, and up towards the thin bright light. ‘And was in down here. We stay here, we eat many of the smalls. No need fight-kill-eat Daedor yet.’ He picked up the last of the corpses and swallowed it down. ‘Not unless Carenoril want fight-kill-eat Daedor?’

‘While is food, no. He bad, hurt Caranor, but only three now. Must try not to get dead, any. Come, Angrisla. What down here where small-eats was? We go see?’  
‘We go see, Carenoril. Come. Make flame-bright for look?’

Obligingly, Carenoril puffled a trickle of flame from her nostrils. She was getting better at control now, although she hadn’t quite worked out where the flame came from or how she produced it; dragons are, after all, magical creatures, and perhaps the how and the why and the where can be answered by that one word: magic.

But now she made a soft orange flame that illuminated the tunnel ahead. Above in the vault of the underside of the earth was the bat’s roost, and some of the colony still hung and swung there while other survivors of the dragonets’ feasting slowly flitted back to their spaces. 

Carenoril and Angrisla advanced into the huge space that opened out before them, cave after cavern after cave, and bats hanging down like clusters of grapes from the ceiling. Here was new. Here was space. Here was a trickle and splash of water underfoot and they discovered drinking. Here was foodsource, and it was suddenly all good.


	44. Greensward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas goes looking for Govon...

Legolas escaped Iauron’s rooms with relief, fleeing to the calm of his own chambers. He needed a little time to himself after the confrontation with his father and the teasing enquiries of his brother. He shut the door behind him and walked Here was where Govon had sat, had lain… the warrior’s presence was still in the room; if Legolas closed his eyes, he could imagine him still here, in the inner room, perhaps even in the bed.

Suddenly he realised he didn’t need time to himself at all; he felt alone, lonely in a way he had never felt before. Govan’s company was what Legolas needed now, chance to talk through how they’d felt when his father had arrived, chance to laugh about it, maybe, and agree it didn’t matter. 

He hoped it didn’t matter; all this was still so new, so fresh…

Outside, the day was bright and tempting. Yes. Lunch on the greensward with Govon, what could be better?

Today, when Legolas presented himself at the kitchen with a smile, the housekeeper wouldn’t be talked out of any of the special beer. ‘Big order for the High Table to fill for this evening, my prince,’ she’d said. ‘And it’s worth more than my job, or Galion’s, to stint your royal father tonight.’ 

But she had parted with plenty of the lesser brew, and had gladly put together the makings of lunch for him. 

His heart lifted as he approached the clearing… and then fell abruptly. Govan was there, yes, seated cross-legged under the open sky on the soft turf, but he was not alone; two other elves were with him, also; the lieutenants from the flet. All seemed happy and relaxed, enjoying comradeship under the bright spring sunshine.

He hesitated in the shadows at the edge of the glade. Would he be an intrusion? He remembered the sudden change of mood in Tharmeduil’s room this morning when his father had arrived… 

But then the conversation lulled, and he saw Govon’s eyes sweeping the edges of the glade, the smile fading slowly from his fine mouth as if he was looking for someone and disappointed not to see anyone there.

Legolas took a deep breath, made sure his smile would not be too exuberant, and stepped out of the shelter of the trees.

At once Govon spotted him, but it was one of the other elves who hailed him.

‘Ai, it’s our fair elf! My prince, will you join us?’

‘Thank you, Tegolon.’ Legolas lowered himself to the grass in the space Govon had made for him. ‘Have you, like me, remembered your Captain’s dream from the flet? I have beer, although, alas, it is not the best.’

‘Not of myself, but Hador reminded me, when the message came this morning.’

Hador nodded. ‘Indeed, such an honour! Was it your doing, then?’

‘My doing…?’

‘There’s the answer for you, Hador!’ Govon said. ‘Legolas, we have all been invited to the King’s High Table tonight. We know it is his majesty’s pleasure sometimes to honour those who have been injured fighting for him, and although we three did little more than fall sick…’

‘But, earlier, I was talking also to Commander Bregon,’ Tegolon put in. ‘And he says all who were injured have had the request, along with himself and some others.’ He shrugged. ‘Whatever, it was suggested that dress uniform would be appropriate…’

Hador groaned. ‘Ai, and there was me hoping not to put the grey and green back on for a two-week!’

‘Is that how long before you return to duty?’ Legolas asked.

‘The healers say not before then. Something to do with the poison can linger in the system and if we push too hard too soon, it can reawaken. But I feel no ill-effects.’

‘That’s good to hear.’ And it was natural to ask, ‘Tegolon? Govon? Are you well of the poison now?’

‘I am fine,’ Tegolon said. ‘My captain I think is not quite well of it.’

‘Oh?’ Legolas made his tone polite.

‘It is nothing. A slight tremor which the healers tell me will wear off swiftly.’

‘Will it prevent you from drinking beer?’ Legolas smiled as Govon shook his head. ‘Then I am sure it is not serious.’

He passed bottles around and cracked the top on one for himself. ‘To your health, warriors, now and future.’

They clinked bottle necks and drank. Presently, Hador downed his empty bottle and got to his feet. ‘Well, and my flet dream was to see my wife and little ones again, so I should go back and rejoice in them once more,’ he said. ‘My thanks for the beer, and until later, Govon.’

‘I, too, have a family claiming me.’ Tegolon rose in turn. ‘Be well, Captain, my prince.’

Govon waited until his two lieutenants had left the clearing before turning to Legolas with a huge grin.

‘Thank the Valar for that! I thought they’d never go!’

Legolas laughed.

‘And what happened to ‘drinking beer with a friend or two’, Govan?’

‘Ai, I find I only need the one friend for that.’ He shifted position to lie on one side facing Legolas, propped on one elbow. ‘Tell me, melleth, how went it with your father the king? Was he very angry?’

‘Not so much that you need worry. He was surprised, I think, more than anything. My brothers spoke out in support of us, I am sure it will be well…’ Legolas began unpacking the food. ‘And the invitation for this evening – he only told us we were expected be present and that you and Healer Nestoril would be asked. And so it now seems to me that perhaps Adar has included others of the warriors so that you do not feel isolated amongst us, and that he wants to begin to know more about you. However, I may be wrong. Indeed, it will be the first time in many weeks that we all go to table together. Tell me, are you hungry now?’

‘Indeed.’ Govon smiled and swiftly sat up again, bringing his face close to Legolas’. ‘But should we eat first?’


	45. At the High Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which King Thranduil feasts his warriors

Nestoril tapped on Tharmeduil’s door and entered.

‘Oh and so your family has left you in peace at last!’

Tharmeduil looked up from his drawings, a frown lingering on his face. ‘Yes. Father was a little harsh. He must have known about Legolas; we all did!’

‘And knowing about something is not different from having it proven? From having the proof introduced to you in the shape of one of your own subjects, when you least expect it?’

‘True… Well, at least Adar was not rude to Govon.’

‘King Thranduil would not be rude to any of his warriors, I am sure, and certainly not in front of others. But you like Govon, I think?’

‘I like what Legolas is with him. I like… Govon is everywhere in my drawings of late, and it is hard not to like what I see of him. But… it is complex. There is something that needs to happen… it is not that there are choices, it is that there are two things that may come to be, and if this thing happens first, then there is only one, and Govon is there and here and through all my pages… but if not, oh then I stop drawing him and it saddens me…’ Tharmeduil looked up, confusion in his fair face. ‘What do I do, Nestoril? When I see these things, should I try to warn people? Or will that make everything change? And then what?’

Nestoril sighed and sat down.

‘These are some of the things your mother wondered, also. I did not know then what was right, and I do not know now. But what I do know, dear Tharmeduil, is that one of the things that contributed to her death was she tried to read too much into every possibility, and made herself see and see past the point at which she could recover. So I think people are fickle and changeable, and it will only drive you to despair or madness to try to see every possible path...’

Tharmeduil shook his head. ‘All right. But things like the spiders and the dragons…’

‘I’m sure it’s fine to talk about such threats; it can only help us to prepare. I think it is merely where there is such… such ambiguity. Come. Let us see what else there has been that has come to pass… Ah, but here is this morning’s meeting already; see, the king? And… what’s this? Did your brother really stand so in front of him?’

Tharmeduil nodded. ‘Indeed, and both Iauron and I tried to support him. It did not seem to go badly…’

‘Well, no, not as we are all summoned to dinner tonight.’ Nestoril rested her hands on her knees for a moment before getting to her feet. ‘I shall return later so that you can escort me to the table. I’m quite looking forward to it.’

*

The High Table in the feasting hall could seat up to thirty individuals and, although usually only a few places were set for the kings family and court, tonight it was filled.

Thranduil sat in an oversized chair at the centre of the table. To his left was Captain Govon, a little uncomfortable in the dress uniform which was a currently rather loose on him, while on his right Commander Bregon sat, also in formal warrior garb. Against his better kingly judgement but with fatherly compassion, Thranduil had given Legolas the seat next to Govon with Merlinith on the prince’s other side and Arveldir beyond. To the right of Bregon was Iauron, then Nestoril and Tharmeduil on her far side. The rest of the places were filled with the warriors injured or poisoned in the spider battle, their spouses invited to the High Table too, so Hador and Tegolon were there with their wives, almost opposite Govon. Even Thiriston Cut-Face and Canadion were present, placed as far from the king as possible.

The hall was full, for word had got around that King Thranduil was feasting his brave warriors, and those who might otherwise have eaten at home had come to enjoy the spectacle of heroes dressed in formal uniforms and eating their dinner amongst royalty.

For Govon, being placed between Legolas and the king was both honour and torment. 

The memory of a very pleasant afternoon together in the privacy of Legolas’ chambers should, Govon thought, have taken the edge off his need. Instead, every nerve thrummed, every glance and word from the prince thrilled him. Legolas would lift a hand, or turn his head, and the waft of experimental oil-of-sandalwood from their earlier encounter would drift across and Govon found himself struggling to keep his hands to himself.

But this was a formal event, and he had to behave appropriately. At his side, Legolas did his princely duty flawlessly, engaging Merlinith in polite conversation and admiring how her robe of amber silk set off the tones of her hair, although under the table the prince’s thigh pressed against Govon’s in secret intimacy.

‘My brother helped me choose,’ Merlinith admitted. ‘He has an eye for such things.’

‘Indeed?’ It was all the chance Legolas needed to smile and speak to Govon. ‘Your sister tells me you have an eye for beauty?’

‘Who can help it, living amongst such glories as we have here?’ Govon replied. ‘The forest is rich in wonders, after all.’

‘Do you know the forest well, Captain?’ Thranduil asked, causing Govon to almost spill his wine in surprise at being addressed.

‘Some of it, my king; I know the region around the northern outposts best; I’ve done most of my duty tours there for the last five years or so.’

‘Indeed? Do you never get bored?’

‘Bored, your majesty? This is Mirkwood, and my station is in a region prone to arachnid incursion; if you get bored, you get dead quite quickly.’  
Thranduil smiled and toyed with his glass. ‘What are your preferred weapons, Captain?’

‘Oh… I’ve been using short bow mostly of late. But bladed weapons, by choice. I prefer the straight edge over the cutlass-form lhang…’

‘Yes? Do you ever work with twin blades?’

On the other side of the king, Bregon tried to catch Govon’s eye with a shake of the head, but Govon, supremely oblivious, was nodding avidly.

‘Yes, my father was a purist and taught me the classic form in my youth.’

‘Really? Then we should practice together some time. When you have recuperated from your recent ordeal; I trust you are feeling better?’

‘I’m starting to, my king, thank you…’

Servers bringing in more food interrupted the conversation and Govon began to breathe once more. Legolas claimed his attention again, insignificant conversation because it had to be, with so many eyes and ears paying attention, but, still, the rest of the meal flew by in a haze of sandalwood and surreptitious sub-tablecloth contact.

Finally the table was cleared and the drinks replenished, the good beer served. Thranduil glanced across at Arveldir, who called everyone to attend the king.

The hall fell into a respectful silence and Thranduil stood and gestured around the table at the warriors gathered there.

‘Tonight we gather to honour our wounded and thank them for their service in keeping our realm safe and pushing back the darkness a little further from our gates,’ Thranduil said, raising a glass of beer in salute. ‘We drink to them.’

The honour given, Thranduil sat down. He allowed his High Table guests time to savour their drinks and relax for a few moments before commencing to question his neighbouring guests. 

‘Commander Bregon,’ he began. ‘Have you ever worked with Captain Govon or his lieutenants, perchance?’

‘To my knowledge, only with Lieutenant Hador, who was assigned to me for a time shortly after his training. My king wants to know because…?’

‘No matter. Captain Govon, how long before you and your lieutenants are fit for duty?’

‘Two weeks at least, my king, so we are told. Although we are eager to return to service, of course.’

‘No doubt. One can find oneself drawn into all manner of bad habits when one’s time is not filled with duty…’

Govon somehow kept his expression politely attentive.

‘Indeed, my king. For myself, I have taken up new pursuits to fill my time…’

At his side, Legolas struggled not to spray good beer though his nose.

‘…and my sister is glad of the company, of course. I miss my work, although I cannot say I miss that particular flet.’

‘Try to regain your fitness swiftly, you and your lieutenants. I want your services.’

‘My king?’

‘And that of all these warriors at my table, also.’ Thranduil raised his voice to reach the entire table. ‘Commander Bregon?’

‘My king?’

‘The court will shortly be riding out to meet with Imladris beside the Great River. It is fitting that we have appropriate warriors who have proved their willingness to fight and, indeed, to suffer for their King…’

A stir grew around the table as those in attendance began to really listen.

‘By the time we ride, scouts will have returned and the route explored; there should be no surprises but we want proven warriors with us. The injured of your troop, Commander Bregon, with the addition of the Captain here and his lieutenants. We will travel with a regular company in attendance, but your command will be our honour-guard.’

Along the table, Arveldir rolled his eyes. This was not how it was done! The king could not simply make announcements like this and expect them to come to fruition…

Except he was their king and he could do anything he wanted. 

And he knew it.

‘My king, it would be a privilege to serve you… but there are lines of communication… Captain Govon has his own Commander to report to…’

Thranduil waved a hand. ‘Arveldir will attend to everything, Commander. Just get your injured fit and well and ready for a long journey. You have at least three weeks, more likely four.’

‘Of course, my king.’ Bregon bowed his head. ‘This is truly an honour.’

‘Please continue at table; this night is yours, after all.’ Thranduil rose to his feet. ‘My sons, attend me.’

Once the Sindar royal court had left, Bregon leaned across to speak to Govon, an apology in his face.

‘Captain, understand I intend no disrespect… but you are not one of mine and how your own commander will respond…’

‘I know that, Commander. And it is an honour, indeed!’ Govon replied, although it did not feel like an honour; it felt like a way for King Thranduil to take Legolas away from him for a while, just as easily as the king had taken him away from the table. ‘My Commander’s name is Esgaron.’ 

‘Good; I will seek him tomorrow and explain the king’s wishes, although no doubt Master Arveldir will also approach him. I am sure you and I could work well together, if we are granted the chance.’

‘Indeed, I have reason to be grateful to you, since it was your command that found us after the attack…’ Govon was interrupted by Merlinith laying her hand on his arm and speaking softly in his ear. ‘Commander, my sister reminds me I’m still tiring easily after the venom, and I shouldn’t linger. I’ll bid you goodnight.’


	46. Now, Tomorrow, Forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After dinner, Merlinith gives Govon permission to stay out all night...

No sooner had Govon had escorted Merlinith from the hall than she patted his arm to halt him.

‘The prince asked me to get you out of there as quickly as I could; he’d like to speak with you.’

‘Ah… I wondered what you were up to…’

‘Besides, it’s been an exciting day and I’m a little tired.’ She gestured along the corridor leading to the royal wing. ‘Go and see what your prince wants, then. There’ll be more beer-drinking involved, no doubt!’

‘Goodnight, Merlinith. Don’t wait up for me.’

‘Well, either be quiet when you come home or don’t come home at all!’

Was that permission? Govon smiled to himself. ‘I won’t disturb you, I promise.’

He tried not to hurry along the corridors, but the memory of the afternoon burned in him, the promise of the wafts of sandalwood and the heat of brief contact at the High Table was too strong and he walked briskly to Legolas’ chambers.

The door was ajar, and before he could knock on it, swung wide.

‘You’re free to walk in, anytime, you know,’ Legolas said. ‘I don’t like that you have to knock.’

The prince had taken off his jacket, and his shirt was loose and open at the neck, exposing his throat. He reached for Govon, pulling him into the room and shoving the door closed, wrapping his arms around the warrior and pressing his body close against him. 

‘Ai, what an evening!’ he said softly. ‘So close to you and so far!’

‘Yes, indeed.’ Govon savoured the embrace, feeling the prince hardening against him, his own response. ‘But now we are alone. We should make the most of it, for when I am called to the king’s honour guard… I do not know how long I will be away…’

‘Do you wish to talk of this now?’ Legolas eased out of the hug and sat on the sofa, pulling Govon down with him and taking both his hands in his, unwilling to relinquish his hold. ‘What is the matter? I am sure we will find a way… it will be difficult, there will be many eyes on us, but not everyone can watch everywhere each moment of the journey…’

‘I don’t understand… I thought… are you coming on this trip, then?’

‘We are all going, my father, my brothers, Arveldir… Nestoril too, I expect. It is many, many years since our houses met, and it is rare that Mirkwood has anything Imladris covets… I know my father, and it is entirely in his nature to make a royal procession through the forest simply to say ‘no’, if he feels like it. Of course, in this case, it’s more about Iauron, so…’

‘You’re going too, melleth?’ Govon repeated.

‘Yes… you did not realise?’ 

Govon shook his head. ‘No – I thought the king was trying to separate us.’

‘Instead, it seems like Adar is allowing us to be together. Under his eye, of course, which makes ‘together’ a relative term, but, still…’

‘But, that is…’ Govon ran out of words. It was wonderful, it was a huge relief, it was… intimidating. He would be riding as honour-guard to his king, his princes – and his lover, and maintaining a proper bearing would be a challenge. ‘That is so much better than I had thought!’

‘Yes.’ Legolas stroked his thumbs over the backs of Govon’s hands. ‘Is there anything more troubling you, or shall we make love now?’

‘That’s a good thought.’ 

Govon got to his feet and stood while Legolas unfastened the clasps of his dress coat, his hands on the prince’s waist. Through the thin linen shirt, his melleth’s skin was warm, inviting Govon to slide his hands under the hem and explore upwards, caressing the fine, soft skin over the flat abdomen and firm muscles. His fingers drifted around Legolas’ body to climb his spine and caress his shoulders beneath the shirt. The prince stopped unbuckling and sighed, dipping his head to Govon’s neck with a groan.

‘Melleth-nin, if you do that, how can I concentrate on your garments?’

Govon stepped back, pulling Legolas’ shirt off over his head and shrugging out of his own tunic. He filled his eyes with the sight of his lover’s body, reaching out again as soon as Legolas had hurried him out of his own shirt.

‘Ah, the sight of you, melleth!’ Govon said. His hands linked in Legolas’ hair and pulled him in for a kiss that lasted forever, that was far too short. ‘And the taste.’

Legolas nodded as he caressed Govon’s shoulders. ‘It’s the sandalwood, melleth-nin – it does the job admirably but it lingers everywhere!’ His hands swept down Govon’s back to slide inside the waistband of his leggings and stroke the hidden skin of his lower back. ‘Come to bed?’  
‘I thought you would never ask!’

Legolas smiled and headed for the sleeping chamber, pulling Govon with him. They battled each other free of boots and leggings, becoming distracted and entranced by the touch of cool hands on heated skin, but soon tumbled down together in a delighted, delicious tangle of limbs and flowing hair, stroking hands and hot, moist mouths, heady and urgent.

Legolas lifted his head away from Govon’s heated lips, sliding down his body to catch a nipple between his teeth and flick his tongue over it while his lover gasped and grasped at him.

‘Ai, melleth…! Legolas…’

The fair elf released him, eased back up to pin his lover down, hip over hip, erection against erection. He smiled, suddenly feeling playful, and bounced his pelvis down, causing Govon to convulse against him.

‘Ah, my fair elf… I need you!’

‘This is nice.’ Legolas smiled into Govon’s amazing hazel eyes. ‘Feeling the heat of you. The wanting of you.’

‘Saes…’ Govon groaned as the prince flexed against him once more, and suddenly Legolas wasn’t smiling but gasping as his own need grew too great and he bent his head to kiss that fine, fine mouth and Govon’s arms caught him, sliding down to cup him softly before rolling him onto his back, himself on top, his own hips bucking and grinding against his prince.

‘Truly, melleth-nin, I need you. I need you now, tomorrow, forever… Ai…!’ Govon broke off as Legolas lifted his head and caught Govon’s lower lip briefly between his teeth, his tongue tracing the soft skin, his hands exploring across Govon’s back and the globes of his buttocks, gently, teasingly probing and then ceasing, so that the captain felt suddenly bereft with only the throb of his need and the tempting, taunting tongue connecting him to his lover. The sudden and fragrant spice of sandalwood, and slick, soft fingers once more, entering, stretching, but then in a change of heart, perhaps, the same oiled hand stroking and sliding between their two bodies to coat Govon’s arousal with oil and the prince moving, spreading his thighs and lifting his hips, guiding Govon towards him, his breath fast and rough with desire as the captain slowly filled him, waiting until he was sure Legolas was ready, receptive, before beginning to move and rock and pull, to brush the fine, silver-fair hair back from the exquisite face, to lock eyes before dipping down for another kiss, and finally, as the prince gasped and bucked and cried out into his mouth, to thrust and push and fall into senseless rapture as he climaxed, feeling the sudden surge and heat of his melleth’s semen exploding against his belly, hearing words of love and promise and not knowing, in the glory of the moment, whether it was his own voice or his lover’s saying them. 

He slipped out of the beautiful body beneath him and cradled Legolas in his arms. It didn’t matter who had said what; they were one and the same fëa, after all.

Govon smiled, and took that thought with him into sleep.

*

When he woke, it was still dark and for a moment he wondered where he was; not his own chamber… 

And he was not alone.

His fair elf was sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, naked and his pale skin gleaming like moonlight. The silver-gold hair was unbraided, falling around his face and shoulders and although his glorious mouth was serious, his entire being seemed to smile.

‘Govon, melleth-nin, I’ve been thinking,’ he began in his melodious voice, made deep and dark with emotion.

The captain sat up in bed, eyes drinking him in. ‘Is that wise, in the middle of the night, after strong wine and good beer, and love?’ he asked.

The prince ducked his head, almost embarrassed.

‘No. it’s simply this: it does not seem right, to me, that you have to knock on my door. I would like you to make free of my rooms. I would invite you to live here with me, but I fear your sister might not like it…’

‘I can think of many others who might not-like it even more than she…’

‘Saes, hear me… you need me, you said. Now, tomorrow, forever... But did you say that in the heat of the moment?’

‘I said it from the depths of my fëa, pe-channas!’ Govon said, grinning suddenly. ‘And I was sure I heard you say you love me, after. Or was that in the heat of the moment, too?’

‘Of course not! Govon, I want you to feel you have a right to be here, however much a part of my life as you wish to be…’ 

He faltered suddenly and Govon crawled over to enfold him in his arms. ‘Don’t worry about me,’ the captain said. ‘There’s something up, what is it melleth?’

‘I want you to know… you do not need to knock, you do not need to beg, you do not need to… there is no difference between us that matters, you know that?’

‘Why would you think I fear such things?’

Legolas shook his head. ‘It is not important. But there is a key for you, if you want it. So that you need not knock. But… it does not mean that you have to spend all your time here if you have other…’

Govon interrupted him with a swift kiss.

‘How long is it going to go on for, melleth, that your mouth will keep talking when it has better things to do?’ 

Legolas gave him a slow, shy smile. ‘I think you mentioned now, tomorrow, forever,’ he said. ‘If that is all right with you?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Saes - Please  
> Pe-channas - Idiot


	47. The Court Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kind Tharanduil lays down his orders and his captains are left to implement them...

High Captain Rawon was not having the best of mornings. His planned meeting with King Thranduil had, mercifully, taken place in the king’s study and not the sparring chamber… but complication on complication had been laden on top of the king’s already-challenging list of requirements for the forthcoming royal progress through the forest to camp beside the River Langflood above where it widened and became the Great River.

Patrols and extra guards and new levels on the frontier flets… increased presence in the forest and additional spider hunts… the necessity to keep the spiders away from the road, to prevent their return to the habitat they’d abandoned… all this could be done. 

‘And you will scout the route and make it safe, making new flets at appropriate intervals and keeping guards on them, stashing extra supplies to minimise the effect on our supply train…’

This, too, was possible.

‘And you will pick whatever warriors you wish to provide an adequate company for our protection. But my honour guard will be made up of those warriors at the High Table last night – which means you must acquire the services of Captain Govon and his two lieutenants…’

‘My king – they are not even in the same branch of service, never mind the same command!’

‘You are Over-Captain. It is your prerogative to order things as you will. This is how I wish it to be, and so it is your wish also. Attend to it. Arveldir has our planned route; exchange details with him. Report to me weekly as to your progress and have Bregon report to me as to the fitness of his wounded on a regular basis, also.’

‘I will begin at once.'

‘One thing further. We will not cross to the Imladrian side of the Langflood, nor do we expect them to cross to the Mirkwood bank. We need an eyot. The Carrock is too far downstream, but there is a more northerly alternative which is suitable, where the pack bridge used to be…’

‘I know the one, my king. The bridge washed away some thirty years ago.’

‘It will need to be reinstated. On our side, that is. Our main camp will be on the plain, of course, but a small encampment will be required on the eyot for the formal talks.’

‘And the Imladrian side of the river?’

‘Will be their responsibility; they will be made aware of the fact.’ The king waved a lazy hand. ‘Let me detain you no further; you have much to attend to.’

And so Rawon had bowed himself out and stalked off to the barracks in search of Commander Bregon.

*

He ran the commander to ground in what passed for his office – a desk in the armoury of his company barracks – frowning and shuffling papers.

‘Commander Bregon?’

Bregon looked up, his frown easing as he recognised his visitor. ‘Captain Rawon – please, take a seat. May I help you with something?’

‘You may have heard of our king’s planned expedition, I take it?’ Rawon said as he sat down.

Since there were no subordinates present to see, Bregon allowed himself the luxury of an eye-roll.

‘Ai, Captain… My company has been most highly honoured!’

‘I feel for you!’ Rawon said, grinning. ‘How goes your planning for this great attention?’

‘That the king wants our wounded heroes to be his honour guard has delighted all my warriors… except for two, who I fear may not be well enough in time… and I am to command this company, which is also an honour for me… but that I must include warriors from another command and they, too, are classed as wounded…’

‘That would be Govon, Hador and Tegolon? I’ve been told of the need to include them; his majesty seems quite insistent… do we know why?’

‘Because King Thranduil wants it so.’ Bregon was beginning to have his own suspicions, but kept them to himself; Rawon would not be on the journey with them, after all. ‘I’m not averse to commanding them, and have already spoken privately with Commander Esgaron… he is… reacting as any of us would when told three of our warriors were being summarily reassigned, but he understands it is the king’s order…’

‘Still, he must fear the rest of his command will see it as a slight…’

‘Indeed,’ Bregon said. ‘I had thought of assigning the three as personal guards for the royal court, perhaps with three from my own command…’  
‘It would make for balance. What if the regular company was to be drawn from Esgaron’s command?’

‘That would recompense his warriors, but I doubt they would willingly follow my lead; Commander Esgaron himself would be needed, also…’

‘Could you work with him, one commander to another?’

‘We are both aware that he has the higher rank, but if I lead the honour guard, as the king requires, that sets me above him…’

‘Well, and that is easily settled!’ Rawon smiled and stretched. ‘Given your recent achievements against the spiders, a promotion is not  
unreasonable. Just to take you to the same rank as Commander Esgaron.’

Bregon sat straighter in his seat. ‘That would be… and a demotion when we returned, of course?’

‘No – why would it be necessary, you’ve served well? And, between us, if you are the king’s new favourite, it will not hurt that your Over-Captain has noticed your worth before being told to, will it?’

‘Then, my thanks…’

‘One other point,’ Rawon went on. ‘Your idea of three and three in the personal guard… it would appease Esgaron, I think, if you gave command to his captain… if the fellow is able enough… and your chosen three will follow him?’

‘I will ensure I choose the three from my company with that in mind, Captain.’

‘And… this Govon. He’ll have to have a promotion, too, I suppose…’

‘He is most deserving of it, I assure you, Rawon. You’ll hear him claim all he did was get bitten by a spider and fall ill while on an outpost flet, but… and mark this, Captain. None of the warriors on the other flets even tried to attack the spiders – they hid from them, instead. Now, while this is not cowardice, but common-sense…’

‘So what takes Govon’s actions out of the realm of foolhardiness and into heroism?’

‘One of the lieutenants got tangled up and could not flee. Govon stayed to defend him and the other who was attempting to free him. And the tale did not come from them, but from Rimon, one of my own lieutenants, who eventually got it from Hador…’ Bregon shrugged. ‘I think Rimon would be good amongst in the personal guard…’

‘Call it the Court Guard; it sounds better.’

‘Indeed, it does. And I’m tempted to put Canadion and Thiriston there, too…’ 

Rawon winced. ‘Really? After the king outmatched Cut-Face with the tumbling knives, and Canadion made suggestive eyes at him in his own throne room?’

‘Ha! Did he so? My reason being they’ve all seen Prince Legolas fighting – even if they like to pretend otherwise. Thiriston will keep Canadion under control – he’s not a bad little warrior as long as it’s not spiders...’

‘There will be no spiders within two day’s march of the royal procession – I’ve had my orders.’ Rawon got to his feet. ‘And you’ve made my day a little easier. Just make sure your company are all fit and well in plenty of time. Good day to you!’


	48. Silvan Tradition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tharmeduil finds a moment of clarity...

Tharmeduil was restless, more restless than usual.

While it had been a blessed relief to get out of his rooms for a few hours – even if it had been just for a formal court dinner – what he had heard there had just made his head spin. 

It was all tied up with the strange confusion of images around Govon and Legolas…

He couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t rest, and although he had pretended to Nestoril that he was fine and ready to retire for the night, as soon as she had gone he reached for his sheets of parchment and notebooks and spread them out across the table.

Firstly, he needed to isolate all those images with Govon and Legolas and redraw them on a clean sheet in as correct an order as he could… Legolas and Govon on the flet, Govon saving Legolas from the fallen branch…

…the fallen branch…

…Legolas in his bathing pool, Govon washing his hair and even in the tiny sketch, such love in his eyes… 

…Govon sitting up in bed, staring at a naked, cross-legged Legolas… better not let Nestoril see that one. Or Adar, for that matter.

…and a long break, a gap of weeks before the next image, himself and Govon standing listening near a pavilion, Govon’s face stricken or outraged…

That was it, those were the only clear images… except…

Why had he drawn that last one twice? It wasn’t pleasant to look at, to see the expression on Govon’s face, outraged, or stricken…

But they were not the same, they were different.

And the more closely he looked, the more he thought he understood… stricken, or outraged? It depended which picture you were looking at, but that was the only thing between them.

No, it wasn’t. There was one other detail, insignificant, minor, of no importance whatsoever…

Unless you knew Silvan tradition.

Suddenly, Tharmeduil was filled with the urge to draw, and he reached for his pigment sticks…

He talked as he drew, as if Nestoril had been there, listening to his own ramblings as if they might make sense, changing from colour to charcoal to pigment, writing three words over and over and sketching at several different places on the parchment at once; Legolas; Nestoril, Adar… he drew them all, shaking his head, not understanding why he needed to do this, but scribbling and filling and talking and laughing and weeping until he had emptied himself of pictures and with a sigh, sat back and closed his eyes.

He opened his eyes with difficulty to thin daylight and a stiff, scratchy feeling to his face that he was beginning to recognise. He sighed. Nose and eye bleed again, this was growing to be a habit, a very unpleasant one. Still, at least he could see, even if everything did look a bit odd… 

Bathing room. Water, cloth, face… repeat… and, finally, mirror. Oh. Not good. His reflection was still very bloodshot and rather scary…

Tharmeduil bathed his face again, washed his hands, and went back to his work table to look at the drawings. The ideas and thoughts that had so fired him had faded now, were just echoes, but he remembered the important things and foremost in his mind was the fact that this had all started, somehow, with Govon pushing Legolas out of the way of the fallen branch… 

Following the trail of pictures left him scratching his head in surprise. All that? From pushing someone out of the way of a branch…?

No, he realised, from the branch itself…

And as he stared, everything began to fall into place…

*

Someone was knocking at the door, Legolas realised. No, hammering at it… he sat up abruptly.

‘You don’t have to knock,’ he said aloud. ‘I meant to say, did I not say?’

‘Legolas, melleth, you said…’ Govon told him sleepily, turning to slide an arm across him. ‘What’s the matter?’

The knocking came again.

‘You’re there!’ Legolas said. ‘You’re not at the door, are you?’

‘No. Not even in any kind of metaphorical sense, having just woken… would you like me to see who wants you so badly? It might make them go away…’

‘No, I’d better go.’ Legolas sighed, sliding out of bed and placing a brief kiss on Govon’s mouth as he did so and snatching up a pair of leggings as he went to the outer room. ‘All right… wait a moment, you’ll wake the entire wing…’

He secured the leggings and opened the outer door.

‘Tharmeduil?’

‘Legolas, you have to come with me.’

‘No, I don’t. You need to tell me what’s up and…’

‘Boots, now. I’ve brought a hatchet…’

‘And so you have… Are you well, Tharmeduil? What’s up?’

‘You must come with me; it might not be there if we wait and it’s really important…’

Legolas sighed and pulled on his boots, finding a jacket. ‘Well?’

‘You’d better tell Govon you’re going out. But be quick!’

‘And what makes you think he’s even here?’

‘How stupid do you think I am?’ Tharmeduil said. ‘Hurry up!’

‘Ai, and I thought Iauron was the annoying brother!’

‘No, that would be you! Iauron’s the cheeky one and I’m the lovable sibling, remember?’

 

Legolas returned a few minutes later, looking flushed and not at all happy to be dragged out of his rooms at just past dawn.

‘So what’s going on?’ he asked once they were clear of the building and heading out across the early day.

‘When the earth tremor hit and the tree shed a branch. You need it.’

‘What for?’

‘Well, some of it. You know the fëa trees?’

‘Yes. I’ve not been to see them for decades, though. It’s a Silvan tradition…’

‘So, was our mother not Silvan?’

‘I only meant that…’

‘The fëa trees.’ They reached the edge of the greensward and Tharmeduil found the fallen branch, looking up at the host tree. ‘This is the one, I knew it would be… it’s the golden rowan your fëa tree sprang from, Legolas. And you can say it’s a coincidence, if you wish, or you can trust my insight if you will. But I’ve a sketch at home of you with a slice of this fallen branch and you’re making something out of it…’

‘Am I? What for, then? I’ve never had the slightest urge to be a carpenter…’

‘Well, answer me something first. Did you say it, yet? Not him, you?’

‘Say what? Tharmeduil, does Nestoril know you’re out?’

‘There are three words I can’t shake… now, tomorrow, forever… did you say them?’

‘Well… yes, but…’

‘Then you should know what for, Legolas. If you’re going to honour the Silvan tradition, you have to make him something yourself.’

Legolas stared at him.

‘I only thought about it in the night,’ he said. ‘I only heard… and then said… those words, a few hours ago, and afterwards I thought… it sounded right, but it’s so soon…’

‘It’s only so soon now. You won’t get it done in a day, you know; it’s weeks of work. I’ve seen it, I’ve drawn it. It’s going to be stunning, by the way, and it’s worn with so much dignity and pride, Legolas, if you could see… Ai, I should have brought the drawings to show you...’

‘He wouldn’t agree… would he?’

‘Why would he not? This branch fell for a reason, for you to cut from it.’ Tharmeduil handed him a small hatchet he’d been carrying at his belt. ‘Listen, I’ve a picture of you taking a slice of your fëa tree’s parent, and making a wristband from it for when you make vows with your fëa-mate.’

‘And that makes it true, does it?’

Tharmeduil grinned. ‘You’d better believe it!’


	49. New Words, New Concepts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the dragonets run out of bats...

Truce.

It wasn’t a word Angrisla had thought of yet, but he was living it. 

Now that a little time had passed, and they had found a food source, Carenoril had softened a little towards Daedor – to the point where she no longer wanted to rend him apart, at least. And Daedor was trying to be friends with Carenoril – Angrisla heard him talking to her from time to time, suggesting they should team up, flame and flame, red and black, and he realised that Daedor, too, had come to know that a male dragon needs a female one. Daedor brought gifts of dead bats and piled them around Carenoril while she and Angrisla dozed; they were often crispy and burned from where he’d flamed them from their roosts – and Angrisla would respond by standing on his tail and blasting his cold, killing breath at them so they tumbled, still warm and raw and unspoiled, like food from the skies down on them.

And so they coexisted, and ate, and grew.

After a few weeks they had exhausted the food source in their cavern, or those bats which had survived the predation had moved elsewhere, and they began to feel hungry again, and Angrisla’s yellow eyes would look greedily over Daedor’s increasing girth. It was difficult now to measure how big they had grown – nowhere near the size of their dead dam, of course, but they had each easily tripled their size since discovering the cave of bats. Angrisla, being a wyrm, was longest, Carenoril biggest, Daedor plumpest – at least until the lack of food began to make itself felt again.

‘Out, up,’ Carenoril suggested. ‘Maybe find more of food?’

‘Through and see,’ Daedor flamed briefly down the cavern, illuminating a tunnel at the end along which they’d never been; having food for their bellies, they had not felt the need to explore further.

‘Carenoril, I go out and up,’ Angrisla said. ‘Daedor do what Daedor want.’

So Daedor watched as Angrisla launched himself up to the thin bright ribbon above and Carenoril followed him. It was harder now to fly, as they were heavier and bigger, but their wings were larger too and they rose more swiftly, higher and higher, with no sense of scale to guide them until another ledge enticed them to land.

Everything was lighter and brighter here, and the ribbon of bright was wider, although, they had noticed, it went through phases of bright and less bright. Now it was cycling from less to more bright once more and there was a real sense of fresh air in these regions.

This ledge was only that; a place to rest and not an entrance to another cavern, but Angrisla did spot an opening on the other side of the chasm, higher up and in an angle of rock. Without a word to Carenoril, he fell from the ledge to swoop and sweep himself upwards, hoping she would follow without prompting.

He landed like a grey shadow, folding the sails of his wings and sidling across to make space for Carenoril who had, indeed, followed after him. She shuffled herself around and made flame to light the cavern behind her.

‘Ach! Is smell, bad like old dead meat.’ Not that dead meat had much chance to get old around the dragonets, but once, there had been a bat that had fallen down, unnoticed, until its unpleasant and pungent aroma had led to its discovery. ‘No meat see.’

‘Big space. High and long?’ Angrisla asked.

‘Go see. Come with?’

The cavern narrowed a little as they proceeded in. It was high enough so that Carenoril could lift her head and Angrisla stretch his long neck without touching the ceiling. When Carenoril flamed upwards, they could see the reflected glint of flame against the rocky roof over. There were no bats here, although they knew too little of the natural world to wonder if this was not odd, that bats should prefer to roost at lower levels when this upper cavern would have been far more convenient. Carenoril flamed again the path ahead, and saw chunks and lumps of rockfall, broken free in the earth tremors of the weeks before.

‘Bad smell more bad…’

‘But meat? Smell meat gone old?’ Angrisla asked. He slivered his tongue out from between his narrow jaws, snakelike, tasting the air and slinking forward. ‘Dead meat here in rock. Like when poor Coloneth made last squeak under rockfall…’

Carenoril came forward and sniffed at the mound of rock and something else... it smelled very bad… just how hungry was she? 

She closed her jaws around a part of the dead meat and tugged. Oh. She really was that hungry…

Gulping and her jaws snapping, lifting her head to make it easier to swallow the chunks of flesh, she devoured the carrion and ran her slim tongue over her snout.

‘Is not bad-bad,’ she said. ‘Smell is more worse. Try, Angrisla. Taste.’

Angrisla approached and tentatively pulled at the corpse. His distaste cleared as he got beyond the smell and into the flavour; it was meat, cold and old, yes, but it made almost a mouthful in one go.

Carenoril burrowed around under the rocks, trying to free the last of the carrion. She found a little more, but part of it was unreachable for the rock fall. Still, she savoured the last bite and looked at the rocks in thought.

‘Where did come from?’ she asked, thinking aloud. She flared flame towards the roof of the cavern… ‘Rock from up? Meat from up?’ 

And in the bright orange gleam, she saw a break above, a suggestion of space and darkness.

‘No,’ Angrisla disagreed. ‘Meat under rock when fall, like Coloneth, where Coloneth down and rock fall on. Meat not fall.’

‘Think more meat? Like with little, many fly foods?’

‘Would like to see,’ Angrisla said.

Carenoril found herself following after Angrisla into the cavern. The walls began to draw together and when they came to another opening, this one to the side and offering a wider passage, they followed it. Had they understood, they would have noticed that the surface underfoot was not natural, but had been flattened and levelled as if by use.

The smell of bad meat was stronger there, too, a scent. A fragrance, a trail.

The followed it, quietly, hungrily. 

Ahead, a gap in the tunnel, bright and lit with a golden flicker like to Carenoril’s flame but littler, and something went past, a quick glimpse, a flash and without thinking Angrisla lunged and snatched and something squeaked and squirmed and hissed in his jaws until he squeezed a little harder and the something stopped squeaking.

He dropped it on the ground between himself and Carenoril and looked at it.

The dead squeaking thing had four limbs, two longer and two shorter, and a rounded thing at the top where the sound had come out. It was rough and covered with bumps and lumps and it and it did not look at all appealing. But Angrisla didn’t have aesthetics yet; he just had hunger.

He saw Carenoril looking at the kill and remembered how she had invited him to eat with her at the carrion find and he put a word to the strange concept.

‘Share,’ he said, and she yawned her mouth in a grin and together they began to eat, unaware that what they were feasting on was an orc, or that just beyond the edge of the cavern was an entire nest, ripe for plunder.

*

Daedor had watched his siblings go with mixed feelings. He didn’t want to lose Carenoril even if he would have flamed Angrisla in an instant, if he’d thought he could get away with it.

But Carenoril had chosen to stay with the grey cold-drake and Daedor was alone. He waited for the sound of the wing beats to recede before he headed down the tunnel at the end of the cavern, flaming occasionally to light his way.

After a short while, the tunnel began to open out, the air grew cooler, fresher, and ahead there was a sense of bright glinting off the walls.  
It was too much bright, so Daedor waited until his eyes had adjusted before going on and round the corner…

And sprang back.

Ahead, there was more of the brightness, so much of it everywhere. It filled above and ahead, for Daedor had broken out of the mountainside, had he know it, and below was bright until the colour came and all the smells and the scents and the growls…

 

The growls?

On a rocky outcrop across a narrow chasm was a huge creature. Daedor didn’t know what it was; teeth, he recognised, and growls he recognised as not-friendly, and the creature seemed about leap across…

But Daedor had teeth, too, and he could leap, too, and he was very hungry now, so he leapt first, sinking his teeth into the throat of the creature, tasting and savouring the hot, sweet blood as the creature snarled and struggled and Daedor discovered what the creature was. 

It was food, although it had another name, too, one he didn’t know.

Warg.


	50. Preparations and Promotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the weeks begin to hurry by as preparations for the Royal Expedition get underway...

For Govon and Legolas, the next few weeks flew by on wings of silver and gold. They tumbled into an easy, glorious routine, some hours each day spent apart, but more spent together. 

One night, after Legolas had stayed to supper and it had grown late as they laughed and talked, Merlinith had made a suggestion.

‘You can’t be walking though the palace at this hour, Prince, folks will be trying to sleep! If you do not object, there is a spare bed in Govon’s room which I could make up for you…?’

Govon gawped behind his sister’s back, but Legolas had enough presence of mind to thank her, and say he did not mind at all, and indeed it would be far more comfortable to share a room with Govon than it had been a flet, and so it had been settled; with Merlinith’s unsuspecting complicity, they were able to spend more nights together than alone in their own rooms.

‘Your sister must realise by now?’ Legolas said one morning early in May, nodding to where Merlinith was humming to herself at the range as she cooked breakfast.

Govon shrugged and reached for his melleth’s hand across the table. ‘She must be the only one in the palace who doesn’t!’

‘I know. I hope you don’t mind it?’ Just for a moment, Legolas felt anxious. For himself, it was a relief to have finally acknowledged his nature, and to realise that, instead of despising him, nobody really seemed to care. But he wondered if it might have been different, had he been a guard captain instead of a prince.

Govon shook his head, giving Legolas a slow smile that quite made the prince forget his concerns. ‘Me? Mind being the acknowledged lover of the best-looking elf in Mirkwood? Why would I object to that, pe-channas-nin?’

They broke contact as Merlinith turned away from the range, bringing over scrambled eggs and hot toast.

‘Make sure my brother clears his plate, Legolas!’ Merlinith commanded. ‘He needs to keep his strength up.’

She took the pan back to the range.

‘Are you sure she doesn’t know about us?’ Legolas whispered.

‘You’re really not awake yet, are you, melleth-nin? Have you forgot I had the all-clear from the healers yesterday? I start training again this morning, returning to duty in two days. There’s barely three weeks before we ride out with the court.’

‘Of course. I might see you at the training ground – Father’s insisting all of us get some practice in, Arveldir and Nestoril included. Tharmeduil’s looking forward to it; he’s fed up with keeping to his rooms so much.’

‘I’ll look out for you, then. What will you be working on?’

‘Short bow, mostly. Although I might get my lhang out later.’

‘Sounds like a plan to me. Don’t tire yourself out with weapons practice first, though.’

*

Govon’s return to duty changed their routine, of course; he was at the barracks for eight hours each day, fitness training with the rest of the convalescing warriors under Captain Bregon for a couple of hours in the morning, a strategy session before the day meal, and further weapons and fitness work in the afternoon. One day, word came that when possible the day meal would be taken out-of-doors, to simulate travelling conditions and, to further acclimatise the honour guard, they would be joined on the greensward by some or other of the court, so they could acclimatise themselves to the persons whom they would be protecting, also.

Whose idea this had been was never discovered, but Legolas and Govon both thanked the Valar for it. Tharmeduil, also, for it got him out of his rooms where he had begun to feel slightly trammelled in after so many weeks. Iauron was an occasional visitor, but Nestoril attended whenever Tharmeduil did, and even Lord Arveldir joined them a few times. These day-meal picnics often extended beyond the regulation hour’s break, but Bregon was an easy task-master as long as standards were maintained and, as the royals often expressed a wish to take in some target practice while they were near the training ground, frequently ended in some good-natured challenges between his command and the court. It seemed the skill of his warriors improved no end when they were taunted about being outshot by Healer Nestoril.

About a week after Govon had returned to duty, Legolas was waiting for him to come home – that was how Govon spoke of it now, coming home, except tonight he was late, and Legolas had been told that he and Govon were expected at High Table again.

Legolas paced. It was not like Govon to be late… could there have been a mix-up, had he gone to his family chambers instead? But they had planned only at the day meal… he was being, he knew, a pe-channas, as Govon called him, always saying it with teasing affection, but summons from Adar had thrown him. 

A familiar step outside and the prince felt his heart lift; he opened the door to find Govon standing there looking very bemused.

‘What is it, melleth? Is all well with you?’

Govon nodded and pulled him into a hug.

‘News,’ he said. 

‘Good or bad?’

‘Good… I have had a promotion…’

‘Ah, but that is excellent! I am pleased for you. And, melleth, it may explain why we are summoned to the High Table tonight… will you bathe first? I know you like to bathe away the day’s hard work, but if you don’t hurry, you’ll have to go to supper smelling like… well, like a hard-working warrior… which I do not mind, melleth, but…’

‘Well, join me. Then when we’re both late and smelling of the same soap, none will dare question us.’

‘Tell me more of your promotion?’ Legolas asked, heading to the bathing room and shedding clothes along the way.

‘Well, you know how we are ranked?’

‘Of course.’ Legolas got into the heated water, watching as Govon began to efficiently rid himself of his training uniform; his boots were already off, standing neatly at the side of the doorway. ‘Not that it makes any sense; four ranks of warrior before sergeant and lieutenant, four degrees of captain, then three of generals, of which Rawon is the lowest level and yet is known as Over-Captain…’

Govon lowered himself into the water with a sigh. 

‘You’re bruised, melleth!’ Legolas exclaimed. ‘Your shoulder.’

‘I was in a bout of open-hand with Thiriston…’

‘That’s hardly a fair fight!’

‘I know… when will they give me someone worthy of a challenge? No – despite Thiriston being the nearest thing we have to a cave troll, I bested him. But I had to roll to throw him and mistimed the fall.’

‘Your promotion, then? Come, tell?’

‘From first-level directly to third-level captain; I thought there was a mistake, but Esgaron and Bregon explained why… and so I’m late as there is more to it…’

Legolas unfastened Govon’s braids and cradled him against his chest, gently pouring water through his hair.

‘Go on?’ Legolas said, reaching for the cleansing mixture and beginning to work it into Govan’s scalp with strong fingers. 

‘Bregon also has a promotion to bring him level with Esgaron, who provides the regulars.’ His voice grew lazy as he unwound under his melleth’s ministrations. ‘As well as they, and the honour guard, there is to be a Court Guard, six warriors in total. Hador and Tegolon, and myself. The others are Bregon’s men; Tinuon, and Thiriston – so you see why I had to best him today – with Canadion…’ 

Legolas laughed. ‘Ai, those two again! And Tinuon brought us together, although I’m not sure you were well enough to take notice at the time…’ 

‘No.’ Govon fell silent for a moment before continuing. ‘But I always knew.’

‘Knew what?’ Legolas asked, rinsing the suds away, surprised at the turn the conversation had taken.

‘When it was you tending me. Even when I grew so ill I was blinded and numb from the poison, I could tell if it was one of the others, or if it was you. I felt my fëa stir, whenever your hands turned me, or lifted me to drink. The first night, when I was so lost in the pain and I faltered, your fëa was a light to mine.’

Legolas kept rinsing. He thought about the slice of wood from the golden rowan, about the weeks he had spent working it into a wristband without knowing whether he would ever have the will or the courage or the certainty to offer it. Suddenly, he felt a little more sure.

‘You are the only one I feared for,’ Legolas said. ‘Apart from my family, there is nobody I have ever worried about, as I worried about you that night. Not even… well.’

Govon twisted around in the water. This was the first time that Legolas had even hinted about a former lover, and although he didn’t really wish to know, still, he had to ask.

‘Not even…?’

‘It does not matter, melleth-nin. It has not mattered for a long time.’

‘It does not sound as if it does not matter. Besides, well, how old are we both? Would it not be a surprise if we neither of us had a past?’

‘I suppose. There was only one who was ever anything, but it was over a very long time ago. I never once feared for him, I never once felt my fëa tug towards him… and I am glad, for that means what I have with you, now, is more true, and more right.’ He finished rinsing and gathered Govon’s hair to squeeze the excess water from it. ‘There. Done.’

‘I wish we could linger.’

‘As do I.’ Legolas gave Govon a gentle hug before releasing him and making for the edge of the pool. ‘So, you will be part of the Court Guard. What is it for?’

‘For? Melleth, it is to guard the court. Your personal bodyguard, if you will.’

‘Indeed?’ Legolas grinned and found towels. ‘How personal? And who gets to choose?’

Govon laughed, reluctantly exiting the bath and accepting a towel. ‘With luck, your honoured father will get Canadion.’

‘Ha! As long as I do not! We are distant cousins, I know, but from his behaviour at times, not distant enough, I think…’

*

They got to table just in time, standing behind their seats and acknowledging the other guests; the five others of the planned Court Guard, Legolas’ brothers along with Nestoril and Arveldir. 

Thranduil, of course, was last to arrive, sweeping in with swift dignity and seating himself, arranging his formal robes about him before gesturing for the rest to sit.

Tonight, at least, Govon was not placed next to the king, although everyone was seated closely enough for conversation, and with Legolas on one side and Healer Nestoril on the other, the meal passed him pleasantly by. The lesser tables in the feasting hall were no fuller than average; this was not a formal dinner, then, with any major announcements planned.

‘I understand that all of you here tonight have been chosen for the Court Guard,’ Thranduil began, directing his comments to Hador, who was next to him. 

The Lieutenant hastily swallowed to clear his mouth and nodded.

‘Yes, my king. It is an honour indeed.’

‘You may think otherwise once you have stood night-watch outside my sons’ pavilion. Iauron snores.’

‘Adar!’ Iauron protested. ‘That was only when I had the head-cold once!’

‘Ah. Well, perhaps it is one of the others… Captain Govon, would you know whether it might be my youngest son?’

Govon smiled swiftly. ‘Indeed, I could not say. When we shared a flet together, I was too ill to be aware of the others around me.’

‘Well said, Govon!’ Nestoril whispered, and claimed his attention so that the king had to leave him alone. ‘So, Captain, how is your training going?’

‘Well, I think; I’m pretty much back up to my fighting strength again.’

‘Then we must have that sparring match we talked of,’ Thranduil said. ‘I will send word.’

‘I’ll look forward to it, my king.’

‘One or two things I wanted to say to you all. Reports from the scouts are coming in and all is in train for our departure in two weeks’ time. I have heard much of your various talents on the field and I am sure our safety is secure with you in attendance. The only thing that has not been announced is who your Captain will be.’

‘But… is it not to be Commander Bregon?’ Tinuon said.

‘We had thought to serve under Captain Esgaron,’ Hador said. ‘Is this not so?’

‘No, indeed, one of your own will captain you. Your ranking officer is Captain – Senior Captain Govon, who will be known as the Commander of the Court Guard for the duration of the expedition.’ He turned to Govon with a smile. ‘Both High Captains Bregon and Esgaron put your name forward to Over-Captain Rawon. Congratulations.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pe-channas-min - my idiot


	51. Traditionalist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Govon and King Thraduil meet in the sparring chamber...

As Captain of the Court Guard, Govon’s days were fuller than ever; as well as his own training, he had to oversee his new command and take advice from Bregon and Esgaron concerning his new duties.

One upside was that, since his days now needed to start earlier, and citing his reluctance to disturb his sister when leaving for work each morning, he had the reason he needed to move out of the family chambers without hurting her feelings.

‘For the duration of my training, and the expedition,’ he’d said. ‘Besides, you’re always complaining about my weapons chest being in the way,’ and Merlinith had grudgingly accepted it. 

Perhaps she assumed he would be moving in to the barracks, or perhaps she was finally starting to realise that Legolas was more than simply a friend, but she never actually asked Govon where he would be living. 

‘As long as you let me make supper some nights for you, you and your friend, I suppose it will be all right,’ was all she had said on the matter.

So Govon was working harder and training more and adjusting to his new command, each day full and interesting, and at the end of it the knowledge he was going home to Legolas, an arrangement that suited them both admirably.

 

One morning a few days before they were due to depart for the meeting with Imladris and just as a silken, silver dawn lit the skies, he was woken by a repeated, insistent knocking at the door.

Legolas stirred in his arms, waking, calling out that he was on his way, but when the prince finally left the bed to investigate, the knocking had ceased and he returned with a folded note and a surprised expression.

‘Melleth, it’s for you.’

Govon took the note and read it. ‘Ha! I knew this morning would come! His majesty King Thranduil Oropherion requires my attendance at the sparring chambers before the seventh hour. I am to bring my own weapons.’

‘I had hoped he would forget,’ Legolas said as Govon began to rummage around in his weapons chest. 

‘Can it be that I know your father better than you do?’ Govon asked, glancing up with a smile. ‘He knew to send here for me, too, and informs me that my captains have been told I will not attend my duties this morning by royal request.’ 

He found what he was looking for; a twin-scabbarded sword belt and the weapons to go with them. 

‘Have you the sandalwood, Legolas?’

‘Really, melleth-nin? Now?’

‘As you’ve noted yourself, the fragrance lingers everywhere… but if I mix it with the honing oil, I can at least claim it’s for care of my weapons, so to speak!’

He caught the oil, unsheathed the swords and wiped them over quickly.

‘Let me help with your hair,’ Legolas said, standing behind Govon and quickly pulling the top section of hair back, dividing it into three parts he could plait to keep Govon’s face free from falling strands. ‘Father never braids; he sometimes catches his hair back to fight, but often he uses it as a distraction. And he uses his person, also; he fights stripped to the waist, after the manner of the old heroes.’

‘Thank you, melleth. We’ve heard the tales, on the practice ground. I’m lucky Bregon’s been sparring with me of late, too.’ He dressed swiftly in his training uniform and turned to give Legolas a hot, longing kiss. ‘I’ll be back to put that sandalwood to better use before you know it,’ he said.

*

Thranduil disrobed slowly, handing each item of clothing to Arveldir with dignity and ceremony. The black and silver robes of office, the gold and grey long coat, the silver jerkin.

‘My king, is this… necessary?’ Arveldir asked. ‘Wise’ had been the first word to mind, but he had shied away from it. But really, Thranduil could have walked from his throne room through the private corridors in just his shirt and breeches, had he so wished.

‘Yes, it is.’ Thranduil removed his shirt and handed it over. ‘This is part of my mental preparation.’

‘I beg pardon.’ Arveldir bowed and carried the king’s raiment to lay the clothing on top of a chest near the entrance.

‘See if Govon is here yet. Inform him I am preparing, but allow him in.’

‘As my king commands.’

*

Legolas sat on the edge of the bed staring at the open weapons chest. The scent of sandalwood and honing oil filled the room with their dual message of love and strife…

…Adar never lost these sparring contests, it was a matter of pride to him. True, sometimes the twin-sword made for exhibition duels rather than fights, but he was obscurely worried… his adar and his melleth. He knew who he wanted to win; he just hoped his father never found out. Of course, there would be no witnesses, and his father was generally magnanimous in victory. But the idea of Govon being patronised by Adar galled him.

He was startled out of his thoughts by a knock at the door and Tharmeduil’s voice.

‘Hurry up! You’ll miss it!’ 

‘Miss what?’ Legolas scrambled into clothes, and threw the door open to find, not only Tharmeduil, but Nestoril and Iauron there as well.

‘The fight! Don’t you want to watch?’

‘Of course I do! But I can’t. We might get into the throne room and as far as the side entrance of the sparring room, but…’

‘Nestoril has a plan,’ Tharmeduil said. ‘Get your boots, hurry up!’

Bewildered, Legolas shook his head but found his footwear while Nestoril explained.

‘There is an observation chamber. Long ago, the kings would watch their warriors sparring without their knowledge. It is largely ignored now, as your father prefers, shall we say, a more hands-on way of assessing his warriors? Follow me.’

She headed towards the throne room and down a narrow corridor at the side to a doorway that led to a stair. At the top, a short passage led to a door outside which she stopped.

‘We must keep our voices down, else they might hear and be distracted.’ She took a key from her pocket and smiled. ‘In case of emergency, the Healer-in-Charge has keys to all the rooms in the palace. Even yours, Iauron, so you had better make sure you tidy up!’

The door opened quietly and Nestoril led them inside. The chamber looked as if it had been cleaned recently; although a little dust softened the ledges, the floor was swept and the seats clean, but all eyes were drawn to the viewing window and the sparring circle in the chamber beneath.

In the centre of the circle, Thranduil was warming up, stripped to the waist and his long hair shining and loose and flying. He was spinning and turning, using his two matched swords as balance and counter-balance as he worked.

‘Scrawny,’ Iauron whispered.

‘Lean,’ Nestoril corrected. ‘Lean and honed and tight and taught and…’ She flushed as three sets of eyes looked at her in astonishment. ‘Just as a king should be,’ she added.

A creak and a click from below, and the door opened to admit the king’s opponent.

Everyone stared.

Legolas found his face lifting into a delighted smile while, at his side, Nestoril swallowed.

‘Oh, my!’ she said. ‘I hope you don’t let him go out looking like that in public, Legolas?’

‘Ai, by the Valar, Nestoril! Had I seen him looking like that, I would never let him go out at all!’

 

Somewhere between leaving Legolas and arriving at the sparring chamber, Govon had changed. His uniform was gone and he was barefoot. He was naked apart from his double sword belt and a short leather kilt that wrapped and crossed across his hips, leaving his lower abdomen bare.

And then there was the warrior paint.

The scar on his shoulder was ringed with green and blue, edged with ochre triangles representing arrowheads circling it, indicating how he’d gained the mark. The arc of scarring over his left hip was visible, the beginning and end of it hidden beneath the bands of the kilt, but this old injury, too, was highlighted in blue and green and ochre and went under the waistband, and Legolas found himself hoping the paint was edible so that he could explore the rest of the artwork with his tongue.

Govon bowed, displaying more green and blue and ochre on his back; the exit wound for the arrow, a crosshatching of colours at his right side where Govon had once broken ribs in battle. As he straightened up from the bow, his hair swung away from his upper arms, and revealing something that made Nestoril gasp and Legolas stare, his heart thudding.

Govon had painted two bands across his biceps in green and ochre, and even from here it was obvious to see that the blue script between the bands spelled out Legolas’ name.

‘Bit of a traditionalist, your sweetheart, isn’t he? Iauron muttered. ‘Mind you, dressed like that, even I can see the attraction…’

‘He’s mine!’ Legolas hissed. ‘Keep to your female partners, Iauron, or I’ll have your liver on a stick!’

*  
Thranduil finally finished his warm-up and looked Govon over.

‘I thought you said your father was a purist, Govon?’

‘A Silvan purist, my king.’

‘Decorating your battle-scars, this I understand,’ Thranduil said, raising a sword to point at the band of paints on Govon’s upper arm, the tip coming to rest rock-steady a hair’s breadth from the skin. ‘But this tradition is not known to me.’

‘It is the name of my fëa-mate, that my body may be returned to him in honour, should I die in battle,’ Govon said. ‘A precaution only.’

‘I am pleased to hear you do not expect to die today,’ Thranduil said. ‘But I also hope you do not expect to win.’

‘I think he already has,’ Nestoril whispered to Legolas, who was too stunned to answer, still taking in the fact that Govon had acknowledged him his fëa-mate to his father.

Govon gathered himself, hands across his body on his sword hilts. He leapt into the air, spinning as he drew the blades and landing to face the king on one knee, the swords crossed before him in salute for a moment before he rose.

Thranduil allowed himself a small smile. This was promising to be very different from the formal dance of postures and form he and Bregon had performed; Govon was announcing himself as a true opponent… so this Captain dared claim Legolas as his fëa-mate, would he? Briefly Thranduil wondered if Legolas knew it… the temerity of this one, though, turning up in war-paint and scars and with so much flesh on show… 

The king crossed his own blades in salute and then whirled into action. The twin swords flashed and blurred, but Govon met stroke for stroke against the double assault of Thranduil’s swords with but one of his own weapons, the other wheeling round in a swipe Thranduil almost didn’t see until it was too late, only just managing to block. He arced his swords out, seeking space to recover while Govon sought to get through the defence, always pressing, prodding, weaving his blades, apart and together, a strange, cool light in his eyes that Tharanduil mistook for dispassion at first. But as the bout continued, Govon’s blades seeking him over and under and around his guard, and as sweat made runnels and streaks in the blue and green and ochre body paint, the king realised it wasn’t dispassion; it was determination.

What? Was this wild wood-elf actually challenging him?

In a way, Thranduil was pleased that Govon would brave his king’s wrath and bring his best efforts to the bout (…time to step out of reach of the testing, teasing blades, to use the weight of the swords to sweep him round and give him a few seconds respite…) but it annoyed him also, that Govon had not simply assumed the king would have the victory.

‘I feel I should warn you, Govon, I do not intend to lose,’ Thranduil said, redoubling his efforts and capturing both his opponent’s blades between his own in a classic basket-weave ploy.

‘Ah, but, my king, I came with the intention of winning.’ Govon smiled over the braided sword blades, reminding Thranduil more of a hunting warg than an elf. ‘There is a difference between the two perspectives.’

Thranduil’s control over Govon’s blades held, and he pushed home his advantage, silver-steel eyes locked on Govon’s feral hazel glare as the king pushed forwards and Govon reluctantly gave way, forced down onto one knee.

‘Indeed there is, Captain. But which of us has the upper hand now, do you think?’

Up in the observation chamber, Nestoril covered her mouth with her hands to stop a squeal of excitement. Iauron was muttering to himself, almost living the fight. Legolas could barely watch, could not tear his eyes away from his lover, anguish and pride swamping him. 

So caught up in the bout were they that they didn’t realise they were no longer alone until a soft, known voice spoke from behind them.  
‘What is going on in here?’

Tharmeduil, less mesmerised by a fight of which he already knew the outcome, recovered first. ‘Hello, Lord Arveldir. We’re watching the fight; it’s really rather good, isn’t it?’

‘That depends who you want to win, I think,’ the advisor said drily. 

*

Thranduil pushed down against Govon’s blades, wanting to teach him a lesson, wanting to show him who was master here; Govon held him back, refusing to give any more ground despite increasing pressure on every muscle and sinew of his arms and wrists, his powerful thighs bracing against the strain, his determination holding out over the pain.

But very slowly, the rough sand of the practice circle grating and sliding painfully against his grounded knee, he was pushed fractionally back.  
The king’s eyes held triumph in them, his mouth lifting in a small smile of victory. There could be no recovery now.

‘You have fought well,’ he said. ‘We can call it a draw, if you like.’

‘My king is generous,’ Govon replied, his mind racing, ticking through his father’s lessons… there was something… it wasn’t possible with lhaing, or with lhaing against straight blades; the curve of the cutlass diluted the effect…

But straight blades against straight…

Govon took a breath in, filling himself up with air, breathed out…

…and twisted his left blade edgeways on to Thranduil’s, releasing the lock on it. As the pressure eased on his right-hand sword, he swept it free, once more flattening the left blade to keep the king’s weapons engaged as he rolled to the side, pulling Thranduil’s swords with him so that the king lost his balance and fell forwards, sprawling on his royal face on the rough sand of the sparring circle, his swords skittering and ringing out of his grasp. He felt a cold, sharp point at the back of his neck.

‘Now we can call it a draw, I think,’ Govon said.

Nestoril jumped up and down with glee; Legolas found he was being pummelled and congratulated by both his brothers, as if it was solely his doing that Govon had won. In his imagination, he vaulted over the ledge down into the practice room and caught Govon in his arms…

But the reality was that none of them were supposed to be here.

Below, Govon removed the sword point from Thranduil’s neck and bent to offer his hand to help the king to his feet.

‘I apologise, your majesty,’ he said. ‘But at least you know that I am able to defend you at need.’

‘Indeed.’ Thranduil accepted the hand, brushing himself off and trying to regain his dignity. ‘You truly fought admirably and, it must be admitted, you won.’

He eyed Govon thoughtfully for a moment before swinging away to collect his weapons. ‘My son has chosen well, I think. But understand this…’ The tips of both swords were suddenly at Govon’s throat, ‘…if you harm him, if you hurt him, there will not be warrior paint enough in all of Mirkwood to decorate the scars I will bless you with!’

‘King Thranduil,’ Govon said softly. ‘I would sacrifice my life to protect you and any of your family. But for Legolas, I would sacrifice my fëa.’ 

‘Indeed?’ said the king, lowering the swords. ‘And when were you going to make him aware of that fact?’

Govon grinned and bowed.

‘If my king will excuse me,’ he said, ‘and since by your thoughtfulness I have the rest of the morning off, now is probably as good a time as ever.’


	52. Report from an Unreliable Witness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elrond makes final preparations for the journey

Elrond’s eyebrows raised so high they almost tangled in his hairline.

‘Would you please repeat that?’ he asked his advisor.

Erestor tried not to sigh. He pushed aside the carefully-crocheted coaster set – really, the sooner Arwen moved on to something useful like blacksmithing, the better – and slid the sheaf of scouts’ reports closer to his lord.

‘Flashes of fire in the sky some fifty miles south of the confluence of the Langwell and the Greylin towards the mountains.’

‘Is there no chance it is connected with the recent earth tremors?’

‘It seems unlikely. The last aftershock was several weeks since; the sighting of flame was less than a week ago; the scout rode with all haste to get the report here swiftly.’

‘I can only think of one reason for there to be flames in the sky, Erestor, and I am not thinking of Mithrandir’s party fireworks now.’

‘You think there are dragons, still? My lord, there has been nothing heard of them for centuries; they must all be gone by now, surely?’

Elrond shook his head. ‘I fear the time of the dragons is not quite over… still. Did the scout himself witness the flame?’

‘No, indeed. He had reached the edge of his allotted trails when he came across one of those poor lost wanderers we see from time to time…’ Erestor sighed. ‘Why these wretches continue to wander when there are sanctuaries such as Imladris just waiting to welcome them…’

‘Sometimes people believe they do not deserve help. And sometimes, it is true. But we cannot force these vagabond wayfarers to take sanctuary amongst us… So. I must say, then, hardly the most reliable of witnesses. What of matters our scouts have seen for themselves?’

‘The warg population seems to have been having a hard time of it…’

‘Pity…’

The sarcasm in Elrond’s tone meat it was Erestor’s turn to raise an eyebrow, which he did less magnificently, since his hair line had not receded nearly so far as to make it quite as dramatic as his lord’s.

‘…reports directly from our scouts say there are bodily remains of wargs – mostly bones but not many of them – strewn through the mountains near the rising of the Rhimdath… the scouts spoke with the party send to rebuild the pack bridge across the Langflood - and they reported no flame in the sky. Moreover, orc activity is much reduced – there are no rumours of them in the region, although we had suspected a nest had become established in the mountains…’

‘Perhaps they and the wargs killed each other? Those foul folk cannot even keep their allies for long. Strange portents indeed. But with regard to the eyot… I understand some of the Mirkwood contingent is there?’

‘As was suggested by King Thranduil’s advisor, yes, their bridge detail remains and together with our party are putting in place such structures as may be required.’

‘To recap, then; a wandering vagabond imagines fire in the sky – one wonders if he saw smoke on the water, also…’

‘My lord?’

Elrond waved a hand. ‘Before your time. Orc activity is minimal, warg numbers are reduced, the bridge is built and supplies are in place. Our people and Thranduil’s people have not yet enacted another kinslaying… so why do I wish I had an excuse to call off this ridiculous travesty…?’

Erestor cleared his throat. 

‘You mean this most advantageous and propitious union between Imladris and Mirkwood, my lord?’

‘Yes. That.’

‘Perhaps no father really ever wishes for his daughter’s marriage,’ Erestor said.

‘It is too late to back out, whatever my wishes.’ Elrond exhaled heavily. ‘By the time any message reached Mirkwood now, the deputation will already have left. No, I am afraid we are committed.’

‘Indeed my lord. It will be good for lady Arwen to properly meet her potential in-laws… I suppose, if all goes accordingly, she will eventually begin her married life in Mirkwood?’

‘Yes.’ Elrond brightened. ‘We must ensure she’s properly aware of the fact.’

‘My lord, I must confess I do not fully understand your reluctance…’

‘No. No, nor do I, not really. For who else is there who is suitable? It is just difficult to see Arwen and Iaruon as a happily married couple. Still. We ride tomorrow. Order everything so we can be off after the breakfast hour… expect to be underway by noon. If anyone needs me before dinner tonight, I’ll be speaking with the healers.’

‘Ah. Have you the headache, my lord?’

‘Usually, these days.’

Elrond waited for his advisor to leave, organising his thoughts as he organised his desk, moving aside random pieces of brightly-coloured crochet… well, if nothing more, it would be entertaining to see how King Thranduil would react to Arwen’s current work-in-progress; she had written to Iauron via messenger hawk to enquire the name of Thranduil’s elk and the size of its antlers and was presently crafting a multihued, personalised headset-warmer for the beast.

And, really, it wasn’t that he disliked the notion of Arwen and Iauron. Given the right wife, and the right father-in-law, the prince would shape up to be a reasonable husband. Or else.

No. it was more that there was a sense of unfinished business there, business he had hoped would not need revisiting. He was growing acutely aware, however, that someone, somewhere would say something to bring it up again.

Elrond was rather afraid it might even be he.

It had seemed like such a good idea, at the time. Sensible. His sons reacting badly to the loss of their mother, and who was there here of their own age for them to talk to? Not really anyone who might offer alternative pastimes to heading off slaughtering orcs. So he had sent a tentative invitation to Mirkwood; would King Thranduil perhaps send his sons on a visit and maybe then receive his sons in return? An exchange, beneficial to both their houses, each seeing the challenges faced by the other in the spirit of mutual cooperation and understanding. Granted, the sons of King Thranduil and his own boys weren’t the same age, not really. But they were of the same generation and roughly at the same place in their lives at least.

Thranduil had not been enthusiastic. He was unable to spare all three of his sons, he said; only one would make the trip, and in the finish, it had been his youngest who had arrived with a handful of escort riders, intending to stay for three months. He’d seemed to get on well with Elladan and Elrohir, and if at first they rode out after orcs as was their wont with the prince adding his bow to their own weapons, soon they tired of that and began exploring around, showing the Mirkwood prince the gentler lands to the west of Imladris instead. Prince Legolas became familiar, accepted, liked, even, and at the end of three months, the escort returned to Mirkwood without their prince, messenger hawks having sent for permission and brought it back for Legolas to extend his visit. Three months, after all, is no time at all when you have forever and a visit of a year seemed like a much more realistic timescale to make certain the sons of Elrond were back on the right track.

So there were joyful songs in the Hall of Fire again, and laughter began to be heard around Imladris once more, and if Elrond noticed Arwen looking at Legolas under her eyelashes, he also saw that Legolas either didn’t see, or didn’t care. 

It took him a while to realise why. And, perhaps, if he hadn’t realised, if others of his household hadn’t realised, then things would not have fallen out the way they had. But the upshot if it was that when Prince Legolas had finally returned home, there was no reciprocal invitation to Elladan and Elrohir.

Elrond sighed. All that was long ago, now. Who would care about such ancient history? He could have wished, however, that the Mirkwood healer had not contacted his own healer for advice; acknowledged as it was as a centre for learning and healing, Imladris could not refuse to help and, as the master of lore and healing, that meant Elrond could not refuse to help either.

 

He made his way to the healing rooms and presented himself to the healer on duty.

‘Is Healer Feril available?’ he asked. ‘I want to go over details for the journey with her.’

‘Yes, Lord Elrond. Will you wait in the library while I seek her?’

Elrond nodded and allowed the healer to open the door for him. The library attached to the healer’s wing was much smaller than the main one, but it made sense to keep the healing books and scrolls where they were most needed. He noticed a small stack of books on one of the desks; volumes on ancient, mystical practices, one or two about field medicine… it looked as if Healer Feril was ahead with her preparations.

He turned the pages of the uppermost volume idly until he heard the door behind him click open.

‘You wanted me, Lord Elrond?’

He turned, a smile of reassurance on his face.

‘Yes, Feril. I wanted to make sure you were ready for the trip?’ he said.

‘Indeed; I would say I was looking forward to it, but it seems inappropriate. Word from my friend suggests that the prince is still suffering occasional attacks, but they seem to be not excessively severe. She notes that it appears his insight is quite accurate in some matters… it intrigues me.’

‘Indeed, for those without foresight it can be seen as appealing. The reality can be otherwise.’ He gestured for her to sit and himself took a seat. ‘Are you travelled at all, Feril?’

‘A little. I have crossed the mountains in winter, and so I know our trip is not going to be like a stroll down the Bruinen, my lord. But I am used to walking and riding in hard weather and delivering healing at the end of it.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it. Are you seeking to bring these volumes with you?’

‘Oh, I would not presume… I have made copious notes, however.’

‘Good.’ Elrond got to his feet and smiled again. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, then. I go now to make sure the Lady Arwen is fully prepared.’

 

He found his daughter in the throes of packing and humming to herself, looking at him with joyful eyes.

‘Oh, father! It’s so exciting! I am really looking forward to seeing Belegornor again – even if he is Prince Iauron!’

‘I am pleased to hear it, daughter, for otherwise we would be going to great trouble – and putting Mirkwood to great trouble, too – for no reason.’ He looked around her room with concern. There were three open trunks all in various stages of fullness. ‘Arwen… you do know you can’t bring all this?’

‘No? But I do not know what Iauron will like me in…’

‘Well, Belegornor didn’t seem to mind, did he?’

‘…no…’

‘So, for the sake of our poor horses, take your riding gear and two or three nice dresses if you like; there will only be two formal meetings where you and Iauron will be present at the same time. One trunk is all we can manage. And that includes your wonderful handcrafted gifts, I’m afraid.’

‘But…’

‘Arwen! Think of the horses!’


	53. The Uncovering of the Last Lamp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas speaks to his father...

Thranduil was busy. He had the rest of the day and tomorrow to make sure all was ready and there were only a few hours left of today. The bridge was rebuilt, the extra levels and staffing added to the flets along the way as he had ordered, all the troops in the Honour Guard were fit, although one or two were perhaps not at their peak. Supply lines were in order, extra stores stashed along the route… 

But not all the reports were good. It had taken the best efforts of three troops to keep the spiders to the south of the road, and the warriors needed constant reinforcement and support just to hold them there… were the arachnids to push through, at the wrong time, it could be disastrous…

Still, there seemed to be no option but to continue. Iaruon was keen and, his oldest son aside, his second son needed help and if Elrond had any advice he could possibly offer, Thranduil was prepared to swallow his pride until it choked him if necessary.

Not that Elrond knew that, of course.

Strictly speaking, if either of their two houses should be offended with the other, it was Imladris with Mirkwood. For when Legolas had returned from his extended stay some decades ago, Elrond’s sons should have been invited to return with him. And yet his son had returned alone, unaccompanied by either son of Elrond or by any guard and in poor spirits to say the least. So a formal invitation had not been forthcoming and, indeed, Thranduil had not even contacted Imladris to thank Elrond for his hospitality towards his son. It had seemed… inappropriate, given that Legolas had walked around the palace for months like a ghost of himself.

If it had only been Iaruon’s infatuation with Arwen, he could have got out of this awkward situation. But Nestoril’s well-meaning message to her healing friend at Imladris had meant that Thranduil felt unable to back out of this awkward political meeting. For his son, though – for any of his sons’ wellbeing and happiness, even Iauron’s – he would have eventually capitulated.

He looked up as a soft knocking came at his door. Who now? What now?

‘It’s late. What do you want?’

Legolas entered the room and came to a halt just the other side of his desk.

‘Yes, it’s late, Adar, but you’re still working anyway.’

‘We leave for Imladris the morning after next; of course I am still working, there are endless things to attend to…’

‘We don’t all have to go. I could stay, if you wanted.’

‘No. Iauron and I must attend, and Elrond has offered to cast his healing eye over Tharmeduil. If you are left behind, it will look like a slight to you and I do not want anyone thinking you have at all offended or disappointed me…’

‘That’s kind of you, father.’

‘Did you want something, Legolas?’ the king prompted.

Legolas dared to sit on the edge of his father’s desk.

‘I’m making vows with Govon tonight…’

Thranduil looked up and drew breath to speak, although he didn’t know if he was on the point of protest or outrage or just general scolding, but Legolas went on before he could release his voice and so discover for himself just what his own feelings were on the matter.

‘…and I would like for you to be there, if you could. It will be in the grove of fëa trees in two hours. Nestoril has offered herself as witness. I thought of asking you, father, but Govon pointed out that you might be offended.’

‘Now, and why would Govon possibly think that?’

‘Well, he said that setting aside the issue of whether or not you like him or approve of us, you could feel we were trying to make you accept us, or make it look to the people that you approve and so be giving them a message that they’d better approve too, or else… and he said none of that was… oh.’ Legolas broke off, seeing his father eyeing him with impatience. ‘I thought you meant it. Well. You’re busy, I can see, so if you can’t spare the time, I…’

‘Legolas. Ion-nin… You’re certain about this?’

‘Of course, Adar.’

‘But to make so large a commitment in so small a way… would you not wait until we return from our parley with Imladris? We could then mark the occasion properly, as befits your status and show that I do not disapprove…’

‘Adar?’ Legolas stared at his father. ‘You approve of Govon and I?’

Tharnduil held his gaze, but the king’s mask receded and it was the father looking out. ‘No, my son, I said I did not disapprove. There is a difference in the two perspectives; Govon said something similar this morning while we were sparring. He fights with great determination, Legolas. Shall we, then, defer until our return when we can organise a real celebration?’

‘Father, do not think me ungrateful, but it has to be now. Do you not see? Once we return, all would be overshadowed by Iauron’s plans, and while that is only right and fitting, it would make my vows to Govon look like an afterthought. And I do not want that, Adar, his fëa does not deserve that. I want to honour him, I want matters settled between us before we ride to meet Imladris.’

‘I understand. Have you had time, at least, to find a proper token? For I think there should be something our silversmiths can do…’

Legolas shook his head. ‘Govon is Silvan, and I am following his tradition in this, that the token be something handmade. I… I have carved something for him…’

‘Do you have it with you?’ Thranduil asked, suddenly interested. ‘May I see?’

‘Yes, of course.’ 

Legolas reached inside his tunic and pulled forth a small leather pouch, shaking out the contents for Thranduil to examine. The king lifted it carefully.

It was a band, as was tradition for a warrior, and it was carved from a single ring of wood into intricate, strong links. Legolas had made it so that it could be tightened to wear at the wrist, or adjusted to ride above the elbow and so not get in the way. Thranduil marvelled at it.

‘I did not realise any of my sons could make such fine work, Legolas. What wood is it?’

‘Golden rowan. A bough fell from the tree of which my fëa tree is a scion; it felt like a gift. I have worked on it since I first realised he was the one my fëa needed.’

‘It must have taken great courage to acknowledge that, Legolas. I find I am proud of you for that at least. No, I really am, even though I find it… difficult.’ Thranduil sighed as he passed the token back to Legolas. ‘Do not forget I was born into the First Age, and in those times such pairings were considered something of necessity, when warriors went to war, not something to be freely sought. Especially afterwards, with so many ellith and so few ellyn… But the world has changed, and we cannot always remain unchanging amongst it.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Go and get ready for your avowing, ion-nin. Leave me to finish my work.’

*

‘Govon!’ Merlinith’s voice was shocked. ‘You mean to say, all those nights when he stayed here… in the spare bed… in your chamber…’

Ah. So she hadn’t realised, then.

‘What can I say, ‘lin? We have never hidden what we are from you, although we have not forced you to see it either…’

‘But… he is a prince!’

‘And so? To me he was light in a very dark place, and I am sure I would have died had he not been my constant voice through the pain of the poison! I did not know he was a prince when my fëa found his, while he knew everything I was and still he wanted me.’

‘But…’

‘I can see this is upsetting, and I am sorry. But I did not tell you in order to distress you; it was only this morning, after I sparred with the king that Legolas sought me and said, we should settle things between us now, and so I need a token for him and I have an hour left to make one! I need your help, ‘lin,’ Govon shrugged helplessly. ‘It is our own tradition, but I never thought I would need to learn how to craft an armband…’

Merlinith shook her head to clear it. The fact was, that she had got used to the prince being around so much she had started to forget he was a royal Sindar. She had seen the friendship between him and her brother and had thought nothing more of it except that maybe the prince might look at her with interested eyes… but the weeks had passed and that thought faded, too. Still, the idea of her little brother and a prince…

She sighed. The fëa wants what it wants, and the fëa always knows, and Govon was looking at her with such appeal and, well, Legolas did have two brothers…

‘There is no time to carve anything, except for a very rough band that you could work on later, so unless there is something in the memory trunk you want to re-use…’

‘No.’ Govon shook his head; the idea of using an old token, even one of great beauty and worth, was wrong. ‘All have been used on traditional pairings. It would not be fitting either to the memories of our parents or our foreparents or to the nature of my love. I must him make something. I want to make him something.’

‘Well, you can form a braid, can you not?’

‘Of course!’

‘I remember tales of the old times, when our people lived in fear and danger, and vows were made in haste and need. Warriors always had bowstrings and leather thonging as part of their weapons kit; maids always had their long hair and braid fastenings…’

‘Yes! Here is something I can make that is personal and special and recognises the otherness of our connection.’

‘So, if you take bowstring and leather stringing and braid them together…’

‘And if you were to cut some hair from my head, a few strands from here and there where I don’t braid, where it grows more thickly… Merlinith, that would be perfect…’  
‘Hair? Like the maids would use?’

‘And bowstring and leather, like the warriors. It could not be better.’

Merlinith sighed to herself. Perhaps to Govon it could not be better, but it suddenly felt as if she knew more about him, and his friendship with the prince, than she really wanted…

*

Of course, Legolas was nervous. Terrified, really…

He had dressed, not in his best or his finest, but in the things Govon liked seeing him in most; close-fitting grey leggings, white shirt, the plain grey coat that ended just below his hips. His knives and his bow were slung at his back, because this was Mirkwood, after all, and after dark. One couldn’t take too many chances.

The hand-carved armband was burning a hole inside his coat as he waited outside the grove of the fëa trees for Govon to arrive.

A rustle on the path behind him; he turned, but it was Nestoril he saw, her figure pale in her gown and her hair covered with her light blue head-rail. She smiled.

‘Govon arrived a few moments ago, my prince,’ she told him. ‘He’s waiting within for you.’

‘My thanks, Nestoril. For all your help.’

‘Go on. Go!’ She gave him a friendly little shove towards the sentinel holly trees and he bowed before passing through.

Govan was waiting in front of a little cluster of trees; a silver birch, a cherry tree, a golden rowan and – a newcomer to the grove, although Govan would not know that, but it made Legolas smile and think of his lover’s eyes – a hazel tree. He was wearing a variant of his uniform, a dark grey shirt and leggings, and unless he had chosen to present himself in kilt and battle paint, he could not have looked more perfect.

Govon turned, his smile threatening to burst into a grin, but he tried to compose himself as Legolas stood at his side and Nestoril took her place facing them.

Soft sounds behind them as others entered the grove and took places; Legolas expected his brothers, hoped for his father, but he could not look behind once the witness had taken up position as Nestoril now had; all his attention was on her and on Govon, now, until this was done. But there were more sounds than he expected, and they went on for longer.

‘Friends,’ Nestoril began softly once the grove had fallen still. ‘Govon, Legolas, you are here to make vows of promise, each to the other, and I am your witness. Speak, Legolas! Govon, speak!’

The vows were simple, much the same as vows of this nature everywhere, promises of fidelity and trust and love and support, and when they had done, Nestoril bowed her head.

‘It is with honour that I witness these vows beneath the bright stars. And what token of these promises made have you for each other, symbols of the ties between you?’

Her hands closed over the items handed her, and she smiled as she saw what they were; one carved from an unending circle of wood which she fastened about Govon’s wrist, a fine braid of plaited hair, bowstring and leather woven into an intricate pattern which she tied around the wrist of Legolas.

‘Your vows are witnessed, your commitments made. Body to body, heart to heart, fëa to fëa. Today, tomorrow, forever, live in joy and light.’

At the last word, she uncovered a lamp that had hung from one of the trees, and the grove filled with brightness as Legolas and Govon turned and saw more lamps uncovered around; Merlinith’s face lit and happy, Iauron and Tharmeduil, Arveldir the advisor… Legolas grasped Govon’s hand as more and more lamps shine out… Bregon, and others – Govon’s lieutenants Hador and Tegolon… it seemed like all the honour guard was there, and Legolas shook his head in astonishment as towards the back of the grove one last lamp was uncovered and held high and King Thranduil, in his robes of state and silver springtime crown walked up to his son and embraced him before stepping back to grasp Govon on the shoulder and with a swift smile turn on his heel and stalk off before anyone could notice the tears leaking traitorously down his face from behind his regal mask of impassivity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> Ellith - elves (f)  
> Ellyn - elves (m)


	54. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Royal Court of Mirkwood rides out...

Legolas opened contented, lazy eyes and watched Govon making preparations for the journey.

‘It’s far too early to get up,’ he said.

His fëa-mate stopped his packing and turned to smile at Legolas.

‘Don’t get up, then, melleth. You’ve plenty of time, after all; I have my command to order around.’

‘Have you time to bathe with me, at least?’

‘I’ve time for more than that. I was but making best use of the time until you woke.’ Govon came back over to the bed and climbed in, pulling Legolas against his chest. 

‘And now we should make best use of the time before I leave. It will be difficult when once we’re on the way, you know this?’

‘Yes. More so for you, perhaps; you will have your command constantly about you.’

Govon paused to kiss him softly.

‘And I thought for you it would be worse, for I will be busy, after all, my working hours full, while you will have to make small-talk with the rest of the court.’ He smiled. ‘But we may find a way. And your father did not quite have a fit about our avowing.’

Legolas touched the plaited band on his arm with wondering fingers, still unable to really believe it had happened.

‘I think it has much to do with the fact that you so roundly trounced him in the sparring chamber…’

‘Melleth-nin! Where did you get that idea from? It was a draw!’

‘Was it so? From where I was watching, it did not look like a draw…’

‘That mouth of yours!’ Govon rolled on top of him, his nose inches away from Legolas’. ‘It is doing the talking-thing again when it would be much better employed otherwise…’

Legolas smiled as he slid his hands over Govon’s strong back and down to his waist.

‘Otherwise, melleth?’

‘…elsewhere, perhaps…’

‘Elsewhere?’ His lips worked on Govon’s throat and he tightened his arms around him to roll the captain over and put himself on top, taking his mouth down Govon’s chest, down towards his hips. ‘I think I can manage that for you, melleth…’

*

It was some time later that Legolas kissed Govon and saw him out of their chambers. He had wanted to walk with him to the barracks, but realised that it would not be wise.

‘And so, Govon, when I next see you, I must call you Commander, not melleth.’

‘You will have your honoured father there to remind you. And so, I will see you at the gates with the rest of the court, my fair elf.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘My prince, that is.’

Although Govon was not a noisy elf, the rooms seemed very quiet after he’d gone. He didn’t take up much room, either, he and his weapons trunk and his clothes chest, but the chambers echoed, suddenly empty. Legolas finished the last of his own packing, slung his bow and knives over his shoulder and picked up his saddlebags, making his way to Tharmeduil’s rooms were the brothers had agreed to meet for breakfast.

It was a relief to have company, even if Iauron did make sly comments about how Legolas had been spending his time since the night of his avowing, and it did not help that Tharmeduil had told him not to bother his brother.

‘For I can probably tell you,’ he said. ‘And, I have pictures…’

‘Tharmeduil, it is entirely possible to stop liking one’s brother, you know…’ Legolas protested.

‘Yes, but you won’t.’ Tharmeduil grinned.

*

King Thranduil sat for an hour in his study receiving a succession of visitors, eating a hurried breakfast in between knocks at the door. Arveldir’s assistant, reporting the handover of all the important matters… Over-Captain Rawon to reprise the latest reports and assure the king that the sorties after the spiders would continue while the Royal Court was on the move… Healer Nestoril to say that the healer halls were properly stocked, that all the medical supplies she needed were packed, that she herself was ready, and finally, Arveldir himself arrived.

‘Are we ready, Arveldir?’ 

‘As ready as we can be, my king. Word has gone to the stables to have the horses readied. Your elk is also being saddled, sire. We can get underway as soon as you are ready.’

‘Then I will see you outside shortly.’

Taking this as dismissal, Arveldir bowed his way out and went to collar his assistant with a few last-minute suggestions while Thranduil reached for the remains of his much-interrupted breakfast.

*

‘This is ridiculous! Why do we have to have horses?’ Iauron grumbled. ‘Mirkwood is no place for horses!’ 

Legolas glanced across from where he’d been stroking the nose of his own mount, a chestnut with a white blaze and socks.

‘If we were all on horseback, I’d agree with you; finding feed for sixty horses daily in Mirkwood is not practical. And the supply lines will get very long. But you can’t expect Adar to walk all the way to a meeting with Imladris, can you?’ he said.

‘Well, no. But he has an elk. Why can’t we just march?’

Legolas raised an eyebrow. ‘You? March?’

‘It’s better than being saddle sore… talking of which, littlest brother. I’m surprised you’re not more worried about being in the saddle all day yourself!’

‘Which, oldest brother, just goes to show how uninformed you are on some matters.’ Legolas swung up into the saddle with apparent ease and brought his mount round to join Tharmeduil’s. ‘Here’s Nestoril.’

The healer was dressed in sombre browns and greens, a knee length tunic over boots and leggings with her hair for once uncovered. The only sign of her office was a blue armband around her shoulder. She smiled as she joined the group, and greeted the horse that had been readied for her, a fine grey. She scratched its neck while a servant attached her saddlebags.

‘Really, I don’t know why I bother!’ she said. ‘Here am I dressed to blend against the trees and the shadows, and they find me a shining bright beauty like this one!’  
The horse whiffled at her, and she jumped up into the saddle.

‘I hope you’ve packed plenty of embrocation, Nestoril,’ Tharmeduil said.

‘Oh? I thought you rode often?’

‘I do. I was thinking of Iauron. He’s already complaining and he’s only been in the saddle five minutes!’

A little bustle behind them and King Thranduil rode up on his elk, Arveldir on a black horse following behind. The elk dwarfed the horses, making them look like ponies by comparison.

‘Ai, look at the spread of the beast!’ Iauron muttered.

‘Do you think Nelleron has grown since you last saw him?’ Thranduil said, the edges of his mouth lifting in the slightest of pleased smiles.

‘Adar, I think the antlers on him are so wide, he’ll have to turn his head sideways to get down parts of the trail!’

From the direction of the barracks, a horn rang out and a shout went up. Soon, Captain Esgaron and his troop came into sight, closely followed by the honour guard led by Captain Bregon. The two leaders were both on horseback and they reined in and halted their command. 

The sound of hooves and the Court Guard cantered round the corner to pull up, Govon at their head. He waited for Bregon and Esgaron to push their mounts forward and together the three approached the court.

‘Commanders, how do we proceed?’ the king asked.

‘The Court Guard around you, my king, and the honour guard around them. Half my command in the van with the supply train and half at the head so that the court will be at the centre of our defence.’

‘Very good. When you are ready, proceed.’

Esgaron gave the order and the company began to move out. Govon organised his command to keep Canadion away from both Legolas and the king and, with much restraint, put himself at the back where he rode close to Nestoril and Tharmeduil and could at least admire how straight and true his fëa-mate sat in the saddle, how bright his shining hair. 

They crossed the bridge in narrow cavalcade watched by the rest of the household. Legolas spotted Merlinith in the crowd, beaming and waving and her face brimming with pride. He knew why, of course; even though he was presently denied the sight, the prince had seen Govon looking every inch the Commander on his tall piebald horse and new uniform, and he found himself smiling as he rode beside a still-grumbling Iauron into the shadows of Mirkwood.


	55. Feasting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Angrisla and Carenoril find more meat. So does Daedor.

For weeks Angrisla and Carenoril had ravaged through the tunnels and byways of the orc nest. Carenoril would come upon a group and flame at them, driving them shrieking and fleeing right into the poisoned breath of the waiting cold drake. They fed and ate and grew and began to find their way around the caverns and passageways, exploring further as the orcs diminished in number and became harder to find. There was something about the flesh, too; it failed to properly satisfy them, as if enough was not enough, as if the black blood that filled the bags of meat somehow was lacking.

They were still young and growing, of course. Still learning.

And now they learned to listen.

Some of the old tales will tell you that dragons are telepathic, that they speak with their minds. Others will claim that dragons, like other ancient and dangerous creatures somehow know all the languages of the world and so can communicate with any they so choose… with flame, teeth, roar or even voice, if they so choose.  
Angrisla and Calenoril didn’t think to try to communicate with the meat. But as time went on, and the food became less easily found, they began to notice the squeaks and snarls and the words within them, and so discovered, even from the little, squeaky orcs, that there was more to language than they had yet worked out.  
Certainly, they learned a lot of insults, and their new listening skills helped them avoid more than one ambush attempt. They learned stealth and silence as food got a little more wary. 

Angrisla found a way of lying still and folded against the rocks so that he resembled them himself. Calenoril would leave him lying there and slide through the tunnels to gently steer the orcs away from herself and towards Angrisla’s grey shadows.

Currently, on this day of growing hunger and impatience, she was stalking a group of three orcs who kept imagining they were getting further away from danger.  
‘Nearly free, lads!’

‘I still say we should ha’ gone out the side door into the pass…’

‘Nah… that’s where the black one is… he got Churn and Bost yesterday.’

‘Well, that’ll make things quieter round here. Right squealer, that Bost was…’

The black one! Carenoril almost forgot to give the little huff of breath that was needed to keep the orcs moving towards Angrisla… 

Could the little meats – these orcs – mean Daedor?

She grumbled softly, driving the food in the right direction.

Calenoril had forgotten about Daedor, almost. Out of sight, out of mind, and he had been a threat, of sorts, and killed… killed…?

Dragons never forget. But, if they are young and hungry, they sometimes do not completely remember.

A fluff of flame, and the orcs ran shrieking into Angrisla’s cold, dead breath, and, distracted by the feast, Carenoril thought no more of Daedor for some time.

*

But the black fire drake was indeed still alive, and well, and flourishing.

After he had broken out of the lower slopes of the mountains and into that too-bright day to find himself faced with a warg, he had lacked nothing. There were wargs a-plenty, huge great beasts like to giant wolves but bigger than a horse and far more meaty. 

He learned swiftly that flame made him visible, that fire brought the warg packs together to snap and snarl and try to take him unawares, and so he learned not to flame unless he wanted to lead the wargs somewhere easier for him to hunt them.

At first they had no idea what was picking off their scouts, and when they did, and retreated, still Daedor, black as night and silent-winged, had the advantage. For wargs, too, had to hunt and it was a bad night on the wing if Daedor didn’t get either warg, or intended warg victim, or both. And there was other meat, smaller, with dark blood and it was somehow not sufficient, but it was there, and if he found it, he ate it. He had everything he needed.

Except…

Did he really have no lack? At night, sheltering in a shallow cave, or curled into the black shadows behind the rocks of the mountains, he remembered Carenoril, the red female with flame, and he knew he needed her for something, or that he would need her one day.

*

In the tunnels, there were no more squeaks, not even the littlest ones. The orc-food was gone.

Ranging through the tunnels in the hope of finding a last meal before hunger grew bigger than their alliance, Angrisla came upon a strong scent of the meats, strangely, as there had been less the day before, and he followed it, and Calenoril followed him, and so the came to the dark door, the hidden exit to the orc nest through which the very last of the orcs had fled, and although the dragonets were too big, and the way was too narrow, eventually they widened it with flame and fury and found themselves on the side of the mountain.

‘Out!’ Carenoril exclaimed, singing, wheeling high into the sky. ‘Big out, so tall, so much up to dance in, Angrisla, dance with me beloved friend, play in the air and sing with Carenoril!’

And Angrisla thought about wasted energy, but still, he twisted up into the high skies as dawn came up around the landscape.

And such a landscape!

North, the cold, hard mountain lands where, had they known it, the last lingerings of their kin still held on. South, the Misty Mountains lay like a broken spine, writhing down out of sight. East, a plain bisected by a river running south, and beyond the flatness, the dense, dark greens of Mirkwood rolling out of sight. West, beyond the fall of the mountains, undulations of green and beige rolled out.

But up here, the air was clear and crisp and made for dancing, and Carenoril spiralled up and Angrisla matched her dance, and any watching would have seen them in the sky and marvelled at the beauty of them.

Except for one.

A wanderer. A lost soul, one might say, except he didn’t think himself lost; he knew exactly where he was and it was simply everywhere else that was in the wrong place.

A flit of shadow and he glanced up from watching his path and saw the dragons dance in the sky. He watched for a moment, relieved. He had seen flame, then, further up the valley, weeks ago now. He hadn’t imagined it. At the time, although he had insisted to the strange elvish creatures who had questioned him so courteously, and yet so closely, he had wondered if he might have dreamt the sky-fire. But no. It was real.

And so was the sense of being watched and he turned and saw a black outcrop of rock with eyes and teeth uncoiling itself, and he had just to time to realise that this was real, too, when the thing launched itself at him and the teeth found home in a brief surge of pain and blood.

Daedor feasted, too hungry to wonder what the meat had been staring at until he’d eaten the last of it, crunching down the bones. Only then, as he licked the blood off his muzzle, did he look up and see the dance, red and grey. In the bright, early sun, Carenoril glinted like rubies and even Angrisla was shot with silver, no longer merely grey.

They had left him, ignored his suggestion, and not followed. Looking at them, the lean, hollow look to them although they still seemed well-fed, he knew he had been right. He was sleek and rounded and bigger now, biggest.

He needed Carenoril, needed her ruby redness, her clever flame.

Angrisla? No. But there would be time to think about how to get rid of him, how to get away from him, but for now…

For now, Daedor was delighted to see his siblings again, and he launched himself up to tjoin them in their dance.


	56. First Halt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which King Thranduil muses and the princes discuss the etymology of the name 'Nelleron'

Thranduil sat in half-reverie on Nelleron’s back, lulled by the soft rhythm of the elk’s cloven hooves. Underway, finally. A ridiculous amount of trouble to go, all told, and a three week’s ride ahead. So many warriors, so many provisions and considerations…

They needed none of this, of course, not really. They were wood-elves, and these were their woods. They could hunt their own food and sleep in the trees, sidle unseen from canopy to canopy… 

Nor did it need take so long. All was in train so that, if the two parties were to come to agreement, they could sign the formal documents on Midsummer, as was only right and proper. But, of course, both sides had to meet, to discuss, to… allow the young people to look at each other and be sure. 

So Thranduil wanted to be there, the royal court in session on the eyot, at least a week before Midsummer. 

Even so, they had left in good time. Healer Nestoril had pointed out that if Tharmeduil were to be taken ill during the journey, they may need to halt for a day or two while he recovered. This was worrying, particularly her insistence that this was not simply a precaution; it was as if she knew it would happen.

He did not ask if this was so.

Ten days to ride in state through the forest and a further week on the plain. It was a long time to be travelling.

But this wasn’t travelling, it was a procession to meet with Imladris, so they could not simply turn up in their hunter’s garb smelling of almost three weeks in the saddle; they had to be seen to make stately way through the kingdom of Mirkwood.

Not to mention that there was civic pride involved; Mirkwood wanted to arrive first.

Really, it was all a ruse. Thranduil could not imagine Iaruon and Arwen being really interested in each other, but once Iauron had ‘accidentally’ sent his letter off, and Nestoril had begged for help on behalf of Thranduil’s second son, he knew he would have to go through with this, if just for the possibility Tharmeduil could be cured.  
Iauron, an unending source of amusement, exasperation and pride. Tharmeduil, a worry and in whose face his mother walked, still. Legolas, his swift change from troubled to joyous… 

And how joyous Legolas looked today indeed… 

Thranduil did not allow the smile at this thought to reach his face. Oh, it was not ideal; if he chose to, he would be able to lecture for hours on the potential for disappointment in a son who sought a male pairing… 

But he held back. The king in him had no reason for concern; Legolas was not required to provide an heir for the kingdom, after all; Iauron had already proved himself more than capable of that.

And the father in him? Really, it had not been a surprise, and he had more than a suspicion that something had happened while Legolas had been at Imladris. Perhaps it had been there, amongst strangers, that Legolas had become aware of his different nature? Certainly, he had come back changed…

Decades ago, though. He could not but be relieved his son had taken no lingering, lasting hurt from whatever had darkened his shining spirit, and if, in recent months Legolas had seemed to be struggling, certainly now he was happy.

It should have been easy to dislike Govon; he was an obvious target. A Silvan, a wood-elf, with the old traditions burning in his heart. Not an appropriate match at all for a royal Sindar. However, was not that what his own father had said to him, once, so long ago? Only in gender was his son’s choice different from his own.

But that sparring contest… Govon hadn’t just fought to show his skill and please his king, he had fought as if winning would make him worthy to be Legolas’ fëa-mate, as if he fought for him, to win him. And how could Thranduil not honour that, not respect that?

As for the avowing… how could he have not been present? How could he have done otherwise than have Arveldir rouse the kitchens and send to the barracks with word to Govon’s Commander, how not do all he could to make sure as many as possible could be there, in the grove, to witness this strange union?

He thought back to his own avowing. She had been fair, his fëa-mate, and they had understood each other, for all she had refused to do more than make vows, would not be queen or wife, only mother of princes. Only beloved consort. The years had been too short, and now she was gone, dead, waiting in the Halls of Mandos, if you believed the Sindar way, or possibly not, if you followed Silvan tradition.

Silvan tradition! A mixture of ancient ways and old magic, things no Sindar could ever really understand; it was part of the blood, the life of the forest, and for all Thranduil had been here so long, for all he loved the forest, the kingdom, the people, still he was not, perhaps, fully integrated. Now his fëa-mate was dead, Thranduil was not permitted to speak her name, for, except on the Days of Remembering, when the Silvans sang the names of their dead, they believed speaking the name of one of the dead when they were not expecting it would call them from their reverie of bliss and remind them of their death and loss. Yet it galled him that he couldn’t whisper her name in the dread of dark when he felt so alone, that he always had to refer to her distantly; ‘your mother’; ‘my late consort’…

Govon had best not die. Thranduil did not want to see his son struggle, unable to say a once-precious name.

Nelleron stopped, breaking the rhythm of the king’s thoughts and he brought himself back to the now to find Commander Bregon waiting patiently.

‘Speak, Commander.’

‘My king, we are almost at the glade where the arachnids overran us. It has been restored, and would make a good place to rest for the day meal, and we commanders can speak with the company on watch…’

‘Very well. You may proceed.’

How long had Bregon been waiting? Not long, he was sure; Nelleron had only just come to a halt.

Bregon rode off, inviting Govon and Esgaron to join him with a twist of his head, and the company made their way into the clearing.

Legolas dismounted and looked around the glade.

‘This is where it happened, then?’ Tharmeduil joined him. ‘I recognise the place, one of the first things I drew from my visions.’

‘It looks so different now,’ Legolas said softly. ‘As it was when we arrived; clean, grassy. Renewed. But they piled through… I was on one of the flets… over there…’ He pointed. ‘I lost track of how many we killed… not knowing what was happening, really, it was so sudden, so swift. Worse than a battle, in some ways – you know what’s expected in a skirmish, against a foe, a thinking, reasoning enemy. But against spiders? All reaction and wildness and instinct. The sheer chaos of their attack… and so many dead, after, lying all around, the eggs, stripped of the caul, and the spiderlings inside moving…’ The prince shuddered. ‘It’s strange how your life can turn in a moment, on a decision made apparently at random… Bregon wanted to send me back, escort with the walking wounded, but that seemed too easy. I didn’t want to stay here and take part in the clearing up; it would have meant destroying the eggs and I didn’t have the stomach for it. I’d spoken to Flora only that morning, she’d said she’d felt her baby move and it just felt… so that’s why I went with Tinuon to the outposts.’

‘And met your fëa-mate.’ Tharmeduil reached out swiftly. ‘Listen… It will be well. I know it will be well. Just… Oh, you don’t need me to tell you. Come on. Looks like Adar’s woken up at last. Wonder what had him thinking so deeply?’

‘It was probably nothing more serious than how it’s possible for his riding elk, Silvan-trained, to have a Quenya-Sindar name.’

Tharmeduil laughed. ‘Yes. And now I’m wondering how that’s possible, too!’

‘Did you not know?’ Legolas smiled at his brother. ‘It’s to annoy any Noldor purists who might happen to hear of it; they have a unique sense of humour, the Silvan elk-trainers.’


	57. 'We Endure'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A halt during the march in the glade where the spiders had attacked Bregon's command gives chance for reflection.

‘What say you, Commander?’

It took a heartbeat or two for Govon to realise Esgaron was talking to him. Around them, the rest of the escort filed into the glade to break for the day meal.

‘Lead on, Commander,’ he replied, following Esgaron to where Bregon was already talking to Pedir who had the command of the watch on the glade. 

‘Commander Pedir here has been holding the road from this position. Commander?’

Pedir inclined his head. 

‘We’ve established a line of flets a half day south of, and parallel to the road. More flets further in, but less close to each other. There are also temporary flets lining the road, too, for protection of the camp sites. The spiders haven’t broken through, but they are still trying to get north of the road.’

‘How far along the road do the flets reach?

‘We have them set up for three good marches ahead; one the royal procession has reached the guard of the second flet, the construction detail will begin work on a new flet another march away, ensuring the party scouting ahead has somewhere to come back to. So there should always be a guarded flet ahead, above, and behind the court.’ 

‘Pedir, you’ve done well, considering what you’re up against.’

‘They attack, we fight. They die, we endure. The spiders seem determined to get north of the road; I know so little about them, except how to make them die, but there is this… urgency to them…’

‘There are one or two with us who claim to know the ways of the creatures… they think the spiders sensed there was an earth tremor coming, and so fled their breeding grounds. Perhaps now the danger has gone, they want to return to the same place to try again to spawn,’ Bregon suggested. ‘If we can prevent them doing so, next year should be easier, around the palace enclave at least. But I appreciate it is harder for you to hold them back.’

‘Ai, the spiders we can cope with; it’s the ‘Do we really need to have so many warriors in the field at this time just for a few spiders?’ that wounds us. The king’s advisor has suggested our deployment and precautions are excessive…’

‘The king’s advisor was not here when the spiders migrated through,’ Bregon said. ‘He’d think differently, had he been. One of the princes was, though. We should encourage our command to talk about their experiences, Govon,’ Bregon said. ‘It will sound as if they are comparing notes rather than explaining the threat.’ 

‘It will be difficult for Lord Arveldir not to realise at least some of the dangers,’ Govon agreed. He looked towards where Legolas and Tharmeduil were engaged in conversation at the far side of the glade, Legolas point up into one of the trees. ‘Indeed, I think our princes are already talking of the matter.’

‘Good. Has the king told you yet how far he wants to travel each day?’

‘Not yet. I understand there is no urgency, but I will speak to Lord Arveldir and impress upon him the importance of a schedule so that the court may be properly protected and the Commander Pedir’s efforts are properly appreciated.’

‘Excellent,’ Bregon said. ‘Pedir, I’ll speak with you further before we leave.’

‘Very good, Commander. We have the watch now; take your ease.’

 

The open glade, with trees all around, bearing as it did a passing resemblance to the greensward within the palace environs, it was perhaps not surprising that within moments of settling to their day meal, the Court Guard found they were joined by the court itself; even Thranduil came to sit nearby, talking politely with Healer Nestoril and sparing the occasional word for the others of the guard near him; Hador and Tegolon were closest.

Without knowing quite how it happened, or who moved so another could sit in the space vacated, Govon soon found Legolas at his side, Tharmeduil nearby, too, but not encroaching.

‘How’s your first day going, friend Commander?’ Legolas asked.

‘Easy, so far, except difficult. Being near you, but not with you, that is a challenge,’ he admitted. ‘And they keep saying ‘Commander’, and I keep thinking, ‘who?’ But it is an honour. So this is where the spiders that attacked my command came when they left us? You fought them here?’

‘Or hid from them, depending who you listen to.’

Govon laughed. ‘Ai, he’s already trying to recant that one, saying it was a ‘confusing time’… as I’m sure it was.’

‘Indeed, it was a time of much confusion. And a new thing; I had only been on patrol once, and the spiders we encountered then were fewer, and in their own webs. They were not on the march, protecting their egg-laden queens.’

‘And Commander Pedir, who holds this place now, he tells they are trying to get north of the road again.’ Govon knew Arveldir was close enough to hear, should he choose to listen in, and so this was as good a time as any to speak in support of Pedir’s efforts. ‘It is possible they are driven to return to their breeding place, just as the danger from the earth tremor drove them from it. What can one do against such instinct as that? Pedir needs all his force to keep them held back.’

‘We –Bregon’s command – killed many. At least sixty of the creatures including three of the queens and their cauls. But more passed through; indeed, I think it came as a surprise to those who do not know the forest, that there could be so many spiders in one small region so apparently close to the palace.’

‘It is a worry, when you think of it like that. Commander Esgaron was saying to me, that Over Captain Rawon tracked back the line of the arachnid’s advance, and while they overran six flets north of the road, they then had come from the north west. He thinks they have been breeding around that wasteland – the one halfway between the river and the northern boundary.’

‘I know of it – I’ve not been so far north.’

‘Not many of us have, not of late. The forest is changing, my prince. Your father keeps us safe, but the boundaries of that safety are shrinking a little, flet by flet, outpost by outpost.’ Govon sighed. ‘it is not that we have become less, but that beyond our borders, the dangers are becoming more. But then, we are elves; we endure.’


	58. King's Command

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Commander Govon finds new duties added to his routine...

It took all Govon’s elvish endurance to get him through the next few days.

Oh, his duties were easy enough; there was no real work for him to do at the moment other than be alert and keep his guard alert, too. He set watch at night, even though he perhaps didn’t need to, yet, but it was better to get his command into the habit of it now, when it wasn’t important, so that they were used to it when the time came that such a night watch could be vital.

The routine was straightforward enough. On the first day, after the day meal break, they had ridden and marched until they heard the whistled signals from the side of the road that told them they had come under the protection of the next flet. Here they made contact with the guards and checked all was well before continuing to the next flet, near which they made camp for the night, and this set the pattern for succeeding days. Breakfast, break camp, proceed along the road until they heard from the next guard flet. Hear the report, break for the day meal. Proceed to the next flet, make sure all was well, continue to the next flet and make camp for the night, eat, make the day reports...

It really wasn’t arduous.

And yet it was impossible. Govon rode at the head of the guard, knowing Legolas was behind him, feeling his melleth’s eyes roaming his form. Or else he rode at the back of the guard, seeing his Legolas, his fair, fair elf shining and sitting tall in the saddle, perhaps in turn feeling how Govon watched him. Conversations during the day meal, the night meal, breakfast. Always in public, always Govon aware that he was under observation. Always, he had to maintain restraint, be disciplined, carry himself like a warrior.

For how else could it be? If he did not show discipline, how could he expect it of his command? 

Ai, but for an hour alone with his fëa-mate…!

And the way Legolas looked at him, understanding, acknowledging the need for restraint, yet his eyes full of other needs…

There were weeks, many weeks of this torture ahead and just this few days had been torment enough. Never private. Always watched.

‘We should do something,’ Nestoril whispered to Tharmeduil. ‘Your brother at least has you to talk to about this separation; poor Govon does not!’

‘Don’t worry about him,’ Tharmeduil said, which would have reassured her if he hadn’t added, ‘not now, at least. They’re all right now.’

The Court Guard noticed, but if Canadion made jokes about it, Thiriston made sure he only made them quietly, and to him; this new commander didn’t seem a bad sort, really and it would be best not to offend him, thinking of the future.

Iauron noticed his brother languishing, and he did laugh at him, hoping to distract him. 

It didn’t work.

‘I can’t expect you to understand,’ Legolas had said calmly. ‘After all, you’ve never really loved anyone but yourself,’ and while Iauron had protested, still, he was ashamed to realise it was true.

So the Court Guard watched Govon and the court watched Legolas, and all wondered how it would go.

On the fourth night after they had left the palace, Commander Govon went to give his day report to Arveldir and King Thranduil after the night meal, as was usual. There was not a lot to say, which was maybe a good thing. The report took place in private, in the king’s tent, which also maybe was a good thing.

‘…and so, my king, I am pleased to report from the guard flets, that word has been passed back saying the spiders are being held to the south of the road… tomorrow, if all goes according to plan, we will find the crossing of the Enchanted River and from there on, the terrain will become harder for a time, but we are still ahead of schedule…’

‘Commander Govon, we find we do not need to hear your reports ourselves,’ the king said, his voice a languid drawl, suggesting he was bored, or tired, or both. Govon dipped his head, fearing an implied rebuke. ‘And so in future, you will make written reports to pass to Lord Arveldir…’

Ai, Valar! More work! But if it was the king’s will…

‘Of course, your majesty. It shall be done.’

‘Prepare them when we make night camp and before the night meal so that my advisor has time to mull the contents before he retires.’

‘Yes, my king.’

‘Also, I have noticed you are conscientious with regard to setting a nightly watch from the Court Guard. While this is admirable, it appears that you yourself constantly take the midnight watch. It is my understanding that this is not a popular duty, and it would be better shared… I do not seek to tell you your job, Commander, but we are led to   
believe that the most dangerous watch is the one before dawn… and it is almost as unpopular with the guard detail as first watch…’

‘I am most grateful to my king for guidance in this matter,’ Govon made himself say, even though he was struggling not to resent such interference. ‘As I am new to command, I cannot but appreciate your majesty’s concern.’

‘Quite. You are to make sure you have no duties during the midnight watch; that is to be your time, for your own… requirements, as recompense for the added burden of having to make formal written reports, unless your previous duty should happen to overrun its allotted time.’

‘If that is my king’s wish, but if I am no longer reporting to your majesty in person, I will have no duty after the writing of my reports…’

‘Indeed, that should be so. But I have another duty for you instead; I require you to spend the time after the night meal with my son… my youngest son, who has fought with these arachnids in person. Take as much time as you need to discuss tactics, the habits of the creatures… we will soon, as you have so duly noted this evening, be crossing the river of enchantment and I would have us all alert for that. This time with my youngest son must become part of your daily routine, and if it should happen to over-run into the midnight watch, then this is unfortunate, but it is to be considered part of your duties and this is the reason why you will no longer take the first watch.’ The king fell silent, giving the commander time to assimilate the implications of this statement. Once sure, he made his voice dispassionate, disinterested as he went on. ‘I take it you understand?’

Govon swallowed. Oh, he understood…

‘It shall be as my king commands,’ he said.

*

As soon as the night meal was done, Legolas returned to his tent, aware of the eyes that followed him… he wished they wouldn’t. He felt the sympathy from Nestoril, caught the humour from Iauron, but, really, he just wanted to be left to cope in his own way with the enforced separation from Govon.

The tents were good, spacious even, enough room to enter standing and walk around, as long as you didn’t want to walk too far. Carpets underfoot, a camp bed… there was nothing wrong with it.

Except it was his alone, not his and his fëa-mate’s.

There was a sound outside, a knocking against the buckler set outside for such a purpose. He should have brought it inside with him, to show he was only to be disturbed in an emergency. He sighed.

‘Yes?’

‘Your pardon, highness. His majesty the king has decided he wishes to delegate the hearing of the daily reports. From this evening, it will be your responsibility.’  
Well, it would give him a focus, he supposed. ‘Thank you, Arveldir.’

The advisor waited, not yet finished.

‘Was there something more?’ Legolas asked. 

‘May I show the Commander in, my prince? On my way out?’

‘Very well. Tell him to bring in the buckler; I won’t want to see anyone else tonight.’

‘Understandable, my prince,’ Arveldir said, and, while Legolas was still pondering that, took his leave. Legolas heard him speaking to someone outside, passing on the message, but it still didn’t prepare him for who walked in.

He stared.

‘Forgive the intrusion, my prince,’ Govon said, his eyes smiling as he set down the buckler near the entrance to the tent and folded across the closing fabrics. ‘It is the king’s command that I report to you tonight. Each night. I hope this is not an inconvenience?’

Legolas crossed the short space between them, realisation and joy blossoming in his face, and placed his hands on Govon’s shoulders.

‘If it’s the king’s command,’ he said, ‘who are we to argue?’


	59. A Cry in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the camp is disturbed during the night...

‘How was the watch, Tinuon?’ Govon asked.

‘Quiet, Commander.’ He nodded in the direction of the tents belonging to the Court Guard. ‘Apart from those two. It seems Canadion’s having a disturbed night… again… How fortunate he has such a good friend in Thiriston, always willing to leave his own bedroll to help…’ He grinned. ‘They can get a bit wrapped up in each other.’

‘I’d noticed. But as long as they’re alert enough when they need to be…’

‘They usually are. Commander… any of us would have volunteered for first watch, you know. Well, maybe not those two… but the rest of us…’

Govon nodded. 

‘I know. Now we have this new system for reporting, I’ll be having to leave first watch to the rest of you anyway.’

‘Of course, Commander. Hador has the third watch tonight.’

‘Thank you, Tinuon. You can stand down now.’

‘Aye. Goodnight, Commander.’

 

Govon walked the perimeter of the Royal Court’s encampment slowly, quietly, making sure not to linger outside Legolas’ tent, making sure he kept moving… he was glad, now, he had decided on two hour shifts instead of one for the guard duty; not only did it mean half his command had an uninterrupted night’s rest (or whatever else they chose to do), but it meant up to two hours each night added onto the time he spent… ah… ‘reporting’ to his prince by the king’s command…

Of course, being Commander, he would take a watch every night – this one, in the darkest hours just before the sky began, somewhere above the trees, to blue with impending daybreak, or the one after, the hours of the second hunt of the predators and the waking of the world to a new dawn. He would take third watch tomorrow, properly alternate his shifts so his warriors could see he wasn’t slacking.

And no doubt there would be a few remarks about his new duties, how arduous a task it must be to have to spend so much time reporting to the prince… Canadion and Thiriston were bound to look slyly at each other, and Hador and Tegolon try not to smirk – although their grins would be more to do with sympathy for their Commander than in thinking about what he might have been up to with his prince – and Tinuon would try, as his second, to make all easy.

Well, there would be no point trying to deny it. After making his report as ordered – ‘Everything’s fine, the spiders are being held south of the road, we cross the Enchanted River tomorrow, why not push your oldest brother in, he can’t tease while he’s in a drugged sleep, can he…?’ – he and Legolas had quickly moved on to other topics…

But in spite of his best intentions to be discreet and subtle and as restrained as was possible after the enforced separation, he had discovered that his fëa-mate’s voice seemed to carry a lot further in the confines of an encampment than it did in their chambers.

Still, it was worth any amount of embarrassment on the morrow to have been able to hold his fëa-mate close and hear him cry out against him in love and urgency and need.

He made a mental note to try to make sure first watch was always taken by someone who didn’t gossip…

Of course, it hadn’t just been the demands of their bodies that had been sated; the demands of their fëar for unfettered conversation had been answered, too. Lying close and content, and talking gently, Legolas had brushed his fingers against the carved chain on Govon’s arm where it rode just above the elbow beneath the surge of his bicep. 

‘I did not think I would have it finished in time. But the extra hours you had to work, those few days before we made our vows, I had something to occupy me.’

‘And I had no idea what you were thinking – how stupid of me was that? But I had thought, you would not want the distraction, not with the journey ahead and your brother’s concerns… and perhaps, for all I knew we were fëa-mates, for all the love between us, still, to ask for vows with you, it seemed… audacious.’

‘But you are audacious, melleth; I saw you fight my father, remember? And maybe… yes, until then, perhaps I had thought to delay until we returned. But then I realised I could not wait.’ Legolas reached out to stroke the carved chain. ‘And this was finished and ready and waiting in our chambers, and so when you won, I decided, and asked Nestoril to be our witness for that night…’

‘And so I had a half a day to make a token worthy of a prince.’ Govan smiled as Legolas raised his wrist to stroke and smooth the braided token there. ‘It will wear, I fear, unlike the one you made for me…’

‘But it is perfect. It is fitting, too; you are a warrior, my warrior, and it is made of warrior’s goods. It is as much of you, as yours is of me.’

‘If it wears, I will make you another.'

‘It will last long; I will cherish it. As I will you.’ 

 

Govon had smiled at that, and smiled now at the memory of it. Yes, that was how he felt; cherished.

And possibly slightly tender.

So, in the morning, he would adjust the placement of the carved wooden chain on his arm so that it would be visible when he led his command. They could laugh and snigger and smirk all they wanted, but they would do so in the sight of the token that said he was avowed, that he was loved and cherished by his fëa-mate, and if, in that, Canadion and Thiriston found cause for humour, then let them

Another turn around the camp. Govon considered going to the guard flet to check in with the watch there, but decided against it; they might be sleeping instead of watching, trusting in him to be eyes for the camp, and he would not get them into trouble; he knew of old how hard it was to be the guard on an outpost flet.

It was well into the second hour of his watch when it happened; a sudden noise, a low moan, such as would not have surprised him, had it come from Canadion’s tent, but this didn’t; it came from within the royal encampment. 

He hurried back towards the origin of the sound – it hadn’t sounded like Legolas, please let all be well with Legolas – checking as he went for any signs of intrusion, but all appeared well …

The moan came again, increasing, turning into screams and yells that ripped through the camp, and he flung himself towards it, sword drawn, to find the disturbance was coming from a tent near his fëa-mate’s – Tharmeduil!

Healer Nestoril arrived just as Govon did, and she was about to enter but that he held her back.

‘Wait, Healer. Let me.’

‘Well, hurry!’

Govon held aside the covering fabrics and entered the tent. Tharmeduil had stopped screaming, but was moaning and muttering and groaning, his body flailing. But he   
was alone and, as far as Govon could tell, not under attack. He sheathed his sword and called Nestoril in.

‘Oh…!’ She hurried over, anxiety twisting her face as she reached out to try to touch the threshing form. ‘Govon, help me! Take hold of him, push him onto his side… restrain him, carefully, please!’

The only way to do so was to place himself at Tharmeduil’s back and fold an arm over him. It didn’t feel right to be holding him so, and Tharmeduil seemed not to like the contact either for he threw his head back, making painful contact with Govon’s nose.

‘Good. Hold him so, talk to him, calm him, pay attention to ought he says… I will be but a moment!’

What? ‘Please, Healer, do not…’ 

But she was gone.

‘Prince Tharmeduil, calm yourself,’ Govon said, trying desperately to avoid another smash to his face; the nose was broken, he was sure of it, pain exploding behind his eyes and spiking through his face. ‘All is well, it’s only I, Govon. Be still, now. Healer Nestoril is on her way…’

Tharmeduil’s body stilled, shuddering now, trembling, his limbs spasming, but no longer trying to escape, to throw his head back. His moans and mutterings began to shape words, and Govon tried to encourage him, to understand, to hear.

‘What is it, my prince? What would you say?’

‘…have to go, go now, now, we must if we go we might out run them… but you will not go anywhere, you cannot ride like that… we must go, Nestoril, tell her, tell… while we wait, they come and so much death and legs and… he must not be there! If he has another bite… do not… not stay…’

‘We cannot go yet; it is the middle of the second watch, and all is asleep…’ Well, apart from those nearby, perhaps… ‘Why must we go, my prince?’

‘They are coming. They are coming. Trying the defence, too much , turned away… Ai! Tell… she will say to stay, but if we stay, we cannot outrun them… over the river, yes, once across… Do not let Ada go alone, he cannot go alone…! Ada! Do not…!’

‘Hush. Be at peace; I will tell your father, do not fear… be calm, my prince.’

‘What’s going on? Govon?’

Legolas, at the opening of the tent. Bizarrely, Govon wanted to release his hold on Tharmeduil, to proclaim this wasn’t what it seemed…

‘Healer Nestoril told me to restrain your bother and calm him.’ Govon tried to shrug. ‘He is quite distressed.’

‘I heard.’ Legolas approached, his eyes growing anxious. ‘Melleth-nin? What happened to your face?’

‘The back of your brother’s head happened to my face.’ Govon sighed. ‘I know he did not mean it…’

Tharmeduil convulsed in Govon’s arms and then grew still. After a moment, he exhaled heavily and began to stir.

‘What…? Legolas?’

‘You’ve been ill again.’ Legolas glanced over Tharmeduil at Govon. ‘I think you can start to let go, now.’

Carefullly, Govon disengaged and pulled himself into a sitting position, trying to still support Tharmeduil as he did so and disregarding his own pain and the blood trickling down his face as he saw blood seeping from Tharmeduil’s eyes and nose too.

‘What…?’

Legolas shook his head and reached out to his brother. 

‘Come on. Sit up. I’ll get your paper for you. You’re ready, yes? You want to draw it now?’

Tharmeduil nodded weakly. ‘My eyes… full of red… but it’s the blue I want to draw, the blood of them… Look, this is important. The river… don’t let father cross it on that elk of his; he’s going to, he’s going to want to try the jump, and it’s not the distance… there’s something in the woods on the far side, I see it waiting for him…’

‘All right. If it matters to you, if I have to bribe the creature to pretend to be lame, or fit spikes to Father’s seat, I’ll do it.’ Legolas found the paper and drawing sticks that were never these days far from Tharmeduil’s side. ‘Commander, I expect you want to reassure the rest of the camp we’re not under attack.’

‘At once, your highness.’ Govon got to his feet, turning to leave. As he passed, Legolas reached up and grabbed his hand, squeezing his fingers for a brief second, and he looked down and saw the compassion in his eyes.

‘And you might want to ask Nestoril to look at your nose for you, too; Tharmeduil will be all right with me for a few minutes.’

‘Thank you, my prince.’

Outside, he found his command all up and surrounding the tents of the court, weapons ready.

‘Well done. You can stand down. Hador, if you would take your watch a little early, I need to get my face fixed…’

‘Yes, Commander, of course… are you hurt?’

Obviously. But that wasn’t what Hador meant, he knew. ‘Collateral damage, that’s all. The camp’s secure. But we may be moving out early… or we may find we’re here for another day, so be alert! I’ll tell you more when I know more…’

‘Commander Govon?’ he heard Nestoril’s voice, less soft than usual, and he hastened to assure her he hadn’t deserted his post.

‘Healer, one of the princes is with him; I was ordered to find you and ask what to do about this…’ he gestured to the ruin of what he now realised had once been a very good nose…

‘Come with me then…’ She led him away from the guard, found a cloth, soused it with water from the canteen at her belt, and had him hold it over his nose. The cold stung, then began to soothe. ‘Sit. And tell me?’

‘The prince is calm, now. His eyes… it was…’

‘Blood? Yes, that is how these fits take him, poor penneth… Did he have much to say?’

‘He is adamant that his father the king not try to cross the river alone on elk-back; something in the forest, he says. And there was something about a delay – ‘she’, he said, would want to wait but there was danger in doing so, apparently, and it would be better not to wait.’

‘Has he started drawing yet?’

‘Yes, Prince Legolas is helping.’

‘Good… so let me take a look… give me the cloth…’ Nestoril patted delicately at the swelling flesh around Govon’s nose and then ran her fingers down the bridge. He flinched. ‘Forgive me! I know it is uncomfortable but I assure you it will soon be…’ She pulled and tugged suddenly and Govon hissed in pain.

‘Better,’ she finished, laying her hand on his arm. ‘Do forgive me; but it is done now and reset and I will give you this…’ She took something from her belt pouch and folded it into a pad before laying it tenderly over his nose. ‘By morning, it should be feeling – and looking – much better.’

‘Thank you, Healer,’ Govon said. ‘I must report to the other commanders, but if you need me, seek me.’

She nodded and headed for Tharmeduil’s tent, smiling as she entered and saw the two brothers together. Legolas looked much brighter than when she had previously seen him, but she didn’t dwell, instead turning all her attention to his brother.

‘You need to wipe your face, Tharmeduil,’ she said. ‘I can do it, if you don’t wish to stop work?’

‘No, it’s fine, Nestoril,’ he said. ‘I’ve got the worst of it down.’ He set aside his drawing sticks and turned so that she could wipe his eyes, his nose, clean the blood away. He kept as still as possible, trying not to let her see that his left hand was limp and useless, hoping the fact that he was seated would disguise the fact that he had no feeling in his left foot. ‘There are two things; Legolas knows them. My father must be stopped, and… and we have to leave. You’re going to want us to stay, I’m going to insist we leave or things will get bad, and while we spend time arguing about it we lose our chance of escape… so if you could just take it as read…?’

Nestoril smiled. ‘We’ll see. How are you feeling otherwise?’

‘Fine, fine… the headache, of course, but that’s fading. And… the back of my head is hurting, and I don’t know what I could have hurt it on…’

‘I do,’ Legolas said, getting to his feet. ‘My poor melleth’s face; I’ll leave you to it, Nestoril, I’m going back to my tent now. Goodnight.’


	60. Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an elk is bribed and a command challenged...

Legolas fed dried blackberries, one at a time, to Nelleron, whispering gently in the giant elk’s ear.

‘And so, mellon-nin, will you do so for me? Will you do it for another of these? I know, I know you like the strawberries better, but I hear they give you digestive issues, and that is hardly becoming in the steed of a king, is it?’

He scratched the elk behind one of its huge, furry ears, admiring the velvet-coated palmate antlers.

‘Remember, now, for me – and for Tharmeduil, who has promised you all the strawberries you could wish for, once we get home… do not jump the river with our Adar on your back. Do not. Refuse if you must…’ Another blackberry found its way into the elk’s mouth. ‘Throw him over your amazing antlers into the river itself, if you have to; a sleeping king is better than an injured or a dead one, after all… but do not let him cross alone, dear Nelleron!’

‘What’s going on?’

Legolas turned at the voice. ‘Hello, Arveldir. Once more you find me where you don’t expect me… I was just feeding Nelleron some blackberries.’

‘I can see that… may I ask why?’

Legolas was briefly tempted to pull himself up to his full height and inform the advisor he could ask… but it would not be far to play the prince with him; Arveldir was only doing his job…

Although why he was doing it near Nelleron, Legolas had no idea. He grinned.

Besides, sometimes if you told the truth in the right way, nobody believed you anyway… 

‘I could ask you the same. He likes them. And I was trying to bribe him to throw Adar into the river today.’

Arveldir shook his head, trying not to smile. ‘And how old are you?’

‘Old enough to know better, young enough not to care.’

Now Arveldir did smile; he laughed, in fact, opening his hand to show he, too, had a fistful of dried blackberries. 

‘Who convinced you?’ he asked.

‘Tharmeduil. I’ve got so used to him being right these last few weeks… you?’

‘Healer Nestoril. But I am not sure how successful this will be; your father has made much of this animal’s ability to leap across streams and brooks; Prince Tharmeduil’s visions notwithstanding, I do not wish for your royal father to try Nelleron’s abilities over the Enchanted River; it is asking for trouble.’

‘What? He wants to try to jump the river?’

‘Yes, indeed; while you and your brothers have been riding together, it has fallen to me to bear the king company at times… of course, we may not leave at all today, my prince, which might give more opportunity to dissuade the king.’

‘But…’ Legolas turned to stare at Arveldir, shaking his head. ‘That’s the point; we have to leave here today, we need to get across the river…’

‘Healer Nestoril is against it, and you are not the only one who is keen to proceed. But it may be there are things you do not know yet.’

Legolas tipped his handful of blackberries into Arveldir’s palm. ‘Take over here for me, please.’

*  
Commander Govon was having his first real leadership challenge and he had the feeling that it was actually quiet important that he win this one. Briefly he wondered whether he should have removed the patch of caul silk sticking to his nose; it would hardly enhance his sense of authority, but the truth was he had almost forgotten about it until now, with the other commanders’ gaze on him dipping inadvertently from his eyes to his nose and back…

‘You think we should what?’ Commander Bregon asked.

‘Send word down the line to the flets ahead and behind us, just to see if they’ve had any suggestion of spider activity. I have it on good information that there’s likely to be an attack – possibly the migration trying to return again – and I feel we should take no chances…’

‘But what’s your source, Govon?’ Esgaron asked.

‘One that can be trusted… Prince Tharmeduil’s visions…’ He tried not to sigh in exasperation; he hadn’t wanted to admit it. ‘I recognise, Commanders, that this is unusual, but…’

‘Unusual!’ Bregon echoed. ‘The nightime dreams of a sick prince?’

‘The prince has had many such… insights of late, and there is a remarkable accuracy to them. I could cite incidents for you, I could take you to him and ask him to present the evidence himself – but it is wasting time. All I ask is that you send two scouts back, and ahead, to the rear and advance outposts, just as a precaution… Scouts in the canopy will not take much more than an hour each way, and we’re at least that long from breaking camp…’

‘I cannot agree that this is a good use of resources, Commander,’ Bregon said. ‘Besides, all know how near you came to death… it may well have left you somewhat biased…?’

Govon took in a deep breath, refusing to answer in anger.

‘I admit I have little cause to love the arachnids, Commander Bregon. And I know you have had experience of this migrating horde as well. But I am sure I am being objective, here. If neither of you wish to support me in this, very well; I must take my prince’s warning as a command to the Court Guard and I will send one of my number accordingly to the flet ahead of our position…’

‘Look, if you feel so strongly about it, I’ll send a couple to the outpost behind, too,’ Esgaron said. He turned to Bregon with a shrug. ‘Let us agree to differ, Commander; I will gladly defer to you in other matters, but Govon was in my command for long enough that I know he would not make such a suggestion lightly…’

Govon hid his relief, inclining his head towards his former commander.

‘I am grateful, Commander. Please, do not send any who have been venom-sick in the last twelvemonth; the Healer warns me that a second bite or sting could react with the previous poison and the results be far more severe.’

‘You’re serious about this?’ Bregon shook his head as he looked from Esgaron to Govon and back again. He huffed out a breath. ‘Well… I will set point guards when we march. I will keep any such envenomed warriors towards the centre. But you, Govon – you can warn the Royal Court.’

‘I’ll see to it immediately, Commander. Thank you for hearing me out.’

*

‘Healer Nestoril! Are you busy?’ Legolas kept his voice neutral, friendly as she turned to smile at him from inside her tent.

‘Not at present; will you step in? I hope you are well?’

‘Thank you, quite well.’

She gestured him to sit on a folding stool.

‘If it’s about Commander Govon’s nose, I can assure you it has been set and should return to its usual elegant profile within a day or so.’

‘That’s reassuring, Healer, but it’s about my brother… I thought we were moving out this morning, at his particular request?’

‘Oh. Oh, dear…’ She glanced down and Legolas noticed she was doing that thing with her hands again, the twisting and writhing of her slender fingers. ‘Well, after you left… he… he had another episode, unfortunately…’

‘Why were we not informed?’ Legolas began to rise to his feet, settled again as he saw Nestoril’s pleading look.

‘It is not yet breakfast time; I wished to wait until after, when I will assess him again. He… he tried too hard to see what would happen if his father crossed the river alone, if we waited out a day here, if… if Commander Govon leads the attack against the arachnids…’

‘Nestoril? What about Govon?’

‘Nothing; he is Commander of the Court Guard, that is all… really…’ She glanced down at her hands and then Legolas saw her shoulders lift as she drew breath. ‘Other than to say, it is important, if there are spiders, that he is not bitten or stung again; it could reactivate the venom from the previous incident and he could be taken more ill than even then… Be assured, he is aware of this, and understands the repercussions… but, also, he did not wish me to tell you as he feared you would worry…’  
‘Worry? Nestoril, I worried last time! I thought he would die in my arms, on that flet, and that was before I knew him! I could not…’

‘…which I think is why he would have preferred you not to know.’ She shrugged elegantly and rose to her feet. ‘Come. You should see your brother and then you will understand.’

He followed after her, his concern rising as she held aside the tent flaps for him to go into Tharmeduil’s tent. His brother was sitting upright, propped against the central tent post. He smiled when they entered, but Legolas noticed the left side of his mouth didn’t lift as high, and his left arm hung, useless. He was much too pale.

‘Good morning, brother,’ he said, carefully, slowly, as if he feared his speech would be slurred. ‘How long before we’re off?’

‘As soon as you can dress yourself and get onto your horse unaided,’ Legolas said. ‘Nelleron’s been eating blackberries this morning, and both myself and Lord Arveldir have had a little chat with him about Father.’

Tharmeduil dropped his gaze. ‘I… I’m not so well, this morning, as I was last night…’

‘Nestoril said, yes. What happened?’

‘Another one of those… attacks…’ Tharmeduil gave a lopsided grimace. ‘I was trying to sort something out in my head… and it got confusing and I think it jumped to some other time and there was me and Canadion and Thiriston stalking through the canopy and then they were… not… and…’

‘And your brother did not call for me to assist him in sorting out the threads of the different visions,’ Nestoril said with a reproach in her voice.

Legolas shook his head. ‘Let me understand… when I parted from you last night, you had it clear; we would leave first thing and it would be fine. Or you would be ill and Nestoril would refuse to let us move and then we would not be fine. So instead of it being fine, and you leaving it there, you had to try to see further…'

‘In spite of previous warnings not to push his limits,’ Nestoril added.

‘So, as a result, you’ve made yourself ill… and if you’re too ill to travel, and we stay, your vision becomes real – but…’ Legolas sighed. ‘But only because you’ve made yourself ill by trying too hard… you fulfil your own prophecy…’

‘I’ll be fine in an hour or so. I was last time…'

Nestoril compressed her lips together; last time she’d visited the grove of the fëar trees and bound caul silk around Tharmeduil’s tree. She couldn’t do that from here.

‘Last time wasn’t as bad,’ Legolas pointed out. ‘Why do we not assume we’ll be leaving, and prepare for the journey in any case? That way, if you’re recovered, good, there is less time wasted…’

‘But we must go!’

‘Then you need to be able to ride, brother! And for that you’ll need clothes, at least!’  
*  
Govon called his command together outside his tent as soon as they’d finished eating breakfast.

‘There’s a chance we might have to do some real work today. Tinuon, have you ever been spider-sick?’

‘Sick of them? Aye. From the venom of them, no. I’ve been lucky.’

‘You say that now, but it’s just let you in for a different task this morning… I want you to head for the next flet, through the canopy, quick as you might. Ask the guards if they’ve had any hint – even a sniff – of spiders…’

‘Commander?’

‘If they’ve had nothing, put them on alert and get back to us – if you can…’

‘Are you expecting an attack?’ Thiriston asked.

‘Not so much expecting… but it’s a possibility the spiders will try again to cross the road, perhaps in the region near the river; consider, they’ve been constantly driven back from their original crossing point, they’re not so blindly stupid they can’t replan their route. Hador, Tegolon – I need you on close guard of the court. Archery only; I’m told that if you get revenomed, you’ll suffer for it!’ He heard Tegolon groan, and grinned in sympathy. ‘So watch yourselves. Thiriston, Canadion; if we are attacked, watch out for each other and the court. You’ll know from the weapons practice we had that a couple of them are handy in a fight. But Prince Tharmeduil is unwell today and so won’t be able to fight.’

‘If there are queens with eggs, Commander, what do we do?’

‘If the court’s safe, standing orders are to try to secure the cauls. But no heroics; I might need you later. Any more questions? No? Good. Dismissed. Tinuon – watch yourself.’

‘Of course, Commander.’ His second grinned. ‘I’ll be back before you’ve had time to miss me.’


	61. Towards the River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the forest feels uneasy...

‘My lord Arveldir?’   
The king’s advisor halted, waiting for Commander Govon to catch up with him.

‘Good day, Commander. You want to speak to me?’

‘Indeed.’ Govon fell into step beside him. Now here, it was difficult to know how to phrase his concerns. ‘There is a matter I need to bring to your attention which cannot wait for the evening report; new information has come to me and I suspect there may be a significant increase in arachnid activity today. Every precaution will be put in place to protect the royal court, naturally, but it is vital that if we are to do our job effectively, the royal family and its attendants are not separated…’

‘You’ve been listening to Prince Tharmeduil?’

‘It is not only his insights, my lord. It is… the forest is not at ease this morning. There is a heaviness in the air, a darkness beneath the branches. The trees are restless…’ About to give an apologetic shrug, he stopped himself. ‘There are those amongst us who know the forest, who can read its airs and there is a sense of being poised… If it is at all possible, we should cross the river today.’

‘I concur,’ Arveldir said, noting the swiftly-disguised surprise in the commander. ‘If Prince Tharmeduil is well enough to sit on a horse, we will be underway in a half-hour. I will pass on this extra information to the king and make sure the rest of our party understand.’

‘My thanks, Lord Arveldir. Should an attack come, it is likely that the more dangerous arachnids will be part of the central section of the advance. These should be avoided at all cost and we will strive to our limits to keep the court safe.’

*

The forest was uneasy. 

Canadion and Thiriston, taking a short, private stroll when they should have been packing up their bedrolls, noticed it, and Canadion drew closer to the big warrior.

‘What if he’s right, this prince with foresight? What if there are spiders again?’

‘I’ll look out for you, don’t worry. Come, we all have our fears. You know this. Being able to face them, daily, that is bravery. Not how many you kill, but how hard it is for you to face your fear.’

‘Couldn’t I go and fight some orcs somewhere?’

Thiriston laughed, casting an arm around Canadion’s shoulder. ‘Maybe I can take your mind off it?’

‘I’d like that. But the trees would interrupt. They’re worried.’ He stopped walking and leaned back against a tree trunk. ‘Perhaps you could try, anyway?’

The forest was distressed.

Nestoril noticed it, sensing the sharpness in the notes of the birdcalls, the acid tang to the chemicals released by the leaves of the trees as she sought a particular plant, known for its calming properties. She shook her head.

‘The trees are disturbed,’ Legolas told Iauron, as they walked towards Tharmeduil’s tent together. ‘Watch yourself. Watch Tharmeduil.’

‘You worry too much!’

‘And you do not worry at all. Which may make you happy, but also makes you vulnerable.’

‘Vulnerable? Me?’

‘And those around you; Iauron, you never stop to think about what might happen as a result of your actions, and so things happen as a result… and other people get caught up in that.’ Legolas found a small smile for his brother. ‘Never mind. It just strikes me as odd that the oldest of us sometimes seems the youngest.’

‘Tharmeduil! Are you decent?’ Iauron called out as they approached the tent.

‘Come in.’

As he followed Iauron into the tent, Legolas found his eyes seeking Tharmeduil anxiously; his voice had sounded… better. And to Legolas’ relief, the smile on his face was more even.

‘How are you?’ Iauron asked, and Tharmeduil nodded.

‘Better than I was… much better. I should be able to ride, if you can get me up onto a horse…’

‘Let’s go, then,’ Iauron said, and turned away, and so didn’t spot the flare of panic in Tharmeduil’s eyes.

Legolas went over and held out his hands.

‘Come on. Just until you get to your feet.’

‘I’ll be fine, once I get moving…’

Tharmeduil allowed Legolas to put his shoulder under his own and support him while he staggered and lurched to the tent opening. Iauron, outside, shook his head.

‘Ai, if this is you better, I’m glad I didn’t see you sooner! Are we heading for the horses?’

‘Yes,’ Tharmeduil said, trying to stand unaided and almost buckling; Legolas kept close. ‘Come on. We have to get moving!’

‘Oh, my…!’ Nestoril came up. ‘Tharmeduil! Are you sure you can walk?’

‘I… am… fine!’ Tharmeduil insisted through gritted teeth. 

‘No, you’re not,’ Iauron said, coming to his other side. 

But Tharmeduil battled on, and it did seem to Legolas that the more he walked, the less uncontrolled his movements became, until, by the time they got to the horses, he was just about walking unaided.

His horse was brought, and willing hands prepared to help him into the saddle, but the horse snorted and backed away.

‘Horse, come back! I can ride!’

‘Clearly, your mount does not believe so…’ 

Everyone froze at the sound of King Thranduil’s voice, except for Tharmeduil’s horse, which made the most of the opportunity to sidle further away.

‘But, Adar…!’  
‘Tharmeduil. Ion-nin.’ Thranduil laid his hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘I saw you during the night when the fit was on you. I saw you at daybreak, as Healer Nestoril tried to awaken you. And although I do not doubt your courage and determination, and while I can see you are greatly improved, still I do not trust you to sit on a horse without falling off.’

‘Father… ‘

‘And so you will ride with me,’ Thranduil went on decisively. ‘Nelleron is more than strong enough to bear us both and has a much longer back than our horses. You will sit before me and if you look like to fall, I will prevent it.’

The king stepped forward and put his own arm around his middle son, slowly leading him off to where Nelleron was waiting.

‘Nelleron has confided in me that it is your doing, ion-nin, that he has been visited with gifts of dried blackberries this morning, and so he wishes to repay the favour.’

‘Adar? You… your elk talks to you?’

Thranduil glanced over his sons head to exchange glances with Lord Arveldir, returning to the conversation earlier that morning…

_He had gone to make sure Nelleron was well, and had seen his advisor with the elk._

_‘What are you doing, Arveldir?’_

_‘My king, I am feeding dried blackberries to Nelleron.’_

_‘Indeed, but why?’_

_‘Because dried strawberries have an unfortunate effect on his digestive processes…’_

_‘Quite. But why are you feeding him at all…?’_

_And, not without some regret, Arveldir had explained about Tharmeduil’s concerns for his father, and Thranduil had remembered Nestoril saying it were better for his son not to become overanxious about his visions and, well, that had led to this…_

‘Let us say we understand one another. Come.’ Thranduil released his son briefly while he mounted, reaching down to grab Tharmeduil’s forearm and pull him up to sit before him. ‘Ah, ion-nin, I remember the last time I set you in front of me on a steed. You were far smaller, then.’

Behind the king, the rest of the court mounted up and the Court Guard assembled.

‘Are we one missing this morning, Commander Govon?’ the king asked.

‘Indeed, your majesty; as I reported to Lord Arveldir, my second has gone ahead to confer with the guard at the next flet.’

‘And… are you quite well today, Commander?’ The king glanced from the patch of caul silk on Govon’s face to his youngest son and back again.

‘Yes, your majesty; an unfortunate training incident. I await your orders, my king?’

‘When you’re ready, Commander Govon, move out.’

*  
Commander Bregon came to ride beside Govon for a moment. 

‘Esgaron’s scout hasn’t made it back yet. That’s why he’s staying to break camp.’

‘Nothing from Tinuon, either. And the trees…’

‘Are restless. Still, while there’s birdsong…’

‘True.’

 

They had been under way for almost half an hour before a whistled signal came from the side of the trail and Tinuon descended from the canopy. Bregon joined Govon to hear the report.

‘Commanders, the forward position is secure… but the watch is uneasy. The forest feels… alert, anxious.’

‘Yes. We noticed, also.’

‘The river crossing is prepared for. A large and stable raft has been assembled to take the horses – and the elk – across, and rope walks slung between the tree canopy on both sides. I requested that two or three of the watch cross and take up positions on the far side, but they didn’t seem keen and, really, I had no authority…’

‘No, it’s all right. Thank you, Tinuon. Get mounted up now.’

Presently, Commander Govon found Healer Nestoril at his side.

‘When we next stop, Commander, I’ll take that dressing off for you and check how you’re healing. How does it feel?’

‘More embarrassing than painful, Healer, my thanks.’

‘When we get to the river, may I have your help with something? Of one of your warrior’s help? I wish to collect some of the water; I can distil it, and use it in sleeping draughts and pain-relief…’

‘Of course, Healer. We’re not far away, now.’

 

The halt at the river was an uneasy one for Govon. There was not much space between the trees and the river, and there was not enough room to gather and keep everyone in sight. None of the guards on the flet had crossed the river, although they were keen to explain it was only because they did not want to abandon their posts. Commander Esgaron and the guards packing up the camp had still not caught up, and Commander Bregon thought it would be a good idea to wait for them before beginning to cross, while, given the lack of space, Govon privately thought they would do better to have some of the guard cross the river, or at least be up in the canopy near the rope bridge.

Still, it gave chance for Nestoril to remove the dressing from his nose and to assert that, but for a little bruising, it was fine, would be back to normal by tomorrow, for Legolas to raise his eyebrows in a look that suggested he didn’t believe it himself, and for some of the guard to have collected several clearly-labelled flasks of river water for the Healer’s stores.

Thranduil dismounted from Nelleron’s back and helped Tharmeduil down so that he could walk a little and try to get some mobility back into his limbs. Legolas thought he saw his father looking ruefully at the river, as if wishing he could get back on the elk and try the jump, but instead, he led the animal around for Tharmeduil to remount, and brought him close to the raft to acclimatise him to it, stroking the velvet face of the beast, and murmuring to him gently.

Bregon was just starting to mutter and look back down the trail when Esgaron and four of the six warriors he’d had with him came into view.

‘No word from the scout I sent back,’ Esgaron said. ‘I’ve sent two more back to look.’

‘We’d better not linger,’ Bregon said.

The woods fell silent.

The trees back from the path began to shiver and stir and one of the lookouts in the flet gave a cry.

‘Lhingril!’

_Spiders…_


	62. Elrond Rides Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elrond and his company set off on their journey to the meeting with King Thranduil and his sons...

On a late May morning, the bells of Imladris tolled, summoning its inhabitants to bid farewell to their lord and his family as they set off for their momentous meeting with the Royal House of Mirkwood.

All the knights of the house were there, mounted on their gleaming steeds, some in burnished armour, others with long spears, all with flowing cloaks draping over the rumps of their mounts. Elrond, in his burgundy armour and his braided head held high and proud, rode beside his daughter Arwen, her grey palfrey doing a genteel little dance and discommoding her rider, who was busy trying to find out if one could crochet on horseback. Her twin brothers sat quietly on their horses, matched sentinels, both still and silent for once. Healer Feril and Elrond’s advisor Erestor were there, too, accompanied by the minstrel, Lindir, since it was hoped that the occasion of the meeting of the elves from East and West of Hithaeglir would be a cause for song.

With them went various attendants, cooks, ladies-in-waiting and a baggage train worthy of a six-month expedition to the furthest ends of Middle Earth, not just across the mountains and the plain and back. But the closer it had got to the time of departure, the more Arwen had pleaded for just one more little trunk of clothes, and then all her gifts to the Royal House and…

And, to his surprise, Elrond had found that it mattered. It was important to him that he travel in pride and dignity and to look clean and tidy when he arrived at the eyot with his family and his knights around him. He wanted to show Mirkwood that, although he was half-elven, not full, although he was not Sindar, still, peredhel though he was, he was master of Imladris and its Noldor, while all Thranduil had for subjects were wild and superstitious wood-elves…

Not that he would say anything of the sort, of course. He wanted to be fair, equitable, friends to all, but sometimes it was difficult not to feel just a little defensive, not when he had a nagging sense that, decades ago while Legolas had been visiting, Imladris had behaved not quite as well as it should towards Mirkwood’s prince.

No. it was more that he simply wanted to meet as equals, to hope the implied offence had not been as offensive as he feared, that it had been forgotten, disregarded, not noticed, and the best way to ensure this happened was for himself to behave as if all was well and to ride out in pride and dignity and perhaps just a little pomp.

The horns sounded, and Elrond rode out.

Their path lay cross the High Pass, but it had been a warm, bright spring and so, although Elrond expected it to be cold (and his human blood made him too aware of the cold for his own comfort) yet there should be little snow ahead of them. His scouts had reported fewer orcs than expected, particularly in the north, which was a comfort, and that warg activity, too, was at an all-time low.

Elrond was in no hurry, although that first morning he set a good pace so that they all felt the sense of leaving their home behind quickly. He had discussed protocol with Erestor until he had felt like strangling his advisor.

‘It would be impolite to arrive first at the eyot,’ Erestor had said. ‘King Thranduil will have had a hard march through Mirkwood and will need time to gather himself. And he is, of course, a king.’

‘True. But we could be there to welcome him.’

‘That will not do. As the would-be bride is of our party, it shows her to be modest and becoming for her company to hold back.’

‘Erestor, we both know that if Arwen were at all modest, we would not be contemplating this union now!’

‘Perhaps. But do we want all of Imladris and of Mirkwood to guest at it, also?’

‘You could be right. But…’

‘If it matters so much to the pride of Imladris, my lord, might I suggest that we camp within a half-day’s march of the eyot? That way there will be plenty of opportunity to see where the Mirkwood company is, and time our arrival so that they know they have got there first, but are also aware that you have waited for them. Perhaps that suits all the niceties and soothes our own pride?’

Elrond had thought for a moment.

‘Yes… that will do well, Erestor. Once more you show your worth.’

Of course, travelling through the passes of Hithaeglir was not an exact science; the weather had been good, but there was no guarantee it would hold. And the orcs had been slumbering… but one could not be sure they would not wake up more stupid than usual and decide to attack a large band of well-armed elvish knights… horses could fall lame, Arwen could insist on staying somewhere random for a day just so she could dance amongst the flowers…

Elrond shook his head to himself. Sometimes, it felt as if Arwen was trying to out-elf all the elven maidens who had ever been before… idly he wondered whether his own peredhel ancestry was to blame for bringing out this fey side to her. On the other hand, it could actually be quite entertaining to see her try to charm the thrushes to sing with her. After all, she hadn’t learned to speak thrush yet, and had no notion that their lovely song had been their way of telling her to go away and sing with the carrion crows whose voices were more tonally matched to her own.

He glanced across at Arwen now, frowning in concentration as she tried to ride and ply her crochet hook at the same time. From the protruding tongue, and the wobbly appearance of whatever it was she was attempting to make, it was not going well.

‘Arwen, my dear child,’ he said, making his voice kind. ‘When we stop to rest the horses, there will be plenty of time then for needlecraft. Why do you not set aside your work and enjoy the scenery? We will be coming to a vale soon where the bluebells flower late, and I know how you enthuse about the bluebells in our own woods.’

‘Oh!’ Arwen glanced up, startled at being so addressed. But seeing only kindness in her father’s eyes, she smiled. ‘Well, since you say so… but I wanted to get this finished…’

‘And what lovely thing are you making now, dear daughter?’

‘Bow-strings. I thought, they are such dull colours mainly, grey and brown and black, and I hear Mirkwood is dark, and so why not brighten the bows of their archers up a little? Red is such a good colour for a warrior. Or yellow, to mimic the sun…’

Elrond held back on a lecture about the importance for an archer of being able to blend into the landscape. ‘Why not green?’ he suggested. ‘It reflects all growing things, and one who lives so near to nature as our Sindar and Silvan friends do will surely appreciate green…’

Arwen smiled happily.

‘And I will make you a set, too, Adar, in the brightest of blue to match the glory of the cloudless sky.’

Ai, Valar! He smiled and nodded his thanks and allowed his horse to fall back so that he was riding closer to his sons, and fervently hoped he would never have to prove his paternal affection by actually using a blue-strung bow.


	63. River Crossing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A king, an elk carrying an injured prince, a raft... what could possibly go wrong...?

Spiders! 

Bregon and Esgaron began yelling orders, trying to gather and order their warriors. Govon, finding himself close to Nestoril and Arveldir, laid his hand quickly on Nestoril’s arm, glad his command already knew who was to protect whom.

‘Healer, you and Lord Arveldir are to be under the care of Hador and Tegolon. Please, take no risks.’ He nodded at the approaching Hador. ‘That goes for you and Tegolon, also; protect your charges, but do not engage the arachnids unless you must. Be well.’

He turned away to see whether Tinuon had reached his charge yet; he’d given Legolas into his care, himself planning on supporting Tharmeduil. But as he turned, a shout from the river crossing point drew his attention. He slid through the trees, heading for the bank and aware that the trees overhead were beginning to shake and stir and darken.

Nelleron had smelled the approaching spiders and was frantic, panicking and trying to bolt while King Thranduil held on to the bridle and tried to soothe him, aware of Tharmeduil’s precarious hold on the elk’s back. Govon started towards them, intending to help, as Nelleron caught sight of a spider in the canopy and leapt towards the river, Thranduil having to choose between letting go, or running with him. The king chose to stay with the elk and his son, and when Nelleron leapt for the raft, he jumped too, silver-blond hair flying behind him as he tried to keep Tharmeduil safe on the elk’s back. The impetus of the landing caused the raft to rock and tilt and push off slowly from the bank.  
A glance showed Govon that Iauron was with Thiriston and Canadion, and the knowledge freed him. He cleared the cover of the trees and took a running jump for the raft.

Commander Govon hadn’t been the only one alerted by the shout; Legolas, too, had looked round and watched with dismay as he saw his father and Tharmeduil, followed by Govon, board the raft which continued its slow drift into the centre channel of the enchanted waters. His only thought being that Govon couldn’t risk a second spider-bite, he hurtled towards the bank and leapt out towards him. For a heartbeat, a fragment of a heartbeat, he feared he was going to fall short, but then Govon reached out and pulled him aboard.

‘Pe-channas!’

‘Ha! Your pe-channas!’

‘When you have quite finished…’ Thranduil cut in.

Legolas hurried to the other side of Nelleron’s head, taking the bridle and hushing the animal gently. ‘Do you have him now, Adar?’

‘He is calmer. Yes. Commander Govon, we appear to be drifting…?’

‘My king, a moment…’ Govon uncoiled a line from his pack and attached one end to an arrow which he cast by hand over the rope bridge above their heads, snatching at the arrow as it descended again before it could hit the water. He twisted the line and secured both ends to opposite corners of the raft. 

‘Do you intend to keep us in the middle of the river, Commander?’ Thranduil asked

‘My king, the only thing I know for sure about the far bank is that none of our warriors are there yet; at least here we have good visibility for shooting…’ He turned to look back towards the bank. Amongst the darkness under the trees, he could see the shapes of movement, and high in the trees the branches began to sway and thrash as the spiders began to attempt to cross the river and started to fall and die as Esgaron and Bregon’s archers got to work. He readied his bow and watched as Legolas, too, nocked his first arrow…

…and as the spiders broke cover and tried the river crossing, he realised that the rope walkway to which he had tethered the raft would provide just as good a bridge for the spiders as it had been intended to be for themselves…

But first onto the rope way was Tinuon, running almost casually along, slowing as he passed over the raft to call down to his Commander.

‘We’ll keep them back from the far side, since you have our charges under your care. There are many, many more spiders than we expected.’

‘Be safe,’ Govon said, aiming with care as Thiriston, pushing Canadion ahead of him, gained the bridge. Tinuon carried on to the trees on the west bank and took up a station there.

Intent on the east bank, Govon heard Canadion’s quick voice, Thiriston’s answering growl, spared a quick glance up as they passed over, causing the tethering line to dip and the raft to sway. But cutting loose wasn’t an option; the raft would drift with the current and possibly become more unstable.  
The first searching spider limb found the rope bridge and pulled onto it, swarming along the lowest line. Govon allowed Legolas the courtesy of the first shot, and the arrow sped straight and true into the inverted face. For a fraction of a heartbeat it clung, legs cupping together, before it realised it was dead and fell onto the riverbank. 

More spiders followed onto the bridge, some on the underlines, some the side ropes, and Govon took his first shot, flinching as from the east bank he heard an elvish cry of pain. 

Arrows from the west bank showed Govon’s three were in place and fighting; he and Legolas joined in, timing their shots between each other’s in an attempt to hold back the arachnids. Spiders spasmed and clutched and fell into the river, each causing a splash and a wake that rocked the raft.  
On the east bank, Govon could hear the company fighting, hear Bregon and Esgaron shouting orders and so knew the moment when the guard spiders hit. 

Behind him he heard Tharmeduil draw his breath in, startled at the size of the creatures.

‘My prince, my king, these are the more dangerous ones. Believe me, it would be better for you to cast yourselves into the river than to be stung by the queen’s guard…’

‘I am relying on you, Commander, to see that it will not be necessary!’ Thranduil said sharply, trying to turn Nelleron so the elk was looking away from the spiders.

The larger spiders began to advance along the rope bridge, clustering together in front of the greater form of the first queen. From the west bank, Thiriston called out a question.

‘Govon! Are there eggs?’

‘There’s a caul,’ Govon said, and loosed an arrow at the first guard spider, hitting it through the nerve node between head and thorax. It flailed, partially dislodging its companion, which Legolas’ shot took out. Both fell, and the occupants of the raft got a clear look at the queen as more guards swarmed up, over her body, to protect her.

She was huge, her body bigger than that of the king’s elk. Her great abdomen was a pearlescent purple and over it was cast a caul bulging with eggs. By herself she would have made the rope bridge dip, but with the combined weights of the queen and the guard, it swung low, too low for comfort.  
‘If we can’t get some weight off the rope, they’re going to be within biting range when they reach us,’ Govon said.

‘The elk will panic.’ Legolas shot again, taking out another of the guards. 

Govon shot, killed once more. ‘If it comes to it, let him panic. As long as your brother gets off his back first…’

‘I will not sacrifice my elk to a nest of spiders!’ Thranduil announced.

More guards replaced the latest casualties. Shots from the east bank had stopped heading over the river; the queen was too close to the raft now to risk it. From the west bank, too, the firing eased.

‘Prince Tharmeduil, have you a knife?’ Govon asked, loosing another arrow.

‘Yes...’

‘Good. We may have to cut loose of the bridge; can you do that, if I give word?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Please, can you dismount? You’re too tall a target up there.’

In spite of their losses, the guard spiders kept coming, kept advancing the queen slowly across the river. It seemed no matter how many guards fell – and Govon was sure he counted eight drop dead into the water – they were replaced.

The rope bridge dipped at the other end of its anchorage, sending a tremor through the lines that made the advancing guards and queen sway and bounce. The queen jerked out two limbs to regain purchase, lifting her head above the cover of the guards, and Legolas fired, straight through one eye. But though the shot was true, the arrow passed out again without delivering a killing wound, and as the queen rocked and thrashed in pain, the guards swarmed over her towards the raft, seeing the enemy.

‘Hold them there! Hold them!’ Thiriston called. 

Govon rolled his eyes; he would have to have words with this one later on… but the reason for the dip in the rope became clear; Thiriston was making his way along it, pausing every few steps to deliberately bounce the line. Behind him, muttering, Canadion followed. 

‘Release the rope on the far corner,’ Thiriston said, coming nearer, almost within reach of where the tethering line crossed over the bridge rope. ‘And ‘ware the guards!’

Govon shot repeatedly at the guard spiders, aware he was down to his last hand-count of arrows. They fell, the queen continued to flail, more guards appeared...

‘Commander, we have the tether; Canadion’s going to pass it back to Tinuon and we’ll tow you across to the bank…’ 

Govon bit back a sigh. While Nelleron was on the raft, there was a danger of the elk losing his nerve again and unbalancing them, and it was his duty to protect the King and Prince Tharmeduil, so he saw the necessity. But it irked him to back away from the fight.

Spiders were pressing against the edge of the forest now, high in the canopy, seeking other ways across the river. Above, the injured queen was shaking in her grip on the ropes and more guard spiders clustered around. 

The tether was freed from one corner of the raft and Thiriston leaned in to grab it, undo the twist and pass it back to Canadion. A tug, and the raft began to slide away through the water while, overhead, the big warrior held the bridge.

…Good. Now he could stop worrying about his Commander and his king… although, as he reached to his belt for one of his throwing knives, he did hope Thranduil was watching as he tumbled it through the air to thunk into the head of one of the guard spiders. Lost, of course, as the spider fell into the river taking his knife with it, but…

The queen looked to be losing her fight for life. Thiriston sighed; he’d wanted Canadion to be able to get the caul.

‘Thiriston!’

The voice was below, behind him; he saw Govon and Legolas on the raft, pushing off from the bank again and drifting the raft towards him. Behind, on the rope bridge, Canadion followed, tugging at the tether of the raft.

He shook his head. ‘I thought you were going to guard the king!’

‘Ai, his royal self told me in no uncertain terms to make myself scarce! Tinuon’s got him. Well, are you ready? I know you’re just dying to play with that axe of yours again!’

Thiriston laughed. ‘You know me so well! Just… stay close, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Take out the guard by her left hind…’

Below, the raft drifted…

Thiriston dug deep into the spring of the bridge, using it to power himself in a leap that took him over in a somersault to land behind the guard spiders and at the back of the queen’s head. His axe swung, severing the abdomen, and he pushed himself into a backflip that took him back to where he’d started on the bridge. He missed his footing on one side, causing the bridge to yaw and the rest of the dead queen’s body to tumble down. Behind him, Canadion dropped down onto the raft and stripped the caul, releasing the eggs and the abdomen of the queen into the river. The guard spiders advanced on Thiriston, but his axe swung again, shearing off extremities and shattering limbs and a spider fell, mouthparts snapping, onto the raft beneath. White knives flashed, buried themselves, reappeared, and the body was flung off into the water.

On the raft, Govon grabbed at Legolas. 

‘I’m meant to be protecting you, pe-channas! Let me do my job!’

‘Be my guest.’ 

More spider body-parts began to tumble and drop as Thiriston’s axe swirled and the three on the raft hurried to clear the space.

‘Ai, I think I liked it better when we had an elk to manage!’

‘Not to mention a king!’

Thiriston’s voice came down.

‘Will you chat later? There’s another queen coming…’

‘Another?’

‘Another two.’

And no more guard spiders; either they had fled the queens and their allotted task, or all were dead.

One of Govon’s final arrows found the abdomen of the second queen; it exploded in blue blood and the queen’s forelimbs scrabbled at the queen ahead of her, pulling her off-balance and causing her to raise her head, presenting a nice target for Thiriston’s axe.

‘Stand back…!’

Both bodies landed on the raft, tipping it dangerously. Canadion slid and slipped in the blue blood splattering the surface; only Legolas shooting out a swift hand saved him from a dipping in the narcotic-rich river. Again, he gathered the cauls and disposed of the eggs. Legolas looked away as they were consigned to the waters.

‘That’s it. Bridge is clear. Looks like we’ve beaten them off,’ Thiriston called. ‘Do you want a tow to the bank?’ 

‘Indeed. And well done.’ Govon turned to Canadion. ‘That goes for you, also; well done for keeping calm. Three cauls you harvested today, and I fear we may need them in the weeks ahead. The west bank, please, Thiriston – we need to look to our king.’


	64. Regrouping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which casualties are assessed and Tharmeduil's words make his father preoccupied...

Every time she’d heard an elf cry out, Nestoril had flinched, wanting to go to them, to see what was wrong, to help. Instead she’d stared into the darkness of the forest, drawing nearer to Arveldir for comfort, and tried to see what was happening.

Hador and Tegolon crouched with them in the dubious shelter of the roots of an ancient oak, bows taut, arrows nocked. The voices of the two commanders, ordering the fight on the riverbank, sounded out clear and strong… but what of Govon? His voice was not heard, and from where she was, Nestoril had no idea what had become of him.

The trees overhead rustled and swayed, their chemical signals bitter with alarm. The whistled song of arrows released from bows, the thuds and crashes as spiders tumbled down from on high. One landed within arm’s reach of the hiding place, and Nestoril had shivered, watching its limbs twitch as it died.

‘It is but a small one,’ Hador had said, and, indeed, the body of the spider was not much bigger than that of a fox, although its legs were easily twice that. ‘And not a guard spider, not the worst.’

‘Ai, I do not think I properly realised what our warriors have to cope with,’ she said softly. ‘How brave you need to be…’

‘My naneth used to say to me,’ Tegolon said, ‘that no matter how courageous a warrior I was, I would never be as brave as she, for she went through the birth of me after already having borne an older sister for me first…’

Nestoril smiled, appreciating the attempt to lighten the mood.

Suddenly, Hador’s bow sang, and a spider fell through the trees to land some small distance away.

‘Well shot, Hador!’ Tegolon said. ‘And now I must shoot, so I can earn my day’s keep!’

He had his chance a few moments later as one of the arachnids passed overhead; a clean shot, straight through the nerve cluster at the narrowest point of the creature’s body; it fell, dead before it hit the ground.

Gradually, the sounds of fighting, of the stir of the trees diminished, and Commander Esgaron called out that the danger had passed.

‘Now we regroup,’ Hador said. ‘To the river bank, Healer, Lord Arveldir; we must report to our Commander.

They emerged from cover and were making their way towards the crossing point when Nestoril heard her name called by one of the few female voices amongst the warriors.

‘Healer Nestoril! Where is the Healer?’

‘I am here!’

Celeguel, she of the wrist broken during the first migration of the spiders, now approached.

‘Healer, we have a few injured, if you will help?’

‘Of course! Lead on.’

Really, it was surprising so few had been hurt; several warriors, including two of the outpost guards from the flet, had been stung, and there were a few others with skin missing as a result of silk whiplash injuries. Nestoril moved amongst them gently, offering comfort and applying dressings to the visible trauma before turning to those who had suffered stings, looking for the puncture wounds… 

It was a relief to find each warrior had but one entry point for the venom. One puncture meant a sting, such as a hunting spider would use to immobilise its prey, and used only as a defence in dire need; two would signify fangs, and therefore the bite of a guard spider, far more dangerous.

‘I will make up a draught for you that will help with the pain and the sickness,’ she said, stroking back the hair of one of the spider-stunned warriors and turning him onto his side. ‘Celeguel? Have whoever attends them keep them warm and give sips of water. It will take a little while to prepare the draught they will need.’

‘Of course, Healer.’  
Nestoril got to her feet and brushed herself down.

‘Excellent. Now, has anybody seen Prince Tharmeduil?’

 

Thranduil thought his heart would break. Helplessness surged in him as he held his son while Tharmeduil shook and shivered and said strange things, curled up almost in a ball on the ground beneath the trees on the far side of the Enchanted River. Nelleron, hitched to a tree nearby, snorted and pawed the ground, but Thranduil was too busy with his son. He knelt behind him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his hair, trying to soothe and calm him, but the prince seemed oblivious. Tinuon had muttered something about a watch, and had gone to the bank, affording the king some privacy at least.

‘Come, Tharmeduil,’ Thranduil said in his gentlest tones. ‘Be at peace. All is well.’

‘Not… not well. Here now, now what? It’s dark… for days, it’s dark…’

‘It will be well, ion-nin. You have seen this, you have recorded it. Nestoril has told me, you have seen that we will be well. So now, be calm. If it is dark, it will be light again, be assured of it.’

‘Light again… great brightness, like a huge, burning fire… firelight, firebright… that’s wrong, I know it is… You didn’t do it, though? You didn’t cross alone, you’d be sick by now if you had, spider sick, or dead, perhaps… they would have been so angry and you all alone… but you were not alone…’

‘Hush, now. You did well, Tharmeduil. You prevented my crossing without companionship.’

‘Not alone. Ada, you must not ever feel you are alone…’

Thranduil’s throat closed up around a huge lump of choking emotion, and it was a few moments before he could free his voice. 

‘Ai, ion-nin, I do not understand this illness of yours! If you had a visible injury, I could bind it… but such as this, it is beyond me!’

‘My king?’ Tinuon called from the bank. ‘The raft approaches; the Healer is on board and the two princes with my Commander.’

Thranduil collected himself, remembering he was not only a father, but a king also.

‘Very good, Tinuon. And thank you for your care of us.’

 

‘I was afraid of something like this!’ Nestoril hurried off the raft and over to Tharmeduil, lifting him into her arms with gentle concern. ‘Penneth? It is I, Nestoril… are you well, Tharmeduil?’

‘He was talking about darkness and fire,’ Thranduil said. ‘After which he grew calmer.’

Nestoril looked up. ‘I think the worst of it has passed; he is unconscious now, as is the way, or deeply sleeping.’ Carefully she laid him on his side, making a pillow of her cloak for his head. 'He was so afraid of what would happen, were you to be alone on this side of the river, my king. But now you are here, and not alone, the future has been changed and so your son is adrift, trying to find his place in the world of his foresight once more. Now, I must begin preparing draughts. Will someone find a place to make a fire? And will one punt me back across? I must get to my medicine store…’

Govon, who had poled the raft over the river, nodded. ‘Aye, Healer, I’ll take you. Tinuon, do you make the fire for when the Healer returns.’

‘Nestoril? Before you leave…’ Thranduil caught the healer’s attention. ‘What of other casualties?’

She smiled and tipped her head. ‘Not nearly so many as there could have been, my king, and no-one seriously hurt. Four were stung, and there are several with skin lacerations.’

‘Thank you. Pass on my best wishes for their recovery. Commander Govon, when convenient to all commanders and to Arveldir, please have them present themselves to me here to deliver their reports. I will not leave my son.’

‘Of course, my king. Healer, if you’re ready?’

 

Within an hour, the Court Guard had crossed over the bridge, and with help from some of the honour guard, established camp for the court. Nestoril returned, and oversaw Tharmeduil’s removal to his tent when she laid him carefully on his bedroll and pronounced that the prince had passed into a proper sleep, now, and should wake soon.

‘If you wish, my king,’ she said. ‘I will sit with him while you hear from your Commanders.’

‘Nestoril, I am grateful.’

It was difficult to pay proper attention; Thranduil hoped someone was making notes, because although he kept his expression calmly attentive, his mind kept wandering back to his son, his words…

_‘Not alone. Ada, you must not ever feel you are alone…’_

‘… system is obviously flawed!’ Esgaron was complaining. ‘All well and good to establish a three-flet line, but when the guards on the lead flet are ordered not to advance to the next position before they have been relieved by the guard from the previous one, and the relief does not come…! So that now we are across this river with no occupied guard flet – no flet at all established above us, for that matter, and…’

Thranduil tuned out.

‘It’s early in the day yet. We can easily establish a flet above our position here,’ Bregon said. ‘That’s assuming we’ll be staying here while our injured recover?’

‘I understand Healer Nestoril believes it would be wise,’ Arveldir agreed. ‘It is to be hoped that further arachnid incursion is unlikely, at least for the moment.’

‘And waiting here for a day or so would give time to send a small group of warriors back to the preceding flets – Commander Esgaron’s scout is still not accounted for,’ Govon said. ‘Emergency medical treatments could also go back with such a party.’

‘I’ll send from my ranks, then,’ Esgaron said. ‘But they’ll need an hour or so to regain some sense of calm.’

‘What else is there to report?’

‘Clear up is well under way; although the river will carry some unpleasant burdens away downstream… we are aware that two queens escaped with cauls intact, but they appeared to be very young eggs… it was unfortunate, but pressed as we were on the bank…’

‘Commander Esgaron, do not concern yourself with two that escaped, not when our joint efforts destroyed a further eight, of which we secured seven cauls; the eighth was, unfortunately, lost to the river with the body of the associated queen…’

‘Healer Nestoril will be pleased,’ Arveldir said. ‘What do the Commanders suggest with regard to the main encampment?’

Esgaron glanced at the other two. ‘We have agreed it between us that it would be better if all forces were withdrawn to this side of the river before nightfall…’

‘That seems sensible,’ Arveldir said. ‘Can the wounded be moved across safely?’

‘The raft will provide a stable crossing for them with care.’ 

Thranduil heard the stillness following Esgaron’s speech and drew his attention back without appearing to have been elsewhere in his musings. He raised a hand.

‘Thank you, Commanders. Proceed accordingly, then. Commander Govon, I wish to make known my appreciation of your efforts when I became inexplicably stranded on the raft with my son during the attack. In particular, your warriors Thiriston and Canadion showed unexpected daring. Please commend Thiriston’s skills with the throwing knives especially; I expect he has been practising.’

‘My king, I will be pleased to pass on such high praise.’

‘Very well. You may be about your business – Oh, Commander Govon?’

‘Yes, your majesty?’

‘Please do not think these unexpected circumstances need alter your new duties; I expect a written report for my advisor as discussed and the ensuing verbal report to be made to my youngest son also as arranged. Is that clear?’

‘Of course, my lord king. It shall be as you wish.’


	65. Night Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night following the attack, each of the brothers finds someone to talk to...

‘If it pleases you, my prince, your father the king has reminded me that I must make my report to you this evening.’

Legolas nodded. He had been about to enter his tent, having just spent an hour sitting with Tharmeduil, and was aware that other eyes were on him than Govon’s alone, and so he didn’t smile as much as he wanted to when he replied.

‘Yes; now is a good time, Commander. Step in.’

Within the tent, the entrance flaps secured, Legolas all-but threw himself to the ground, and gestured for Govon to sit. The commander nodded, and took up a position facing his prince, cross-legged on the ground covering.

‘In brief, then, for I have a written copy for you of the report given to Lord Arveldir also… to speak first of our casualties. It is good news that so few were injured to begin – Commander Bregon’s recent experiences have stood us in good stead. The stung warriors are improving; they are still unconscious, but they are responding to Healer Nestoril’s draughts. Of other injuries, lacerations to hands and, in some cases, heads, are uncomfortable, but, again, our healer has treated them… I will speak to the other commanders with regard to investigating whether some kind of face covering would be of use to our warriors in future encounters…’

‘Yes, do so.’ Legolas had walked amongst the injured, had seen more than one elf with skin stripped almost to the bone from a cheek, a forehead from flying strands of sticky spider silk… to see such inherent beauty so marred and spoiled… ‘They will heal without scarring, Nestoril thinks?’

‘Indeed. There is plenty of caul silk, at least, which will aid them in that… I will not presume to announce on your brother’s condition, other than to say that Healer Nestoril has said she will not leave him unattended through the night…’

‘Yes; I know how he is.’ Legolas’ voice was sad. ‘He will be better, though.’

‘Word of Commander Esgaron’s scout, too, has reached us. It… it is not good news. The two scouts sent back to seek him had to take cover during the advance of the spiders with the flet guards where we camped last; they had not been expecting so many of the creatures and barely managed to keep out of the way of them, but once the spiders had passed, they hastened on to seek the scout, taking two of the flet guard with them. Esgaron’s scout was found, in the forest, close to the first flet in line. From the looks of things, he had still been on the way there when he was… overcome. It seemed he had been in the canopy, and had fallen… he has severe lacerations, has been either stung or bitten, and had injuries from the fall, also. His knives were beside him, covered in blue ichor… Of the six guards on the flet, two were dead and the remaining four badly injured…they are being brought to us, with Esgaron’s scout, since there is no healer nearer than our own, but it is a sad day.’

‘Indeed. What of the dead?’

‘Those flet scouts who found them remained to do all that is necessary. They will get word back to Pedir, also. It seems… unkind to say that they are no concern of ours, but they are not under our command and so we are limited to what we can do and would not cause offence by intervening. By rights, we should not even be bringing their wounded here…’

‘Can you imagine Nestoril’s face if you had to tell her you’d left the others behind because they weren’t our concern?’

‘I dread to think, my prince… Other matters. We are well-enough supplied with feed and water for ourselves and our mounts, but may well need to send out a water party tomorrow. If the worst comes to the worst, we can get drinking water from the canopy; there are plenty of bromeliads to harvest. As far as Healer Nestoril’s supplies are concerned, seven cauls were collected today, which will help. But two queens evaded our warriors and crossed with a scant score of spiders; they headed off towards the north-west, and it is to be hoped they will keep running and not turn back towards us… as well as my own guard standing watch tonight, Commanders Bregon and Esgaron will station guards all around the camp… two temporary flets have been constructed at either end of the camp and will be populated through the night and the day tomorrow.’  
He broke off and shrugged.

‘That’s pretty much it. It’s a good thing we built a few extra days into our schedule; we’ll need at least a day to lie up while we lick our wounds…’  
Legolas leaned forward, bringing his face close to Govon’s. 

‘Have you any wounds that need such attention, friend captain? I’d like to help, if so…’

He pulled closer to place a delicate kiss on the bridge of Govon’s still-tender nose before tipping his chin to find his lips, and the commander swallowed, becoming aware that his report was most certainly over for the night.

*  
Iauron paced in his tent. 

It was getting near to midnight but, tired as he was after the excitement of the day, he was too jittery to sleep.

As soon as the spiders had attacked, he’d been hauled off by Thiriston Cut-Face to lurk in a dark space beneath some boulders in the forest margins and told to stay there until the fighting was over; he’d not even had chance to collect his bow and his knives… and then learning that Legolas had dashed to the rescue of their father and brother, while he himself cowered like a maiden…

Legolas had been allowed to collect his weapons. Legolas had…

Oh, wait. Legolas had been wearing his bow and his knives from the start; he’d put them on at the same time he’d pulled on his boots… Iauron shrugged a shoulder. But, still.

It was strange, considering they were going on this trip so Iauron could reignite his romance with Arwen, but he felt very alone. Tharmeduil had Nestoril and Father fussing over him, not to mention his siblings, Legolas had Govon…

Suddenly, his tent was far too small for the amount of pacing he felt he needed to do. 

Remembering this time to collect his bow, Iauron left his tent and walked the camp.

He found his way to the makeshift infirmary, a series of larger tents pitched so that the inner sides were open, allowing access through. He counted eight occupied pallets and saw Nestoril kneeling beside one of the injured, looking quiet and calm and infinitely gently. She glanced up and smiled briefly before turning back to her charge.

‘Do you need a hand, Healer?’ he found himself asking. 

‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘It is time to give more drinks to these warriors; I am finding it a struggle to both raise them, and administer the draught… could you help?’

Iauron crossed over to her and lifted up the unconscious elf she’d been trying to treat, holding his shoulders and brushing the hair back out of the way so that Nestoril could open the elf’s mouth and dribbled some liquid in.

‘I hope Tharmeduil doesn’t draw this in one of his pictures!’ he said. ‘I’ll never hear the end of it, and can you imagine what Arwen would say?’

‘I should imagine she would say how nice that you have a sensitive side, even if you do keep it well hidden,’ Nestoril smiled.

‘Will you be my witness, then? Just in case Tharmeduil wakes up talking about my ‘cuddling’ Calithilon? ’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Though you could be forgiven; he really is quite charming when he’s unconscious.’

*

‘But the dragons are still coming!’

Tharmeduil found himself sitting upright amongst the scatter of his bedroll, the words echoing in his ears. His heart was racing, his breath gusted in and out of his chest as if he’d been running and he felt sick and scared and he could see nothing except black and red…

‘Do not fear, ion-nin. We will be ready for them.’

‘Ada? Is that you? I can’t see you…’

‘Here I am.’ Thranduil grasped his son’s hand in his. ‘You were taken ill again, and have been sleeping for some considerable time. Healer Nestoril is busy with those injured in the battle, and so I have been watching over you.’

‘Ai, my face…!’

‘Nestoril warned me. A moment.’ 

Thranduil reached for a cloth and dampened it in the small bowl of water the healer had supplied. Carefully he dabbed at his son’s forehead before he rinsed the cloth and gently cleaned the blood away from Tharmeduil’s face.

‘Perhaps you will wipe your eyes for yourself; I fear to add to your discomfort.’

‘Thank you, Ada… the pain’s gone, at last.’ Tharm took the cloth. ‘It feels much better. I need to start drawing soon… will you take notes for me so I don’t get lost again?’

‘Of course, my son.’

‘And what was I saying, when I woke up?’

‘That the dragons are still coming.’

‘Dragons?’ Tharmeduil managed to smile. ‘I’d better get the pigment sticks out, then, too.’


	66. Interlude on the East Bank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion and Thiriston Cut-Face spend a little quality time together. 
> 
> Written with a particular reader in mind who requested more of these two... you know who you are...

‘Come here, penneth-nin.’

Canadion smiled at the endearment, looking under his lashes at Thiriston, sprawling lazily on the smooth surface of the flet.

Although the two were officially off-duty, strictly speaking, they were meant to be within the confines of the camp; instead, in the last few minutes before the midnight watch came on duty, they had stolen the raft and poled back across to the east bank of the river, seeking the shelter and privacy of the guard flet.

The small lamp that was their only illumination lit the big warrior in interesting ways, gilding the bulge and curve of his muscles, caressing his rugged face. Nevertheless, Canadion stayed where he was, although his eyes danced across Thiriston’s broad shoulders and powerful torso… it was a good thing they were not on duty, since, it being a very warm night, Thiriston wasn’t, strictly speaking, wearing uniform… or, for that matter, anything…  
Canadion’s eyes dipped lower.

Thiriston opened his arms. ‘Come to me, Canadion. After holding weapons all day, I need to hold something warm and living and loving in my arms. Let me hold you.’

Canadion rolled onto his knees and crawled across to deposit himself in Thiriston’s naked lap. He gave a satisfied sigh and pressed his head against his lover’s chest. Thiriston’s hand came up to stroke his hair, the backs of his fingers caressed his silk-soft cheek and Canadion slid one arm around the warrior’s back, the other across his waist to meet his hands and interweave his fingers together, encircling Thiriston.

‘You did well today,’ Thiriston said, continuing the slow sweeps of his fingers. Canadion snuggled in. ‘No-one would have known you were…’

‘Scared,’ Canadion supplied.

‘Anxious,’ Thiriston corrected.

Canadion pulled his head away from the warm chest beneath his face and looked up into the brown eyes he so loved. He felt safe and comforted and that helped him now.

‘Scared,’ he insisted. ‘Terrified, and you know it. As usual.’

‘And, as usual, you trusted yourself to follow me. As usual, you got over the fear.’ He smiled down into Canadion’s gaze. ‘Such pretty amber lights in the eyes of you, even in lamplight,’ he murmured, and the next sweep of his fingers stroked down the delicate jawline and under the chin to tip up the generous, rich mouth and claim it with his own.

Canadion lifted into the kiss, his eyes closing the better to savour the heat of Thiriston’s lips on his, the taste of his lover’s tongue against his own. Strong arms cradled him, gentle hands grazed over the fabric of his tunic, slid beneath to stroke his skin until Canadion moaned into his lover’s mouth.  
Thiriston’s seeking fingers brushed upwards, glancing over a nipple, danced away to the other, slid down over the slim body… the undulations of ribs, the hollow of the flat belly… 

Canadion broke the kiss, his own hands urgent now on his lover’s back, but Thiriston slid his hands out from beneath the garments to reposition the younger elf so that his mouth found Canadion’s ear, lips gently teasing, tongue working so that the slim body arched and writhed in delight as the point of his ear was caught between teeth and tenderly nipped and sucked. Canadion’s hands worked down the powerful torso and he shifted his hips away from Thiriston’s, trying to make room between their bodies to reach down and stroke his lover’s arousal, but the bigger elf caught his hands and repositioned him effortlessly on his back. Instead of the wood of the flet beneath him, though, Canadion vaguely noted there was softness – a cloak – cushioning him, but his attention drifted when his melleth began to work on unfastening and removing his clothes, kissing each bared patch of skin until Canadion lay naked and heated and arching towards each touch of lip and tongue.

Thiriston sat back to admire the beauty of the body writhing on the flet. His hands still sought and smoothed and stroked while his eyes looked, while he filled himself with the sight. Canadion was tall, almost as tall as Thiriston, but he was slight, so fragile that, naked, he looked almost frail, calling up a deep need to nurture and protect from the stronger elf in spite of the sinuous strength disguised within the lithe frame. His skin had a tone to it unusual in elvenkind, even amongst Silvans; it was as if Canadion had been in the sun too long and his skin had been burnished to a rich, tawny hue that looked golden under the lamplight.

The bones of his face were fine and delicate; almost feminine, but not so pretty or soft; he had a strong brow that was balanced by the generous, lush mouth and a cleft in his chin that Thiriston loved to lick. The presently-closed eyes did, indeed, have a glint of amber; the brown of each iris ringed with gold and there was something altogether appealing in the mingling of vulnerability and wiry strength that tied Thiriston to Canadion in spite of his sometimes ill-judged flirting. By comparison, Thiriston felt like a scarred old warhorse, and occasionally, in the dead of the night, a nagging voice worried at him… what if, one day, Canadion truly got over his fears and realised he no longer needed Thiriston’s protection? What if one day he looked, truly looked at his lover and saw, not a refuge and a source of solace, but a tired and lonely being just as lost as himself? What then?  
The delightful body bucked beneath his hands, seeking more contact, more stimulation, more love.

‘Saes, Thiriston, melleth-nin! I need you; I need you now…’

Thiriston shook away his fears and turned his attention back to the treasure before him. Now was enough; the future would keep.

*  
‘Penneth? It’s time to move.’ 

Thiriston brushed his lips against Canadion’s silken hair, traced his ear with a fingertip. The younger elf snuggled and murmured for a moment before coming awake and looking up into Thiriston’s dark eyes.

‘Must we leave? Now?’ he asked, his lips forming a sultry pout.

‘Sadly, yes, now. I thought about waking you half an hour ago, but I decided I like watching how you slept so much that I would wait a while…’  
‘Will we break camp today, do you think?’

Thiriston shook his head. ‘No. Word is we’re waiting for our sick to recover and for someone to arrive to take care of Pedir’s poisoned lookouts. I think it’ll be another day or so.’

‘And can we come back tomorrow night?’ Canadion asked, putting all the appeal he could into his voice.

‘If we can get back without being caught out and put on a charge, yes. Come on. Clothes. Now.’

Reluctantly, Canadion stirred and reached for his leggings.

‘Thank you, melleth,’ he said as he dressed. ‘For helping me through my fears. I know you don’t have any fears of your own, but…’

‘Ai, but I do. Some things make me very afraid.’

‘What?’ Canadion pushed himself up to stare into Thiriston’s eyes; but his beloved was never scared, he was always calm and controlled. ‘What could possibly frighten you?’

Thiriston shrugged. ‘You do. Or, not you, not really. Your trustfulness. When I heard how you’d flirted with Thranduil…!’ He shook his head. ‘One day, you’ll go too far…’

‘Oh, it was nothing! We all know the king doesn’t lean that way! I was only trying to unsettle him; it was quite safe… or do you mean you were jealous?’ Canadion’s tone became lightly teasing. ‘I thought jealous Thiriston was an act you put on for me to hide behind? Do you tell me you really…?’

Thiriston silenced him with a kiss, just a brief interruption to the flow of words.

‘Jealous Thiriston Cut-Face, he is an act, yes, a pretence to keep others from seeing how the fear sometimes takes you. But this me, scared Thiriston… it’s not that I don’t trust you. And I know our king would not go there, even if he did have broader tastes than we know… but that you forget not everyone is so. We are going amongst strangers, penneth, and if you misjudge one of these Imladris elves, if you mistime your flirting and I am not on hand, what then? I fear for you, penneth, that is all. And if you were harmed… yes. Then perhaps I would live up to my name, and we are meant to be the Court Guard on a deputation to secure an alliance between one of our princes and the daughter of Lord Elrond, not to become part of another kinslaying. So come. Get dressed and let’s get back across the river before we’re missed. Just… have a care, love. You are very fair, and would be a great temptation, and l would not have you hurt by anyone.’


	67. Thinking Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Iaruon has time to ponder...

Day had broken outside Tharmeduil’s tent before he finally ran out of ideas and stopped drawing, although he had fallen silent some time previously. Thranduil had written everything down that his son had said, occasionally framing a question in his calm, measured way and noting the answers. 

What he had written at his son’s request made very little sense to him… there had been a lot about how dark everything had grown, and how Tharmeduil couldn’t see through the darkness, but that there was light eventually.

‘Done, Adar,’ Tharmeduil said. ‘Want to see?’

Thranduil rose from his seat, ignoring the ache of bones that had been sitting for too long.

There was a colourful pastiche of many different sketches; dragons, Nelleron… a tent with Iauron and Arwen in, Elrond looking furious… Nestoril looking unhappy, sails in the sky… and large spaces of blackness…

‘I lack the skill to interpret this, ion-nin,’ Thranduil said.

‘And me.’ Tharmeduil grinned suddenly. ‘I feel better for getting it out of my head, though! Nestoril will go over it with me later.’ He tapped a corner of the page which showed himself and the healer working together over a makeshift table.

‘You should try to rest now,’ Thranduil said. ‘It is unlikely we will leave today, but it has been a long night.’

‘Hasn’t it, though?’ Tharmeduil stretched, raising his arms above his head and extending his fingers.

‘Tharmeduil!’ the king exclaimed. ‘Your hand!’

‘What?’

‘Your left hand – yesterday, you could hardly move it…’

Tharmeduil shrugged. ‘I know – almost back to normal! My foot still feels a bit as if it doesn’t belong to me, but my hand is fine again. It’s odd, isn’t it?   
But I told you I’d be better…’ he reached for his other pages. ‘It shows it on here!’

*

Commander Govon came to address the court as they were finishing breakfast; it was the surest way of getting them all together, to wait for mealtimes. Even Prince Tharmeduil was there, looking pale, but in good spirits.

‘Having discussed matters together, we commanders have agreed it would be better if we wait here until our sick are recovered enough to go on. There are also Pedir’s sentries to consider; although we could leave them with the flet guard here, they will need careful attention for a few days yet…’ He tried not to make eye contact with Legolas, but knew his eyes were on him anyway. ‘Messages have been sent back. Commander Esgaron will send a team ahead to scout out safe places to stop and to see what damage the spiders have done in the immediate area. Commander Bregon’s company will seek a source of potable water for us. Other supplies are more than adequate, and there is a store of dry rations half a day down the trail, so there is nothing to worry about. We will keep a watch around the perimeter of the camp today, however. If anything unusual should occur, please inform one of the guard.’ He allowed himself the luxury of a small smile. ‘I realise ‘unusual’ can be subjective, especially in the forest, but if you’ve any concerns at all, please, let us know.’

‘Thank you, Commander,’ Thranduil said. ‘Let us not keep you from your work.’

Govon nodded, accepting the dismissal, and went about his day. His first duty was pleasant enough; commendations and thanks to the Court Guard for their work the day before.

Summoning them all together in the communal space in the middle of their own little ring of tents, he gestured them to sit and himself took a place amongst them.

‘Our first real engagement yesterday, and it didn’t quite go according to plan,’ he began with a rueful smile. ‘But it was hardly our fault that his majesty decided to take his elk boating in the midst of a battle…’ He waited for the grins and chuckles to fade before going on. ‘You’ll have had the full debriefing now, and it really is of no matter that some of us ended up protecting different individuals than planned; they were safe, and that is what matters. Even so, Hador, Tegolon – you were in the thick of it and had your people to protect, which you did. I’m not sure who had the harder job, but you two were in the path of the entire wave, and there was no-one to see what you achieved and no-one to remark on it. But you got your people through the attack unscathed. You did your job.’

‘The healer didn’t like seeing the creatures die,’ Hador said. ‘We know she understood the need, but when, afterwards, Esgaron’s troops were clearing the eggs into the river, I saw her weeping.’

‘It’s a task none of us enjoy. In truth, none of us should enjoy it. But what choice have we? It would be little consolation to tell the healer that drowning in sleep in the Enchanted River is probably the most painless death they could have undergone.’ Govon sighed. He had wanted to keep this meeting light and cheerful… ‘As for myself, I found myself with three royals and an elk in my care, so I was very grateful, Tinuon, Canadion, Thiriston, for your back-up... what did you do with Iauron, exactly?’

Thiriston shrugged. ‘I hid him beneath some rocks in the forest where he’d be covered by shots from Hador and Tegolon; he didn’t have any weapons with him, and I figured he’d be safe enough, unless he wanted to go after the spiders armed only with his teeth…’

‘It was one of those decisions that sometimes have to be made… and I’ll admit, I did need the help… By the way, Thiriston, you are the first elf I have ever seen wield an axe and, while I would not recommend such a weapon as standard issue. I was impressed. And so was the king; his majesty made a point of asking me to commend your knife-throwing skills…’

Thiriston’s eyes narrowed and he stared at his commander. But there was nothing in Govon’s eyes to suggest he’d heard of Thiriston’s humiliating target-practice with Thranduil, nothing there except the pleased expression of one passing on a real compliment.

‘And Canadion… three cauls, you brought us. All of Bregon and Esgaron’s command together only got four between them!’

He smiled at them, reaching behind him to pull a small crate into view. ‘When we get home, there’ll be time for proper commendations and such. All I can give you right now is my thanks and a few bottles of beer.’

He passed out the bottles and pulled the cork from the neck of one for himself, raising the bottle towards his command.

‘Here’s to doing our job, and doing it well!’

By mid-afternoon, Iauron was bored. There was nothing for him to do around camp except help Nestoril, take care of his weapons, and annoy his brothers. Since Tharmeduil was resting, he found his way to Legolas’ tent.

‘You covered yourself in glory yesterday, didn’t you?’

In spider blood, do you mean?’ Legolas smiled. ‘I wasn’t thinking; I just saw Govon leap onto the raft and followed. That was all. If anything, it was stupid of me; I became one more thing for him to worry about.’

‘Ha! Did he tell you off?’

Legolas shook his head, slightly shamefaced. ‘It was Adar. He cornered me, afterwards. I could have been a ‘distraction’, if you please… I suppose he’s right. It’s just… of all the people to side with Govon…’

‘It’s probably only because your Govon thrashed him in that sparring match! I don’t think he’ll ever forget that.’

‘I know I shall not.’ He smiled as he waved his brother to a seat. ‘What’s this story I hear about you cuddling some of the sick guards in the night…?’

‘Don’t start! I was helping Nestoril, that’s all, and if Tharmeduil tries to say any different…’

Legolas laughed. ‘No, he said nothing; Nestoril did, I was simply being inventive… what?’ he finished, seeing Iauron’s face change. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s my fault,’ he said. ‘If it wasn’t for me wanting to chase off after Arwen, there are two guards would still be alive, their families…’

‘Don’t, Iauron. It isn’t your fault. If it hadn’t been that flet, they would have been on guard somewhere else when the spiders came through; it’s not as if they sacrificed themselves to protect you…’

‘But it is. If we’d stayed home… all of this, Tharmeduil being so worried about Adar that he made himself ill and…’

‘Made himself ill. Not you. What is it with you today? You normally blame everyone else for everything, not your own self!’

‘Maybe it’s time I did. What you said, yesterday morning; that I don’t stop to think about the results of my actions… well. You’ve got me thinking now. And I’m not exactly enjoying the experience, but it’s not as if there’s anything else to do at the moment! What if… what if we get all the way there, and she doesn’t like me, or I don’t like her…?’

‘Well, didn’t you like her before? Isn’t that what all this is about?’

Iauron slumped.

‘It was… different. I thought I was flirting with one of the handmaids, and she thought I was just one of the guards… we laughed a lot. She told me her Adar went around with his nose in a book all the time and never noticed anything that went on in the family, and I told her that my Adar noticed far too much…’ He grinned, looking sideways at his brother. ‘As Gaelbainil, she was good company for Belegornor… but apart from a few silly little notes she’s sent with the messenger hawks, I don’t know the first thing about the real Lady Arwen. You met the her, Legolas. How did she seem to you?’

‘Ai, it was a long time ago… I think, even as Gaelbainil, you’ll have seen more of her personality than I did… I had the feeling she was trying to attract my notice, simply because I was a new face… I hadn’t the heart to say anything. I think she was in the shadow of Imladris, if you understand; there’s so much learning there, it’s a little daunting! You have to get right out into the valley to escape the smell of culture, it’s stifling… I do not know, I am probably not much use to you; I didn’t pay her much attention.’

‘Who did you pay attention to, then?’

Legolas ignored him. ‘Do not worry about Arwen. She isn’t the only reason we’re on this trip, remember – Elrond might know something to help Tharmeduil, and while Adar wouldn’t have asked for his help outright, since Nestoril asked her friend and her friend asked Elrond, you and Arwen are a really good excuse for them to consult together without Father thinking he’s losing face.’

‘I suppose so.’ 

Iauron didn’t seem keen to leave, but he appeared to have run out of things to say. In an attempt to appear busy, Legolas reached for his hunting knives and began to hone them.

‘Have you tried that new mix that’s going through the camp?’ Iauron said, seeing Legolas wiping the blades off. ‘Some of the guard are putting sandalwood in with the oil; they say it gives a better finish.’

‘Do they so?’ Legolas said. ‘I wonder who thought that one up?’


	68. A Possibility of Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the company sets out once more

It was a further three days before the party broke camp and set off once more into the heart of Mirkwood. Finally, elves from Pedir’s encampment had come to take charge of the poisoned flet guards and to take over the installation of, and keeping the guard on the temporary flets.

‘But it’s no good sticking to the same system,’ Esgaron had said. ‘Whether relief arrives or not, when it’s time to advance, you advance! This system left us without any support on the other side of the river just when we needed it.’

Their own sick and injured were much improved. Several of the company wore dressings on hands or faces, and one bore an eye-patch, although Nestoril insisted bravely that the elf would not lose the sight of the eye in question. Those who had been stung were not up to marching far or fast, and so the Court Guard took turns to give up their horses and lead them. Since Esgaron and Bregon, from whose ranks the injured had come, did not offer their own mounts, Govon realised it would be better not to offer his own.

It made it difficult, too, to properly guard the court, but there were no alarm signals from the trees and such scouts as they had sent out said that, except for the trail of destruction left by the remnants of the fleeing spiders, all was well.

For however brief a moment, all was well. 

Govon rode at the back of his command, his eyes moving from his own warriors to the injured on their horses, to the court. His gaze lingered on Legolas, sitting tall and enticingly just out of reach, moved across the Tharmeduil, recovered enough from his attack of illness to be able to ride unaided, and ahead to the king, riding with Iauron at his side.

Presently, Thranduil spoke softly to Iauron, who nodded and held back his horse until Govon reached him.

‘Commander, my adar – that is, our king – invites you to ride with him for a few moments.’

‘Thank you, my prince.’ 

He encouraged his horse forward to join Thranduil on his elk at the head of the company.

‘My king, thank you for suggesting I join you.’

‘I have a question for you, Commander…’ Thranduil glanced across and down at him – unavoidable, since Nelleron was considerably taller than Govon’s horse – a smile tugging at the edges of his lips. ‘A private question, call it rhetorical, if you will, but I wish for a considered reply. What reaction would you expect where you to suggest to Commanders Bregon and Esgaron that they watch the skies for dragons?’

Tempted to ask the king to repeat that, Govon thought for a moment and focussed on the exact wording of the question.

‘It was difficult enough to convince them of a potential encounter with the arachnids when it was already known that a large number of the creatures was actually in our vicinity… I should think they would ask me whether I was feeling quite well…’

Thranduil laughed briefly. ‘And you, Commander? What would you say if I suggested we might come under attack from the skies?’

‘I would ask what you were basing this idea on, my king, and if it seemed at all possible, I would prepare. I would look in the armoury for longer, more powerful bows and consider coating the arrows with something to make them more deadly, perhaps asking Nestoril if it’s possible to harvest venom from dead spiders to coat them with. I would commence practice on moving aerial targets.’

‘Thank you, Commander. And would your command be equally as amenable?’

‘If they valued their status in the Court Guard and had no wish to spend their time on latrine duty, of course… that said, Hador and Tegolon would follow my lead.’ Govon considered for a moment. ‘If I may say so, Healer Nestoril is a very good long shot, as is your youngest son. Your oldest is better with bladed weapons than the bow…’

‘Yes, he takes after me in that,’ Thranduil admitted. ‘I might suggest, if it were possible for me to do so without appearing to be meddling, that with the right evidence, you might also convince the daring Canadion…’

‘And if Canadion listens, Thiriston will be paying attention also…’ Govon inclined his head. ‘Ultimately, my king, if I were to announce to the company that their king had ordered something, they would, of course, obey. May I ask, is there reason to think there is even a possibility of dragons?’  
‘Not unless you believe in my son’s gift of foresight.’

Suddenly the conversation had gone from improbable to the possible. Govon swallowed as the full import of the king’s words fell on him.

‘King Thranduil, my Older Naneth had the truesight, so I know such things are possible. More to the point, I have no reason to disbelieve foresight as demonstrated by your son,’ Govon said after a moment’s consideration. ‘So whatever further information I can gather would be useful.’

‘When we break for lunch, instead of eating with your command, you will join us. We can begin discussions then.’

 

_Dragons…?_

Govon shook his head to himself.

The rational part of him would, along with Bregon and Esgaron, insist there was not even the slightest chance of dragon attack; everyone knew they were all long dead, destroyed or fled, after all. But there was that other part of him, the Silvan with the Older Naneth who’d had truesight enough to prevent him going to war with his father and dying there, the part of him that had seen Tharmeduil’s drawings of himself and Legolas, the predictions of the spider migration that made him want to believe it, even while he feared it.

In truth, he thought that was the main reason he was trying deny the possibility of dragons – because the reality of them was just too terrifying to contemplate. After all, how did you even begin to fight such a creature? Rumour had it the King Thranduil himself had done so, back in the First Age… but Govon wasn’t about to ask for pointers…

He gave in to the headache he could feel building and tried not to panic…

‘What is the matter?’ Legolas said from beside him. ‘I’ve been riding next to you for ten minutes and you’ve neither moved away discreetly nor spoken to me. Are you well?’

Govon glanced at his fëa-mate. There was concern in the clear blue eyes, and he smiled reassurance.

‘Yes, quite well. The king has presented me with an interesting intellectual exercise, that is all. In truth, I am honoured he approached me, rather than speaking first to Commander Esgaron who has overall concern for security, but…’

‘Is it Tharmeduil’s dragons?’

‘You know?’

‘Mell…’Legolas broke off part way through the endearment. It was so hard to be properly formal all the time… ‘Commander, I have been seeing images of dragons for weeks now. Sometimes there are two, sometimes three. Red and black and grey. We were hoping that if enough things changed on the journey, that would, too. But he’s sure they’re still coming.’

Govon let out a long, slow breath. ‘I’m invited to lunch with the court for a proper briefing.’

‘Well, something to look forward to, at least.’

‘Having to work out a battle plan, in front of the king, with no time to prepare and on the basis of your brother’s drawings?’

‘I was thinking more of being able to sit beside you while we eat, actually,’ Legolas said. ‘I’ll be glad when we get home.’

‘If we get home. With three dragons… what does Tharmeduil say about that?’

Legolas gave a slightly anxious smile.

‘None of us have dared ask him about that. Maybe you could?’

'I'll look forward to it, my prince.'


	69. Dragon Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunited, the dragons begin to leave their childhood behind...

The three dragonets ranged and played and hunted through the cold of the northern mountains in uneasy camaraderie. The reunion had not been entirely joyful; Daedor was the biggest of the three, now, and Angrisla didn’t like that one bit. Angrisla didn’t trust Daedor; Daedor didn’t trust Angrisla, and Calernoril was bemused by them both. On one level, she had missed Daedor – but on another, she could not forget her sister’s demise.  
At the same time, however, she was starting to look at Angrisla and find him wanting. Where was his flame? In truth, he had the breath that stunned and killed. But his lack of fire made him different, and he had the tendency to try tell Calenoril what to do, and she was beginning to find it annoying.  
But there was still the joy of the dance, and there were the meaty animals Daedor had found and the prey they sometimes sought, too, so the dragonets didn’t starve and were not bored as they danced westwards through the mountains and began to follow their curves and peaks down towards the south. 

And they grew. Dragonets? Well, they were still some way from their final stature, still soft and by no means vast. But they were too big now to be considered dragonets. Carenoril was losing the pink tint to her red scales, and in sunlight she had an almost golden glow, and at such times Angrisla and Daedor paused in what they were doing and watched her. 

They needed her for something. They just didn’t quite know what yet.

‘Fur food!’ she cried excitedly, standing on her tail in the sky to spin and point her nose down into the mountains to where something moved on passes beneath. ‘Little bouncing fur food and big, biting fur is following!’

She angled herself in the sky and tilted herself down towards the mountain, waiting for Angrisla and Daedor to follow.

Lately, they always followed.

She drove down towards the prey and decided to leave the little fur food alone; mountain goats were not even a mouthful for her now; the biting fur food – the wargs – were much more substantial.

‘Not flaming!’ Angrisla called down to her, and she turned her head and snarled at him. Calenoril liked to flame. ‘Flame is seen. Make points come.’

‘Make points come! What care I if points come?’ Calenoril snapped, turning back to strafe the mountain with her eyes.

‘Calenoril would care, if points found her,’ Daedor swooped to join her, turning to show the patch on his tail where it was red, not black, where one of the points from below had shot up and into him, causing blood and discomfort until Calenoril’s teeth had worked the point – an arrow shot by an orc pack fed up with being stalked by shadows with wings – out of his flesh.

‘Biting fur has no points!’ she argued back. 

‘But black-blooded swearing orcs follow biting fur and ride on, at times.’ Angrisla flanked her other side. ‘Calenoril – not want to spoil fun of flame, but not safe. No points in Calenoril. No red blood from red dragon tail. I… I will breathe. Drop in front of biting fur. You snatch up into sky. No flame. Just power.’

Calenoril grumbled, but she pulled herself up into the sky, gaining altitude and drifting to watch Angrisla at work.

The grey cold drake took advantage of his colour to glide amongst the rocks and scree of the mountainside, blending in and flapping slowly and softly to bring himself over and around and along the valley to come back up towards the wargs.

In the skies, Calenoril and Daedor began to drop down to the rear of the pack.

Suddenly wargs snarled and snapped briefly before falling silent. Some at the back avoided the stunning breath of the cold drake, but as they went to turn, Calernoril’s claws snatched one and bore it away into the sky, and Daedor followed suit. 

Riding the wind, Calenoril lifted high, squeezing her claws together in the body of the wag until it stopped moving. She left it on a rocky shelf high on the mountainside and dropped back down towards the pack to pick off another warg, and another. 

Daedor was feeding from his first kill, the demands of his appetite in response to the hot, sweet blood winning out over his altruism. Let Calenoril hunt for Angrisla; he had fended for himself for long enough without their help…

There were ten or more in the warg pack, and only three got away from the dragons to go to ground and hide from the wings above. Two lay, unconscious, on the pass, and Angrisla tucked in, sating his appetite on one carcass before lifting the other up in his talons and rising to join Calenoril on her ledge.

‘Better with not flame,’ he said. ‘Is more safe to not flame. No need flame.’ He butted his bloodstained muzzle against hers. ‘You have flame, Calenoril. I have breath. Together, you and I should be you-and-I. No need Daedor.’

He glanced down to where Daedor was feasting on his own kills; he had two, while between them, Calernoril and Angrisla had five warg carcasses to nourish their still-growing bones.

‘Daedor not help with kill. Daedor kill for self. Daedor only think of self, not think of you-and-I, Calenoril. Is a word for this: Selfish, that is Daedor.’ He extruded his forked tongue to lick the blood off his nose, flicked it out again to sweep over Calenoril’s snout in a demonstration of intimacy that surprised them both. ‘Not to trust Daedor, Calenoril of the gold-red scales. Daedor will take Calenoril away. His flame will bring the points. Calenoril should not have to worry about points. Let Angrisla’s breath protect, Calenoril.’

Calenoril looked down at where Daedor was feeding, head buried in the belly of a warg carcass, and she began to think that, yes, maybe she did need protection. But maybe not just from Daedor.


	70. 'There's a Difference...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tharmeduil shares his visions of dragons

‘Thank you for sharing your meal with me,’ Govon said politely as he took a seat amongst the court; Nestoril had slid along to make space for the commander between herself and Tharmeduil, but then with a grin, Tharmeduil had shuffled up as well, so that Govon had to sit on his other side – which put him next to Legolas, also. It was an arrangement he liked, but with King Thranduil seated opposite, he was very aware he needed to be on his best behaviour, in spite of the drift of sandalwood and the warmth of his melleth’s thigh against his own.

‘Thank you for agreeing to listen,’ Tharmeduil said. ‘I wouldn’t listen to me if I were you… that is, before this happened…’

‘As commander of your personal guard, it would be foolish of me to ignore anything that concerns you and your family, my prince. Your insights have already proved worthy of notice, so please, speak freely. Anything you feel I ought to know…’

Tharmeduil dropped his head. ‘Ai, where to begin…?’

‘With the dragons, perhaps, ion-nin?’ Thranduil suggested.

‘Yes; what have you seen?’

The prince rolled his eyes and Nestoril leaned forward to talk around him.

‘The more targeted your questions, the clearer the answers. Also, the prince is always refining the detail of his insights; careful questioning will bring more clarity.’

‘I see. Well. Concerning these dragons. How many do you see? Where does the danger come from, do all act at once? Or attack separately. Is it possible they are merely servants of a greater power… is it… Could this be this war, again?’

‘The last is easiest. It is not war. We will have peace, of sorts, for a while. At least – I do not see battle in my future. They are three in number, only ever three. Black and grey and red. And there’s lots of orange; I always want to use orange, although they are not that colour. It’s for the flames, I think. Much is still… unclear, yes, a good word for it… I think they are getting nearer. Or larger. Possibly both…’ He shrugged. ‘Sadly, I haven’t drawn anything with them to show how big they are… but… except…’

Tharmeduil fell silent and his head drooped, eyes glazing over as the nictitating membrane slid over, taking him into a strange place of half-vision, half-reverie… it was brief, a flash of an image, he shook his head in confusion as his eyes cleared.

‘Nelleron,’ he said. ‘His antlers, they… The head of one of the dragons is almost as long as the spread of his antlers.’

‘Thank you. That is… helpful.’ 

Govon tried to make calculations as to what that implied for the length of the dragon as a whole, but his deliberations were interrupted by a snarl from Thranduil.

‘It is not good! It is worrying! To make such a comparison suggests my elk is going to be in much to close a proximity to this dragon and I do not like it!’

‘Nor I, my king,’ Govon said. ‘For where Nelleron is, there you are also. Or our horses and the guards. It is indeed cause for concern. But if the scale is accurate, then it seems a small one, if the tales of yore are to be trusted.’

‘All three are nearly of a size. Sometimes one is longer and thinner when I draw it, but it’s not easy to be sure…’

‘Young, perhaps,’ the king suggested. ‘A hatching somewhere…’

‘Yes, Adar, that feels right.’ The prince nodded eagerly. ‘It all began just after the spiders… they were the first thing to show something was up, the earth tremor that made them move out. I kept drawing that, and once it had happened, I stopped. As if it had freed something.’

‘Three dragons, of a size, therefore they have no dam… not overlarge, then. Good. Govon, do you concur?’

‘Always, my king, of course… but let me think. I have no personal experience of dragons, after all…’

‘Sadly, I cannot say the same. They were the scourge of the First Age… generally, the dam stays with the nest and passes on her knowledge of the conflict between dragonkind and the rest of Middle Earth, how best to ravage the land and destroy its denizens… these will lack that, which is good, and will be inexperienced, which is helpful. But, still, they will know how to hunt, how to feed. Even so, it could be worse.’

‘You’ll pardon me, my king, if I still think this is quite bad enough!’

Thranduil’s expression was sympathetic rather than pitying as he watched Govon’s hands push through his hair in despair and then wince as his braids caught under his fingers. 

‘Ai! How in the name of all the Valar and I to…?’ The commander broke off and looked at Tharmeduil. ‘It was a rhetorical question, and not aimed at you, my prince. But I am at a loss as to how I can keep you all safe from three dragons, even if they are young and inexperienced…’

‘You will be fine.’ Tharmeduil, too, looked at Govon with understanding in his eyes. ‘I can’t see what happens to your command, or the other warriors. I think they come through… I’ve a drawing of myself and two of your warriors – the lovers – after, but not why or what. I see you, though. You’ll be fine… I think. Just… as long as you… just don’t… oh, I can’t see, I can’t find it…’

‘Do not try, my prince,’ Nestoril said quickly. ‘For the moment, the dragons are all we need to know.’

‘Indeed,’ Govon said quickly, not liking that he seemed to be the focus of one of Tharmeduil’s visions away from his duty. ‘Let us get back to the dragons. Do you know when? Is it very soon, perhaps?’

‘No, not… not very soon. I think we are no longer in the forest. I think… there are always open skies above, so I think we’re on the plain when they come. I see… yes. Arwen and Iauron together, talking. That’s when they find us.’

‘My thanks. That is something of a relief; we have time to prepare, time to plan. Can you say – have you seen – how the other commanders take the news?’

Tharmeduil shook his head.

‘It’s not something I’ve been shown. These are insights, impressions…’

‘Guesses,’ Arveldir supplied, much to Tharmeduil’s annoyance.

‘No. I don’t guess, I’ve always taken great care to say what I see and not read into it. Otherwise there’s a drawing of you closeted up with Lord Erestor of Imladris that would be very embarrassing for you, if I were to try and guess what was happening…’

Iauron sniggered. Arveldir glared at Tharmeduil, but had no chance to protest, for the King lifted his hand for attention.

‘I suggest, Commander, that you add spending time with Tharmeduil to your duties. Daily, if you are not too busy, and before you hand over your written reports so you have chance to record anything of significance.’

‘Yes, my king, I will be glad to. Anything that will help me do my job better; I would hate to save you from the forest only to lose you to flames…’

‘Govon.’ Tharmeduil laid a hand on the commander’s arm. ‘None of us die in dragon fire; this much I have seen.’ He tipped his head to give his father a disconcertingly intense glance. ‘Not even you, Ada, not ever. Not these dragons or any other.’

‘What?’

The prince gave himself a little shake. 

‘What was I saying?’

‘That we all escape unscathed,’ Iauron prompted. But his brother shook his head.

‘No, I said none of us die.’ He shrugged. ‘There’s a difference.’


	71. Competition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Govon instigates target practice...

‘Sorry, Commander – you said what?’ Tegolon asked with a grin.

‘We’ll be ten days or more in the forest; that’s a long time to stay alert when there’s less danger from spiders. We’re going to start target practice when we break for the day; just an hour during late afternoon or evening. One thing we didn’t do before we left was any work on longshot moving targets…’

‘Because there isn’t room to take long shots in the forest, Commander,’ Tinuon pointed out.

‘Launching fir cones from the watch flets would do. And there are glades, do not forget.’

‘But…’

‘It will be fun,’ Govon said with determination. ‘And, while we’re on the subject, who knows where Commander Bregon keeps the spare bows?’

‘Why?’ Thiriston grinned. ‘Are we running short?’

‘Oh, we have plenty of regular short bows,’ Govon said. ‘But I wanted to see if there is not something longer and stronger and with more range…’

‘We are in Mirkwood.’ Tinuon stated the obvious once more. ‘We do not need more range.’

‘Once we leave the forest, we may.’ The commander sighed. ‘I would thank you for your help, but I am not sure there has been any… hold yourselves in readiness. We will begin practice soon.’

‘Will you not wait until the sick are properly walking and back amongst their own ranks, Commander?’ Canadion asked.

‘No, I do not intend to wait. It may be that the sick warriors on our horses will be intrigued, and report to their commanders, and we will find ourselves with proper competition from the honour guard and the regular guard, which will do us all good.’

‘What’s going on, Govon?’ Thiriston asked. ‘There’s something; we can all tell.’

‘Special request from the king,’ Govon said, hoping not to be pushed into admitting more than that. 

‘I’d like to see his great majesty shooting at moving targets,’ Thiriston muttered. ‘As long as I was behind him, of course…’

‘Let’s hope he doesn’t hear you say so,’ Govon said. ‘We know the king’s talents lie with the blade, but you are large –framed enough to present a fine target, even for him.’

The warriors laughed, and Thiriston joined in.

‘There is more to this,’ he said. ‘If I am to play the fool and shoot at fir cones, I would know why.’

‘Because the king orders it.’ Govon smiled and held Thiriston’s gaze. ‘If you wish, you could ask him yourself.’

The big elf had the grace to look abashed. ‘I think I’ll leave that, if you don’t mind. I like my head on my shoulders…’

‘Very well. And so…’ He got to his feet and stretched. There was a reason why he’d waited until now, after they’d broken for the day, before making his announcement. ‘Get your archery equipment and meet me near the watch flet in fifteen minutes; we may as well start now.’

‘But, Commander…!’

‘Best shot gets to choose their watch. Come on, let’s have a little enthusiasm!’

Tinuon did have a point, Govon admitted. There was not much space, between the dense trees of the forest, to shoot straight and far. But, fir cones thrown from the flet upwards and away from the encampment would make enough of a challenge for today and minimalise any risk to people inadvertently getting in the way of the arrows.

On his way to alert the sentries on the flet that they would either be required to lob fir cones into the air, or to move over for someone else to do so, he was hailed by Nestoril.

‘You look as if you’re on a mission, Commander,’ she said.

‘Indeed; I am about to organise our first aerial and moving target practice with my command.’

‘Oh, how wonderful! Might I join in?’

‘Certainly; although I hope, in the event, that we will be able to take adequate care for your person without your needing to do so yourself!’

She laughed. ‘I will get my bow.’

By the time Govon had arranged with the flet guards and promised them a bottle or two of beer for their help, his command had assembled beneath the flet and Nestoril had arrived – bringing with her Tharmeduil and Legolas.

‘Three teams of three,’ she suggested. ‘We against you, Hador and Tegolon, and then Tinuon, Canadion and Thiriston for the third. What say you?’  
‘Very good. Loser throws the cones tomorrow, even if that happens to be you, Healer!’

They were not quiet in their shooting match, cheering each other on and commiserating loudly when someone missed. Govon was relieved that he made his first shot cleanly; it would have been embarrassing otherwise.

The noise, of course, drew the attention of the other warriors, and before long, several more teams of three had formed and were asking to join in.

It set a pattern for the rest of the journey through Mirkwood, whiling away some of the tedium of the hours between making camp and eating and resting. Soon there were too many teams of three to keep track of, so they became teams of nine, Esgaron and Bregon fielding two or three teams each from their command.

And every few days, Govon and Tharmeduil would talk privately about what was coming, or what wasn’t coming, and Govon tried to fill in a few more blanks.  
One evening, Tharmeduil took out a small notebook.

‘This will be for you,’ he said. ‘It isn’t for now – it’s for… for when you need it.’

‘And what is it, Tharmeduil?’

‘There’s a time when it goes dark. I think it means something happens to me; I can’t see anything through that dark, but things that began before it, I’ve been able to piece them together… you know, how I talk things out?’ Govon nodded. ‘Well, I wrote them down. After, it gets clearer again… but the   
darkness, that’s when things can go badly. If you need anything, if… if Legolas needs any guidance, look in here. But don’t do it until you have to.’

‘I will not.’

‘So if anything does happen to me, take this. Use it. But only if you have to. And it isn’t… it’s not infallible. Things can change from moment to moment. It just might help.’ He slid the notebook into the top of one of his saddlebags. ‘It will be here, when or if you need it.’

‘Thank you. But what does this mean? Are you in danger?’

‘I don’t know.’ Tharmeduil shook his head. ‘I see the dragons, I see us afterwards, so I know I come through that… it’s complicated…’

‘Do not worry,’ Govon said hastily, concerned in case he started a line of questioning that led Tharmeduil to be ill again. ‘I am sure we can sort things out.’

‘We’re coming to the end of the forest,’ Tharmeduil said softly. ‘The river plains are ahead. Open spaces. Open skies. Plenty of room overhead…’

‘For dragons?’

Tharmeduil grinned suddenly.

‘No – for competition!’


	72. The Flood Plain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the dubious safety of Mirkwood is left behind...

It was both a worry and a relief to break clear of the western boundary of Mirkwood and find the flood plains rolling out before them. For now, instead of watching the trees for spiders, Govon found he was watching the skies for dragons.

‘Not yet,’ Tharmeduil reassured him. ‘It isn’t yet.’

Nor was the terrain entirely flat and open; on the contrary, they passed through undulating wooded hills and dales for the next few days, providing some cover and making the transition from dense cover to clear air less of a shock. It was good, too, to have grazing for the horses and forage for the elk, and that night, there was a festive air to the archery competition, with Thranduil overseeing the presentation of a crate of beer to the winning team. That it happened to include two of his sons and the healer did not go unnoticed.

‘It is reassuring to note that, in the event of aerial attack, we can call on reinforcements from amongst the court,’ he said. ‘But you have worked well and your skills appear to have improved. Not just yours,’ he went on. ‘Commander Bregon’s teams show considerable accuracy and commander Esgaron’s are not far behind.’

‘Perhaps if we were shooting for more than honour and beer, your majesty…’ Esgaron began.

Thranduil looked curiously at the commanders, noting with amusement that Govon wore an expression of glazed panic. Obviously he had not mentioned the possibility of dragons quite yet… 

‘Do you not know?’ Adjusting his face so that none could see him trying not to smile at Govon’s discomfiture, he gave an infinitesimal shrug. ‘We will need some entertainment while Iauron and Arwen are deciding how well they like each other. An archery tournament in which we have a chance to roundly trounce Imladris would be quite amusing, I thought. I have not mentioned it yet to Lord Elrond; I did not see why he should have so much extra time to practice.’

‘Ai, Govon! Why did you not say?’ Bregon demanded. ‘I would have had all my command practice, had you mentioned our honour was at stake!’

‘We can always do so at the next rest halt,’ Esgaron suggested. ‘And now we have so much open space, it will be easier to arrange.’

 

Two days later, they turned slightly south to head towards the sliver snake of the Langflood and the bridge across to the eyot. Govon kept half an eye on the skies, in spite of Tharmeduil’s reassurances, and the other half on Legolas.

He could not help it, but Govon was worried about his fëa-mate. For while Legolas took part in target practice with enthusiasm – perhaps more so since learning they might be pitted against Imladris as well as against dragons – and while he was as loving and caring as ever in their shared private hours, there was a silence to him at other times, as if the prince were subdued.

Govon watched and waited and saw other eyes anxiously rest on his melleth from time to time and he realised he couldn’t wait any longer for Legolas to voluntarily speak of what was troubling him, not if there was a chance Iauron would say something and make whatever was wrong worse by trying to help.  
And so he waited until he and Legolas were lying in replete comfort, skin on skin, in the early dark of the night.

‘Something is bothering you,’ he began. ‘And I want to make all easy for you. It is my job, both as commander of your guard, and as your avowed fëa-mate. Will you not say?’

The arms around him tightened fractionally. He raised a hand to cover his melleth’s head and stroke the silver gold hair gently. Legolas sighed and tried to burrow into Govon’s chest, but said nothing.

‘If it were only I who had seen this, I would leave you be,’ Govon went on softly. ‘I would wait, and trust to the love between us to make all clear, in time. But Iauron has been frowning at your back today, and more than once Healer Nestoril has opened her mouth to speak to me with a question on her face and then stopped. What should I say to her, how to keep Iauron from embarrassing you in front of all the court with an ill-timed enquiry, melleth?’

The lithe body against his own tensed, but Legolas said nothing. Govon continued to stroke the silk of his lover’s hair with slow and tender touches of his fingers.

Finally, Legolas lifted his head to hold Govon’s gaze. ‘Tell Nestoril I am fine, you are taking care of me. Tell Iauron to stop staring, that it is uncomfortable. Tell them…’

‘I will tell them anything you wish, love, but they will keep asking until there is some answer for them. If you would prefer to talk to Iauron instead of me, since he is, after all, your brother, then I will try not to mind, but…’

‘No!’ Legolas protested swiftly. ‘No I do not want to… I do not want to say to anyone…’

Govon waited for Legolas to remember, unprompted, that he was not just anyone, but the prince’s avowed fëa-mate. 

It was a long wait, but eventually, Legolas nodded, pulling away to sit cross-legged opposite his melleth. Govon stirred himself to echo the prince’s position.  
‘This is how you sat the night you said I did not need to knock on your door,’ the commander said. ‘You were very… impassioned, telling me I did not need to beg, that there was no difference between us that mattered. And while I appreciated the thought, I did not quite understand the emotion behind your words then. But now, it seems… it seems the same. And if I were to guess, it is to do with the one who once you were close to, the one who did something to so distress you that you only ever say it does not matter and it is far too long ago to be of importance, even though everything about you, beloved, is important to me...’

‘Please, melleth… I do not want…’

Govon smiled and shook his head. ‘I would not force a confidence from you,’ he began, and then something, somewhere, clicked into place in his head. ‘It is to do with meeting the delegation, is it not? The closer we get to the eyot, the more distressed you are becoming. So I must guess that, since your distress is the same, the person who so hurt you… you fear to meet them again… can it be, melleth, that there is a possibility we might encounter this individual, and soon?’  
Legolas hung his head, his hair covering his face and hiding his sense of shame.

‘It is not possible,’ he whispered, finally. ‘It is certain. He… it happened there, in Imladris, and the one who… there is no doubt, that one will be in the delegation.’ He lifted his head, his expression anxious, pained. ‘Tell me, Govon – friend captain – has my father been looking, also?’

Immediately, Govon shook his head. ‘No; he has been looking at each of us as he always does, with that worrying mixture of amusement and thoughtfulness. But that is all.’

‘Ai, that is a relief!’ Legolas sagged about the shoulders. ‘I was less cheerful than usual, when I returned from Imladris. My father noted it at the time, I know, but forbore to say anything, for which I was grateful. If he does…’

‘Do not worry. I’ll take care of it, if he says anything. Nestoril and Iauron, too. And don’t fear the meeting; if any from Imladris give you cause for concern, they will answer to me.’


	73. 'A Certain Style...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which King Thranduil gets more than he bargained for when he tells Govon to prepare to meet the deputation from Imladris in style...

‘Govon.’ Thranduil waved his fingers lazily and waited for the commander to ride from his place next to Tharmeduil to come to Nelleron’s side.

‘Yes, my king?’

Thranduil reined in, waiting while Govon did the same. Had not he noticed that he hadn’t been addressed as ‘Commander’…? Well… it would be difficult, perhaps, for Govon not to address him as ‘my king’ – he could hardly call him ‘Adar’, after all.

‘I do not wish to speak as your king at this moment, Govon, but as the father of your fëa-mate…’

‘Of course, if that’s your wish, my… sire.’

‘As such this conversation is private. Indeed, it will never have happened since I do not intervene in the lives of my sons any more than is necessary, I hope you understand me?’

‘I think I do, sire.’

‘Very well. Suffice it to say that some years ago, my son suffered an extended bout of low spirits. In time, he recovered, and has become happier again. Much happier, it should be said, of late. But now I see a tendency towards that same mood once more, I hope you see why I am concerned, Govon?’

‘Legolas thought you hadn’t noticed, sire. He’s mentioned the reasons behind his the matter to me already.’

‘Then nothing more needs to be said. Permit him to continue in his belief that his father has fallen asleep during his duty watch, and do not cause me to need to interfere, do you understand me?’

‘I believe so, sire.’

‘Good. Now, tell me, Commander. What do you think of our chances against the bows of Imladris?’

Govon noted the change of tone and address and the brief glimpse he’d had behind the king’s mask was shut out once more. He answered the question in the same tone.

‘Indeed, I do not know the first thing about the archers of Rivendell, but I do know that our own have been working hard and well. I have not yet broached any other reasons for our practice, but since the entire company is now engaged in archery every evening, I am not sure I need to distress anyone just yet…’ 

Thranduil’s mouth lifted in what could have been a smile of acknowledgement.

‘Very good, Commander. Tomorrow, we will need to travel for longer, even if it does mean practising for a shorter length of time; I had wanted us to be at the eyot by now.’

‘I do not think we are far away, my king,’ Govon said. ‘I will consult with the other commanders when we halt later today.’

‘Do so. And you might look to warning your command that when we arrive, we must do so with a certain style about us.’

A certain style? Other than ‘we have been travelling through the deadliest forest in Middle Earth for the last two weeks and we can’t help the smell of spiders?’ Govon held peace.

‘I shall pass that on, my king,’ he said.

*

The commanders being united in their belief that they would be in sight of the eyot by the middle of the next morning, Govon wasted no time in speaking to his command regarding the king’s wishes. As he had expected, there was uproar.

‘Commander! We’ve been attacked by spiders, been without water for washing ourselves, never mind our uniforms, sharing our horses and pushing through the forest for the last how long? And the King expects us to put on a show for Imladris with no warning?’ Tegolon protested. ‘It’s impossible!’

‘It is our king’s order; it is not impossible.’ Govon shrugged a shoulder. ‘It is simply very difficult. But we are the Court Guard; whatever Bregon and Esgaron do with their command, we are the warriors who surround King Thranduil and the Royal House of Mirkwood. The eyes of Imladris will be on the king and the princes and, that being so, on us also. Whatever we can or cannot do with our uniforms, we can do something about our attitude. So we will groom our horses and braid them as if they are going into battle, as if we are going into battle and as if we have no doubt we will win. We shall sit proud and tall and arrogant – easy for you, Thiriston – and with all the dignity the elite warriors of His Great Majesty King Thranduil the Magnificent deserve.’

He broke off to grin at them. ‘I have something in mind. Just make sure your leggings are spotless and your boots clean enough to eat from. The plan is to stop and bait the horses once we can see the deputation from Imladris across the plains. When that happens, report for duty half an hour earlier than usual. We’re going to make an entrance, mellyn-nin, that will never be forgot…’

*

‘What was it with you tonight?’ Legolas asked as Govon cuddled in against him after a sweet, stolen hour. ‘You have not stopped smiling, except when your mouth was busy…’

‘Ai, you make my fëa smile, fair elf, you know this!’

‘Ha!’ Legolas stroked his hand down Govon’s back to drift over the scar on his hip. ‘But I think there’s something more; something’s going on, what is it? What did my father want with you earlier?’

Govon chose to reinterpret the question.

‘The king informed me that when we meet with Imladris we must do so with… how did he put it…? ‘A certain style about us…’ I have been thinking about how to do this, given the circumstances of our journey. That is all. But, tomorrow, may I ask something of you?’

‘Anything, melleth. What would you ask?’

‘Help me get ready. Let us match braids and exchange clasps for the day with each other. I intend to tell my warriors, if any are in partnerships, to do something to show it. I would have the Court Guard proud of themselves and of each other, and I would lead by example. 

*

Late morning, a shout went up from one of Esgaron’s warriors, at the head of the convoy. Not only the eyot, but beyond, on the far side of the river, a smudge of movement proclaimed the location of the deputation from Imladris. Immediately, the order went up to halt and dismount.

Govon ordered his warriors.

‘We will need to ready ourselves as soon as we have eaten, it may take a little time; some of you erect two wind breaks to provide us privacy, for I want us to present the Court Guard to the king. We will appear, and we will offer him our weapons as we did when we first became warriors. See to the horses, braid their manes and tails…’ He broke off, aware he was talking far too rapidly. ‘Good. We must do this well.’

He saw to his horse and bolted his food and went in search of his fea-mate, who was seated with the rest of his family and still eating.

‘Is it time, Govon? Do you need me now?’

Govon ignored the smirk on Iauron’s face and nodded. ‘There is more to do than I thought… but I don’t want to disturb your meal. Join me when you’ve done, my prince.’

‘What is this?’ Thranduil asked. ‘Or should one not enquire too closely?’

‘My king, it is nothing untoward, I promise you. I have been giving thought to your suggestion and am merely bringing my warriors into line with your expectations… if you will excuse me?’

He collected his gear and retreated to the shelter of the windbreaks to get as ready as he could unaided and had just changed out of his uniform and into his leather kilt and was pulling his boots back on when he heard his fëa-mate enter the space.

‘Friend Captain?’ Legolas’ voice was curious, amused. ‘What have you got in mind?’

Govon turned with a grin and a shake of his head. ‘My command will be here too soon for the things I have in mind at the moment… Braid me?’

The commander sat cross-legged on the grass, the kilt pooling in his lap, and Legolas worked at his hair, braiding him neatly in the same pattern he himself wore today – two at each side, and one capturing the hair back from his face and falling down the back of his head. He fixed his own clasps in place, and Govon got back to his feet to replace the clasps in Legolas’ hair with his own. He pushed his wooden arm-band above his elbow and stood, bare-chested and powerfully muscled and smiling.

‘Ai, Govon… I’m not sure what my father will say about this…’

‘I do not care what your father will say, melleth, but I think my king will be pleased at the honour we do him today…’ He grinned and stretched and unfolded a little pack of warrior paints. ‘I will not write your name on my skin today, but I will outline my arm band. Will you decorate the scars on my back? The day I sparred with your father, I had to leave several unadorned, for I could not reach…’

‘Of course; I’d be honoured. Do you have a specific pattern or colours I should keep to?’

‘I only use blue, ochre and green. Red is too much like blood for my liking… and any design you like, but if you draw flowers, I will replace the sandalwood with rose oil…’

Legolas laughed, and set to work circling the scars on Govon’s back with ochre and green and blue.

‘Thiriston! I see the top of your hair outside! Come in, there is much to do… Any others there?’

All Govon’s command filed into the shelter of the wind breaks. All stared at the sight of their prince drawing circles and stars of bright colour all over Govon’s torso.

‘Ai, Valar! What is this?’ Tuinon asked in awe.

‘We are the Court Guard. We are silvan, we are proud of our heritage. We survive in the wild wood, and we acknowledge our wild heritage. I do not expect you to have brought your fighting kilts… or even to own them… but we will ride bare-chested, showing the strength of our bodies. If you have scars, you will decorate them, so that all can see you have survived your injuries…’

Legolas broke off what he was doing to find the unused colours; purple and red and sultry orange, throwing them to Thiriston. ‘I know your friend has a scar on his hand from a spider stripe,’ he said. ‘And orange would suit his skin tone, I think?’

Govon swallowed; Legolas had turned back to his task and was outlining the scar on his hip and it was a little distracting…

‘If any of you have fëa-mates, write your name on your arm. If you do not, then decide who would be the one to receive your remains, should you die in battle. We do not intend to die from being looked at by Imladris, but we will show that we live each day as if it were our last and that we fear nothing…’ Govon went on. ‘If you have a partner here, do not be ashamed to declare it. I would have us be proud in everything we do and everything we are today. Match your braids, swap your clasps, honour yourselves, your loves, your king.’

Thiriston had already stripped to the waist and was helping Canadion out of his tunic. He handed the purple paint-stick to him, and stood while his lover outlined a long scar across his abdomen, circled the puncture scar from an arrow… soon the rest of the command had bared their chests and were reaching for paints, helping each other… 

‘I feel naked,’ Canadion said, when all were done; apart from an orange snake around the spider stripe of his hand, he had no scars to highlight.

‘And I rejoice in that,’ Thiriston said as he wrote Canadion’s name on his own arm and outlined it, encasing it in bands of red and purple. ‘You are young and you are perfect.’

‘Then draw a spider on him, for all the cauls he has harvested,’ Govon suggested.

‘Yes, Commander! For as we overcome our injuries, so Canadion overcomes the arachnids!’ Thiriston said, reaching for the purple. ‘Have you finished with the blue paint, there?’

Finally, all were finished. Each warrior stared at the others, faces mystified, amused, shy, almost. Tinuon best voiced the thought.

‘Ai, Valar! What do we look like?’

Each warrior had bands on his arm with either a name or an armband enclosed. Their bodies were circled and lined and dotted and starred in a chaos of colour. Their muscles bulged and swelled and as they stared at each other, a change came over them; they stood taller, prouder, heads high and chins determined.

‘Villains!’ Legolas said with a grin. ‘You look like the most hardened villains ever to grace the forest! You look dangerous, deadly, wild and I cannot wait to see the look on my father’s face…’

‘Go and tell him his Court Guard would honour him, then,’ Govon said. ‘Only wash your hands first, melleth, so that he doesn’t see the paint on them.’

*

The camp fell silent as Govon led his warriors towards where the king and the rest of the court waited. Eyes front as they marched, they did not look to see the reaction they got, but they heard the gasps and mutters as they passed through the honour guard.

Govon lowered his eyes as he reached the king and bent one knee to offer his bow and knives up to Thranduil.

‘Most gracious and beloved king, accept the service of your Court Guard as we ride to meet our fate.’

The king reached out and laid his hand on Govon’s knives. 

‘Rise, Commander, warriors.’

Govon did as he was bid, looking up into the amused and approving eyes of King Thranduil.

‘What might this be, Commander?’ the king asked quietly. ‘Needless to say, you all look magnificently terrifying, but…?’

‘You said ‘a certain style,’ my king,’ Govon said. ‘You did not specify which...’


	74. Approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Imladris and Mirkwood get their first look at each other across the river...

Elrond stared out across the landscape.

They had been camped in a hollow of the plain half a day’s march from the eyot in the Langflood for three days now and his patience was wearing thin. If Thranduil didn’t come into view soon, he was going to set out anyway and damn the consequences!

Truth to tell, he had never been entirely happy with the thought of a union between Arwen and Thranduil’s son, and the closer they got to the meeting, the more his trepidations grew. If only she would give up this hare-brained scheme! He thought, once or twice, she might have been wavering; odd moments of silence when the current crochet project was dropped into her lap, and she stared off into some distance or other, so motionless as to look like a statue of herself. Had her expression at these times been joyous, or mysterious, Elrond would have assumed she was musing for effect, but as the look in her distant eyes was always bordering on the melancholic, it was not so easy to brush off the feeling that something was wrong.

Yes. Something was most certainly wrong with Arwen. Of late, she had even stopped trying to commune with nature, although that was possibly because, camping out as they were, nature was quite busy trying to commune with her in the shape of slugs in the lettuce and biting flies during the evenings. Well. It was almost lunch time – the cooks were starting to rattle the pots and plates and yell at the servants – he would talk to her after lunch and see if he could find out what was going on.

A shout went up suddenly.

‘A rider!’ Elladan yelled excitedly.

‘From the east!’ Elrohir added.

Elrond shaded his eyes and stared into the distance… hopefully, this would be a messenger from the eyot with word that Thranduil had been sighted and they could get moving again… He turned away to look for his advisor, found Erestor already making his way over.

‘My lord, may I suggest that, much though we are all eager to get underway once more, if we break camp now, three of the cooks will become apoplectic… we should eat first and then move out, do you not think?’

‘Very well. But we can make a start, at least.’

Erestor bowed and turned away, beginning to shout orders and warning through the camp. 

‘We break camp after lunch! Begin to organise yourselves now so there are fewer delays later…’

Elrond kept his face stern as around him all broke into action. There was much hasty gathering of belongings (strange how far one’s possessions can spread in just three days) and some fine swearing from the direction of Lord Glorfindel’s pavilion. A mighty warrior, an elf of great wisdom and power, Glorfindel had been making friends with a large bottle of Miruvor last night and perhaps was a little tired this morning as a result…

The smell of cooking food permeated the camp and the dinner bell rang just as the rider galloped up. Elrond hastened to greet him.

‘Mae govannen, mellon-nin,’ he said. ‘What news do you bring?’

‘King Thranduil’s procession has been sighted. He rides with a large troop of warriors around him.’

Typical. Whilst Elrond had contented himself with a handful of knights and such of his household as he needed for a journey of this kind, Thranduil would, no doubt, arrive armed to the teeth and outnumbering Imladris three to one…

‘I do not know, but there was something odd about some of the warriors, as if… as if… I do not know. Their colours were wrong.’

‘My thanks. Rest your horse, get yourself something to drink. We’ll be eating soon, join us. We’ll head out later.’

Elrond’s conscience pricked him. What had the rider meant, ‘their colours were wrong’? Did he mean Thranduil’s men looked sick? Perhaps that was why he had so many warriors with him, because it was the only way to get through Mirkwood alive. It was a place full of ill-rumour and, it must be said, Thranduil had to hold his kingdom together by force of will and arms alone.

*  
Govon rode tall and proud at the head of his command, aware of the eyes on him and his warriors. They rode easily, almost lazily, bows slung with care so as not to smudge their bright decorations. He was touched to see that, as well as the names of their fëa-mates, each had inscribed the words ‘For the King’ on their arms.

‘Govon?’ Commander Bregon nudged his horse alongside him.

Govon waited for the implied reprimand, the criticism, the remark prefaced by the phrase ‘since you are new to command, you may not have thought that…’ 

But it never came.

‘Govon, I wondered… have you any warrior paint about you? The Honour Guard would like to join in…’

Govon laughed. ‘Some. But what of your female warriors?’

‘Good point; they will only bare their arms. But have you any spare…?’

‘No,’ an imperious voice, the king’s voice said. ‘He does not. This is my personal Court Guard’s way of honouring me, Bregon. You will have to seek another. Tell me, Govon – is that kilt of yours quite regulation?’

‘It is an archaic item, but it is still official. These days, we are allowed to choose which pieces of kit we may use. As long as dress uniform is used when ordered, some leeway is permitted.’

‘I remember in your father’s time, Govon, the kilt was generally worn over leggings, particularly in winter. It was only used as the sole garment for exhibition fighting.’

‘And what is this, if not an exhibition, my king?’

‘True enough. Certainly you wear it to good effect; my son cannot keep his eyes from you. It is well that his horse is watching where it is going, for he certainly is not…’

Govon laughed. ‘My king flatters me.’

Thranduil looked out over the plain. Ahead, he could see the slide of the river and across, on the far side, a dark smudge which might be the deputation from Imladris. 

‘We are perhaps two leagues from the river,’ Thranduil said conversationally. ‘it is likely that Elrond will have had word of us by now and is lurking somewhere on the plain so that we arrive first – just –thus giving us the honour while implying he could have beaten us to it.’

From behind, a rousing shout and then a chorus of an old marching song rose from the honour guard.

‘Interesting,’ Thranduil said, raising his voice above the singing.

‘Indeed, my king! It seems Commander Bregon has indeed found another way to honour you!’

Thranduil frowned as some of the voices fell out of key.

‘How long do you think it will be, Govon, before I can tell them I have been honoured enough?

*  
Once lunch had been served and eaten, Elrond wandered through the camp, assisting with the packing up without actually doing anything more strenuous than looking at people from time to time. He came across Arwen, unaware of the bustle around her as her handmaids packed her belongings, her face looking so serious, the droop of her shoulders so sad that almost without thinking he reached out to her. Seeing his hand move into view, she gave a little start, and then smiled at him.

‘Oh, Adar! I hear the king is almost arriving! We will meet soon, at last!’

‘Yes indeed, soon at last.’ He smiled. ‘You are not worried, are you?’

‘I? No, not at all! It will be wonderful to meet with Iauron, and to see Legolas once more. Do you think he’ll remember me? It seems so long ago that he stayed with us, and yet…’

‘Arwen, my dear…’ Elrond interrupted the flow of her chatter.

‘Yes, Father?’

He paused, trying to frame his thought. He wanted to ask if it was really Iauron she was interested in, if this wasn’t some ploy to get closer to Legolas… but the thought was flawed. When she had met Iauron, he was pretending to be Belegornor, and she could not have known he was related to Legolas. More to the point, Elrond knew that Arwen wasn’t Legolas’ type…

Arwen was still waiting. ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘There is much to do, my dear. Don’t let me delay you.’

Within an hour they were moving out across the plain, trying not to hurry even though all were keen to get to their planned campsite on the west bank of the river within sight of the bridge to the eyot. They rode with pennants and banners flying in the wind, and Elrond was not surprised to see the standard of King Thranduil had been raised above a pavilion on the eyot by the time they reached the bridge and Elrond called a halt, sending ahead the messenger from the eyot with instructions to raise his own standard.

He arranged his people around him, his sons to one side, Arwen and Erestor to the other, and stared across the river where, lined up on either side of the bridge facing the west bank, the warriors of Mirkwood had assembled protectively around their royal family.

‘What do they look like?’ Erestor muttered.

The warriors at the back of the court and at the edges were all clad in grey and green. Towards the inner circle, a group of six, stripped to the waist and with their bodies improbably decorated with swirls and strokes and stars of explosive colour sat on braided horses and stared proudly across the river, their eyes feral and dangerous and those of the leader sweeping arrogantly over the elves of Imladris.

‘They look like what they are, mellon-nin,’ Elrond said softly. ‘They look like wild wood elves, and they are fiercely protective of their king and their princes. For all we are meeting on good terms and for happy purpose, do not forget that.’

He heard a little sigh from his side. ‘Arwen? What is it? Do not let their appearance frighten you; it is but a show of strength…’

‘Oh, I’m not frightened, Adar,’ she said. ‘I was just wondering if the princes ever dress like that…’


	75. Formal Greetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elrond and Thranduil finally exchange greetings

‘Now what do we do, Commander?’ Tinuon said from his place next to Govon.

‘We keep looking across the river until something else happens,’ Govon said. 

Across the Langflood, somewhere amongst the assembled elves and half-elves was someone who had made his fëa-mate unhappy, for a time. He wanted to know who so that he could make sure they couldn’t do it again.

Until recently, he hadn’t given much thought to the elves in Imladris. He knew of Elrond and his family, of course; his twin sons, easy to pick out from their similarity of bearing, from their station next to Elrond. The dark-haired beauty on the other side had to be Arwen… he could see why Iauron had been attracted to her, though. She looked the sort to simper, however, and he wondered what Iauron would do with a simpering wife…

Next to Arwen was a dark-haired elf (most of them were, of course, the Noldor blood coming through) and on his other side, a golden headed ellon with tired eyes and a slight list sat astride a white horse… that must be Glorfindel, then. Stories of his distant past and surprising return from the Halls of Waiting had reached even as far as Mirkwood… he wondered if Glorfindel was glad to be back on Middle Earth, or if he would have preferred his soul to stay where it was… perhaps one didn’t have a choice.

‘Commander Govon, the king will cross to the pavilion on the eyot now,’ Lord Arveldir said. ‘You and I will attend him.’

‘Of course. Tinuon, you’re in charge until I get back.’ He waited for Arveldir to move off and then lowered his voice. ‘Have an eye to the skies. Just in case.’

‘What for, Commander?’

‘Anything out of the ordinary. I am not use to the open skies above.’

 

They rode across the bridge, Thranduil leading on Nelleron, Arveldir and Govon flanking him and the silvan elves stationed on eyot snapped to attention beneath the dark green standard of Mirkwood, trying to honour their king and not to stare at Govon at the same time.

‘Commander Govon, would you unfurl the second standard?’ Arveldir asked. ‘Once Imladris sees it flying, they will send their emissaries across.’

‘Of course, my lord.’ 

Govon rode across to the furled pennant and unfastened it, hauling the line so the fabric slid up to the top of the flagpole, flying out in the breeze, bearing the emblems of King Thranduil, proclaiming his arrival on the eyot and inviting Imladris to join them.

*  
‘The flags are flying!’ Elrohir called. 

‘Yes, my son, we can see this. Glorfindel, Erestor. With me.’

‘What about us?’Elladan protested as his father prepared to away.

‘Protocol. King Thranduil rides with his advisor and his… warrior guard. And so I take my seneschal and my advisor and no more. You will have plenty of time to greet the family presently.’

Elrond gathered Glorfindel and Erestor and rode towards the bridge, feeling oddly exposed without more of his people around him. But perhaps the fewer heard these first exchanges the better, just in case. Thranduil was known to be… unpredictable, and there was no way of knowing, form the tone of the missives sent between their two houses, whether or not the king harboured a grudge from when Legolas had returned from Imladris. If so, now would be the perfect moment to bring it to Elrond’s attention.

Elrond, Glorfindel and Erestor cantered across the bridge and reined in, coming to a halt between their own flagposts, the elves stationed on the eyot hurrying to unfurl the standards.

While he waited, Elrond looked at the king. Thranduil was old, older than Elrond, but while his peredhel heritage had made subtle changes to Elrond’s face, giving him character lines to his forehead and eyes, Thranduil’s face was young, still, the skin pale and flawless, the eyes bright under dramatic dark brows, the arrogant dispassion of the set of his mouth stern and ambivalent.

Elrond fought the urge to swallow and made himself look instead at the king’s companions. An elf in sombre green robes with brown hair must be Arveldir, the advisor and scribe whose name always appeared somewhere on the formal documents. As for the other…

He looked young, and proud, and his body was decorated apparently at random with intense pigments in a variety of designs, but as Elrond looked more closely, he saw that each patch of colour had a scar or mark of some sort at its centre; a starburst at the shoulder, a necklace of blue and green and yellow circles at the neck, other sweeps of colour about his hip, his ribs. A decorative arm band of carved wood had been given its own frame of colour, riding high on the elf’s upper arm and drawing attention to his powerful biceps… Elrond had visited Mirkwood, of course, had met and spoke with the silvans, but he had never seen one dressed like this or filled with so much raw, primal strength.

The pennants of Imladris unfurled, snapped in the breeze, and Thranduil inclined his head, a minimalist gesture of the hand inviting Elrond forwards.

‘King Thranduil of Mirkwood, mae l’ovannen,’ Elrond said, bowing his head towards the king. ‘We are honoured to meet with you. May I present my advisor, Erestor and my seneschal, Glorfindel to your notice?’

‘Lord Elrond, well met indeed. Erestor, Glorfindel, greetings. Here is our own advisor, Arveldir, and the Commander of our Court Guard, Captain Govon.’

Elrond dared to breathe again. So far, so good… but there was no reading the expression in those ancient eyes, unless it was boredom.

‘Greetings to you. Great king, if it pleases you, Imladris would feast you and your court and warriors tonight. Will you allow us to invite you to eat with us?’

Elrond waited. He counted four heartbeats before Thranduil inclined his head in agreement and then turned to the green-clad elf at his side.

‘Make the relevant arrangements, Arveldir. Govon, attend me.’

And was that it? Elrond waited, staring after Thranduil as the king turned his giant elk and rode off towards the pavilion which had been set up for him to the north of the eyot, his wild warrior at his side.

‘My lords,’ Arveldir reclaimed Elrond’s attention. ‘Would it be possible for me to see where you intend to hold this feast? I must be able to report back to Captain Govon and the other commanders regarding the arrangements…’

‘Other commanders?’ Elrond echoed. Arveldir gave a small smile.

‘There are three. Captain Govon leads the Court Guard, six elite warriors whose charge is the personal safety of the king and his family . There are eighteen in the Honour guard, led by Captain Bregon, and twenty four in Captain Esgaron’s command; they are our regular troops.’

‘You travel with a large company of warriors,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Are you expecting trouble?’

‘We have already had trouble.’ Arveldir shrugged. ‘It is Mirkwood, that is the way of things.’

‘Erestor will show you what we intend,’ Elrond said. ‘Glorfindel, we should get back.’

Arveldir inclined his head as Elrond departed and dismounted, handing the reins of his horse to one of the silvans waiting near the standard. Erestor parted from his own mount, and came to join his opposite number.

‘Lord Arveldir, may I say first how much I enjoy your missives. You have a certain epistolary style I cannot help but admire… it is a joy to read such documents!’

‘My thanks, Lord Erestor – it is a pleasure to have an appreciative audience! We do not have much call, in Mirkwood, for such missives.’

‘Whereas I have too many to deal with, but most are written by men who have no feel for the richness of our language… well, to business, I suppose. Will Kind Thranduil want to be waited on by his own servants?’

‘We have no servants as such,’ Arveldir said. ‘The king counts such as ‘non-essential personnel’, and there is no room for them on a trip like this.’

‘Indeed?’ Erestor couldn’t help but be interested – this great and powerful king, so regal and fine, with no servants to wait on him? ‘Whereas we have more servants than warriors with us… however do you manage?’

‘We have warriors who can cook and warriors who can attend the horses… all our people are warriors first and attendants second. When your lord said he would feast the court and the warriors, perhaps we should interpret it to mean the Court Guard, rather than the entire corpus of warriors?’

‘I must confess, that would make it easier… we had intended to host the feast here, in the pavilion. And there simply would not be the space for so many… how many in the King’s train, Arveldir?’

‘Just the family, myself and one other – Nestoril, the mistress of our healing halls, travels with us.’

‘Oh? Is someone sick?’ 

Arveldir chose his answer with care. ‘She has a friend, a young healer named Feril, who was meant to be part of your company. I think she is hoping for a reunion,’ he added. ‘That aside, it is more important to have a healer with you in Mirkwood than it is a cook, and we have already needed her services.’

‘Might one ask?’

‘Spiders,’ Arveldir said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘Something has caused them to migrate from their regular haunts and we had the misfortune to run into a particularly large party… well, in truth, it was a misfortune for the spiders…’

‘I see. Perhaps I could hear the full tale, later? We hear much of your Mirkwood spiders, but it is difficult to properly imagine…’

Arveldir smiled. He could paint a word picture for Erestor that would have him waking in the night screaming if he so chose…

‘Is there anything more you would ask?’ Erestor turned with the question in his eyes and Arveldir recanted. Perhaps he would not give the dark-haired advisor nightmares. It would be unfair.

‘What time do you want us here?’ he asked instead.

‘Perhaps an hour before sunset? Lord Elrond likes to give people time to mingle and chat at these events so all are friends when they sit to break bread together.’

‘An interesting thought. I will rejoin my king, then, Lord Erestor.’

‘I will look forward to seeing you later, Lord Arveldir.’


	76. Cat...  Bag...Out...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which somebody mentions dragons...

‘We have been invited to join the feast,’ Govon told his command, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice. ‘So please try not to smudge your decorations before then, or you will have to repaint yourselves.’

‘But – Commander,’ Hador began. ‘Why? The invitation, that is…’

‘Lord Elrond regularly eats with the knights of Imladris. Perhaps it is because he is not a king.’ Govon shrugged. ‘Or maybe it is just a Noldor thing. Arveldir spoke to me, and has said the king wishes us to present ourselves painted at all formal events from now on. But as there is finite paint and potentially infinite opportunities for formal gatherings, we must be careful not to run out.’

‘Healer Nestoril might be able to make more,’ Tegolon suggested.

‘Or we could borrow Prince Tharmeduil’s pigment sticks!’ Canadion said with a grin. ‘What?’ he added, suddenly finding himself the object of attention of both his captain and his fëa-mate. 

‘Canadion, what do you know of the prince’s pigment sticks?’ Govon asked, keeping his voice calm as he saw the anxiety grow in the dark eyes opposite.

‘He showed me them once, a couple of times…’

‘And did he show you anything else?’ Thiriston growled.

‘Thiriston, can you do that later, please?’ Govon said crisply, repressing the urge to laugh at the older elf’s reaction. ‘Canadion? Go on?’

‘Well, he… I was just passing by his tent and he called me in… over, he called me over, Thiriston, I…’

Govon sighed and interrupted.

‘Canadion, just tell the tale. Perhaps, if we establish the fact that Tharmeduil is neither interested in other elves’ elves nor in elves of the male persuasion, this might go faster? Good.’ He ignored the flickering grins around him and nodded at Canadion. ‘Proceed.’

‘The prince had some drawings – lots of them – and some books, and he wanted to show me something he’d drawn… he showed me a few pictures, and explained he’d drawn them before they happened… I know it seems strange, but there are such things, sometimes… and he’s no need to pretend just to get attention, he’s a prince, after all…’

‘It’s true that Prince Tharmeduil sometimes sees things before they happen. He warned of the spider attack near the river, and although it was bad enough, he stopped it being worse. So go on?’

‘He wanted to show me a picture. I didn’t really understand, but he seems to think he needs me and Thiriston to help him with something, later… he wanted to warn me, now, so I had time to think about it… then he said, it doesn’t happen yet. It’s after the dragons… Are there going to be dragons, Commander?’

Consternation. Govon ran through all the swear words and expletives he knew in his head while his command reacted, giving them time to process their shock and fear and surprise.

‘Calm down, all of you.’ He took a deep breath, waiting for them to subside. ‘Canadion, thank you. Take it as a standing order that if Prince Tharmeduil wants your assistance with anything, you are to obey him without question. Let me know first, though, if you can, just so that I know where you are. That pretty well goes for all of you; the royal family is in our care, and if they need our help with anything, we are theirs.’

‘But… dragons?’ Tegolon protested.

‘It seems unlikely, I know…’

‘Is that why you said ‘watch the skies’? And all the practice with fir cones?’ Tinuon asked, raising his eyebrows. ‘You’ve known this long? And kept it from us?’

‘The king requested me to consider the possibility of dragons. As I have had my own proof of the prince’s accuracy, I was predisposed to believe him. But you had all just come through an encounter with the spiders and had enough to think about while we were in Mirkwood… besides, the prince was quite insistent that any threat would only come after we had met with Imladris, more specifically, once our prince and Elrond’s daughter have spoken together.’

‘With respect, Commander, is there anything more we should know?’

Tinuon’s voice was clipped and brisk, and Govon sighed. He understood Tinuon’s anger and could only be grateful his second was being so restrained, but he’d no wish to lose his goodwill.

‘All of this comes from Prince Tharmeduil’s visions; the king, his brothers and Healer Nestoril all are convinced of the accuracy of his insights; I do not know Arveldir’s position on the subject. Commanders Bregon and Esgaron have not been told yet; you can imagine why I hesitate, when I was unwilling even to worry my own command with the thought… there seem to be three dragons, and they are young, which may mean they are inexperienced. Or it may mean they are unpredictable. I do not have any experience with such creatures, and I do not expect any of you to have, either…’

‘Thiriston has,’ Canadion offered. 

Govon nodded. Improbable as it seemed, he wasn’t about to doubt Canadion’s word in front of the rest of the group, not when he was the nearest thing to a believer in dragons Govon had at the moment…

‘Then I’d like to talk to you about it, Thiriston, if you will.’

‘Now, Commander?’

‘Later will do.’ Govon gook a breath. ‘Just for the moment let’s forget about the dragons and concentrate on tonight instead. Believe me, it’s likely to be just as dangerous, in its own way. Imladris is out to impress Mirkwood; whichever place would benefit more from a marriage between Iauron and Arwen, however well-connected Elrond of Imladris is, he is not a king.’

‘He’s not even a full elf,’ someone muttered, and Govon swooped on the sentiment.

‘Yes, it is true. He is peredhel. But that is not his fault, any more than it is yours that you are Silvan, whoever you are. We are fortunate; we are who we are. And Elrond has chosen to be counted amongst elvenkind, so we will treat him as such and disregard his peredhel nature; whatever its importance, it has no relevance to us. So. Tonight, we represent our king and while we will relax and enjoy the feast, we will do so with at least a little decorum. We will be stared at, no doubt, questioned about our decorations. Try not to mind, and try not to boast overmuch. Good. Dismissed – apart from you, Thiriston. And Canadion may stay, if you wish him to.’

He waited until the others had left before continuing.

‘So, you’ve experienced dragons, Thiriston? I’ll admit, out of all of us, you’re the only one of whom it sounds likely… will you tell me? Did you fight one?’

Thiriston shook his head and Govon found himself hoping this hadn’t just been some empty boast Thiriston had made to impress Canadion and now being regretted.

‘I survived one. We were travelling, my kin and I, and passed too close to the Northern Wastes. A fire drake came down on us… my parents hid me under an outcrop of rock.’ Thiriston’s voice was dispassionate, too calm. ‘I saw the flames, I heard the screams, and afterwards, I was grateful to be alive. It seemed wrong, to give the bodies of my parents to the flames of the pyre, but what choice had we? Three of our company survived. I think the dragon did, also. It is too long ago now… And that is all.’

Clearly, it was not all. Thiriston, normally the first to challenge, the first to stare you in the eye, could not meet Govon’s gaze. Canadion, with a look that was at once both defiant and apologetic, took his fëa-mate’s hand.

‘I lost my father to battle,’ Govon said softly. ‘But I did not have to witness it. Such a thing may well change a person, or shape them.’

‘Ai, Valar!’ Thiriston looked up at last, smiling through the darkness of his thoughts. ‘It has made me more afraid of dragons than anyone I know to be afraid of anything! The one thing in my favour has been that there has been hardly any likelihood of dragons in my life, whereas spiders are everywhere…’

Canadion let go of Thiriston’s hand and came to kneel in front of him, staring into his face. ‘You keep me safe every time we meet with spiders, melleth. You calm me and reason with me and make all well. So, if we can have access to the paint, I will draw a dragon on your back, between your other scars, to stand as something you have survived. And, you will think of this, and keep the thought: Prince Tharmeduil said: he needs us. He needs us, after the dragons come.’ Canadion’s voice grew urgent, intent. ‘And that means one thing – we survive the dragons. They do not touch you.’

‘You mean well, I know, but…’

‘But nothing. Come with me, talk to him for yourself, if you will! What, are you the only one with anything comfort worth listening to? Hear me, melleth-nin, and…’  
Govon left them to it. He had a written report to create and present, and then a verbal one to pass on to Legolas, and all before the feast. Still, at least his command knew, now, and that was the most important thing; he hadn’t realised how much he had come to value their good opinion, how he had disliked keeping the truth from them. 

His report was brief; the encounter with Imladris, the invitation to the feast – ‘Food and drink will be prepared for the honour guard and the regulars, also, but there is not room in the pavilion for the entire host. Lord Elrond travels with more servants than he does warriors… my command have been instructed to consider themselves still on duty, however, during the feast…’

‘Is that everything?’ Bregon asked.

‘Everything from the report, Commander.’

‘Nothing about, for example, dragons, then?’ Bregon asked. 

Govon swallowed.

‘I may have to add something more to my written report,’ he said.


	77. Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which old friendships are rekindled and new ones formed...

Since they had left Imladris, Arwen had not had a moment’s solitude. There had always been a handmaid, or a brother, or a servant somewhere in sight. That, coupled with her father’s enquiries after her health and spirits had meant she was getting ready to quietly scream.

At home, there had always been an hour or two she could claim for herself, even if the excuses she usually made for being late were rather improbable even to her own ears – ‘I’ve been talking to the sparrows, Father,’ had originally been intended simply to shut him up, and ‘picking flowers by the Bruinen’ meant to signify to her ladies-in-waiting that they should mind their own business.

Arwen liked to be alone, and she liked to think. Sometimes, she admitted to herself, she brooded, and it wasn’t good for her. But she had lost her best friend when her mother sailed west, and lecture after well-meaning lecture delivered by Grand-naneth Galadriel on the duty of daughters and not letting people worry about you had only led Arwen to believe it would be better for everyone if she just hid her loss and grief and pretended to be normal.

It was simply unfortunate that, surrounded as she had been by examples of extreme elvishness, Arwen’s interpretation of ‘normal’ was, perhaps, a little skewed. And, while the thrushes in the valley might not enjoy her singing to them, the truth was she enjoyed the procedure even less.

Her one outlet, the act of rebellion that was saving her from suffocation, was her crochet. She derived an almost malicious joy in presenting her father with yet another woollen coaster, or inappropriately-thick bookmark, and watching him make himself smile and admire her work, spurring her on to even more outrageous projects.

It was a good activity, too – it kept her hands busy but gave her time to let her mind wander where it would, and if she frowned, people assumed it was because she was stuck with the pattern somewhere. And she was actually quite good at it; if anyone should find a need for a nice blanket of multi-coloured squares, Arwen knew how. And the decorative antler warmers she had crocheted for King Thranduil’s Elk, Nelleron, were a triumph of design and colour. What’s more, having caught a bit of an eyeful of Thranduil’s guards, she realised she’d been lucky; the colours she’d used would match the warriors’ body paint perfectly.

She thought back to her brief taste of freedom, when, as Gaelbainil, she had walked and talked and laughed with the warrior Belegornor… perhaps it hadn’t been love, but it had been something like it, a meeting of shared suffering and sense of needing freedom…

How different would it be for Arwen and Iauron to meet from Gaelbainil’s friendship with Belegornor? She was looking forward to seeing him again, though, whatever he called himself.

Although she wouldn’t be able to behave as if she knew him quite as well as she did...

Legolas, now, that was different. She could, and would, greet him like an old friend. That was what he felt like, after all.

At least she had ten minutes alone while she washed and tidied herself before the handmaids swooped in, clucking and fussing, to lace her into her silver-green dress and confine her hair in a jewelled net… she looked quite presentable, she supposed, but of course, she smiled and dimpled at all the compliments and was really quite glad to place her hand on her father’s arm and walk in stately dignity over the bridge to the pavilion where they would greet their guests.

As they paused outside to gather themselves, through the tied-back fabric of the pavilion’s entrance, Arwen could see glimpses of people, servants, guests…

And, oh, my! The king’s warriors were there, still only half-dressed but for paint… the only difference was that the one who seemed to be their leader, although still wearing his kilt, now had leggings beneath it.

‘Arwen?’ Elrond held her back while others of the household preceded them into the pavilion. ‘Arwen we’re going in shortly. Please remember you need to make a good impression; King Thranduil…’

Arwen stopped listening. Seeing someone she recognised, she dropped her father’s arm and rushed into the pavilion.

*

‘What was the phrase again – Elrond likes his guests to mingle?’ Tharmeduil muttered. ‘With whom? His serving staff?’

He stood with his brothers to one side of the pavilion; Legolas had migrated to the darkest corner as soon as they had arrived, and Iauron and Tharmeduil had followed him. The rest of the Mirkwood contingent, barring King Thranduil but including the Court Guard, were standing around looking slightly lost and nursing drinks passed round by servants. Govon was standing protectively close, looking far more alert and warrior-like than was strictly proper at this sort of gathering.

‘What’s up with your fëa-mate?’ Iauron asked. ‘Is he cross because Adar told him to wear leggings tonight?’

‘No – because the king has said now is not the time to announce him as my fëa-mate. It would be stealing your glory, brother, and Arwen might be upset.’ 

Iauron raised an eyebrow. Legolas was doing his best to sound light-hearted and untroubled, but he wasn’t quite managing it. 

‘Of course, it does not mean I cannot say that I have found my fëa-mate,’ Legolas added. ‘Simply that I may not name him…’ 

A little flurry of activity a few yards away as the elves of Imladris began to arrive; someone called Nestoril’s name and the healer smiled and headed towards the voice.

‘Feril, my dear friend! I am so thankful we are brought together again !’

Iauron grinned. ‘Nice she’s got a friend to talk to… ah, but this looks promising…’ he went on as Arwen appeared, straightening his shoulders and standing taller, preparing to greet his provisionally intend as she saw the brothers and headed over at a rate of knots.

Preparing to stand aside for Arwen to pass by to get to Iauron, Legolas barely had time to brace himself as she arrived.

‘Hello! You look wonderful! How are you?’ she demanded, throwing her arms around a somewhat startled Legolas in an enthusiastic hug.

‘Arwen!’ Legolas tried to disentangle himself without seeming rude. ‘Thank you. I’m well, very well. And you?’

‘Oh, yes! It’s lovely to see you!’ 

‘And you...’ Legolas looked around for rescue, found Govon’s eyes locked on him. The commander raised an eyebrow, amused rather than protective. ‘But never mind me. And here’s Iauron…’

She laughed, dropping a very proper curtsey. ‘Of course here’s Iauron. But I have had lecture upon lecture about behaving with dignity towards the Crown Prince of Mirkwood, while you and I are old friends, are we not, mellon-nin? Anyway, most of that hug was for Iauron!’

‘Sadly, I don’t have a surrogate to hug on your behalf,’ Iauron said. ‘Looking well, Gaelbainil!’

‘Thank you, kind Belegornor!’ Arwen replied, dimpling. ‘Were we not children, pretending to be other than ourselves?’

‘We were. It was a good game, while it lasted…’

‘I don’t think we’re needed here, brother,’ Legolas said to Tharmeduil. ‘Come. Let’s find someone to annoy.’

‘Or we could talk to Govon. He’s got that look on his face.’

‘What look?’

‘The one where he’s pretending not to have a look on his face. I know – you talk to Govon, I’ll get Nestoril to introduce me to her pretty friend.’

*

Govon relaxed a little as Legolas approached.

‘It is a pity about the king’s orders concerning leggings,’ the prince said. ‘You might smudge some of your more interesting decorations.’

‘You can always help tidy them later. But with ladies present, I can understand it.’

‘I’d be more concerned about some of the lords, Govon.’

‘Yes? Which ones, exactly?’

Legolas shook his head. ‘If that’s an attempt to find out…’

‘It’s an attempt to make sure I don’t find myself backed into a corner looking for rescue,’ Govon replied. ‘But are you all right?’

‘I’m fine. I’ve got my family around me, you’re here… nothing is going to happen. Nobody is going to make me feel uncomfortable tonight. I am my father’s son; I can wear a mask just as well as he does.’

‘I hope you will not have to, fair elf. I have had a thought. Later tonight, when we return to your tent, I will get out the body paint and draw an elf of Imladris on your shoulder, as token that you have survived tonight.’

‘I like the sound of that.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. And who are these?’

Legolas turned in time to see Elladan and Elrohir approaching.

‘The sons of Elrond. I’ll introduce you.’

*

It was an uneasy evening for Govon. No matter who he looked at, there was no hint of anything untoward, of anyone being unpleasant or unkind to his fëa-mate – to anyone, in fact. He could not, of course, stay too close to Legolas, or it might have been remarked, but he knew that Tharmeduil and Iauron were also watching, and that was a comfort.

‘Govon.’

He looked round, startled; he had been brooding and staring at Erestor and Arveldir, who seemed to have struck up a swift friendship, and hadn’t noticed Thranduil approaching.

‘Yes, my king?’

‘Relax. You look as if you expect an attack at any moment.’ 

‘As my king commands. But it is habit now, to watch over you all.’ Govon inclined his head and was rewarded with the smallest of smiles.

‘I mean it. At least take your hand off your knife belt. Commander Esgaron has half a dozen warriors stationed around the eyot so that you can stand down. Tonight, you are part of our household as much as Lord Glorfindel and Master Erestor are of Lord Elrond’s. Just… do not give Lady Arwen a guided tour of your scars, as Tinuon just has Healer Feril…’

‘Of course not, my king.’

Dinner was called, and he found himself seated between Arwen and the twin brothers. Legolas was opposite and one or two seats away; close enough to watch and speak to, if not to converse with. Lord Elrond was at one end of the long table, and King Thranduil the other, their households mingled together so that everyone had to talk to each other. Elladan and Elrohir seemed good-natured enough, more curious about the encounters where Govon got his scars than in the paint, while Arwen was intrigued by the designs themselves. 

‘These on your neck?’ she asked.

Govon had not thought to decorate those, but Legolas had insisted. ‘In the spirit of these being marks of injuries you have survived, these must rate pretty highly; you were very ill,’ he had said, and so Govon had allowed the prince to make blue and yellow circles around the multiple bite sites.

‘Simply spider bites. Big spiders; as big as a horse and as bad tempered as Iauron with a hangover; I survived them indeed, but it is a less glamorous story than being shot by orcs.’

‘And this on your arm, Captain Govon?’

He found himself smiling as he explained.

‘The arm band was a token from my fëa-mate, the night we made our vows together. The encasing stripes show this is where my body should be taken, if I fall in battle. Some of my command have a name there, instead.’

‘She must be very proud of you,’ Arwen said, and Govon’s smile became a grin.

‘I think my fëa-mate is proud of me, yes.’

‘You must miss her.’

Now he shook his head, aware of Legolas’ eyes on him, feeling his amusement.

‘I’m fortunate that my fëa-mate is part of the company. So while we cannot spend all our time together, we are not far apart.’ He felt it was time to turn the subject, before he forgot himself and enlightened Arwen as to the gender of his fëa-mate. ‘But, my lady, enough of me. I understand you have travelled to Lórien. Tell me, is it true the trees are in bloom there all year?’ 

*

By the end of the evening, Govon was still none the wiser as to who he needed to guard Legolas from; his melleth had had given nothing away. As the prince had said, he could wear a mask just as effectively as his father could. And as for the deputation from Imladris, none of those present had done or said anything to raise his suspicions… which did not mean the individual in question had not been present, just that they had learned how to behave in public. And Legolas’ mask made him complicit in their escaping discovery. Certainly, if there had been any sort of a reunion, Govon had not witnessed it.

Later, alone in the privacy of the prince’s tent, once Legolas was lying on his stomach, unstrung and peaceful, Govon sat astride him, pushed his hair out of the way, and gently began to stroke dark body paint over his spine. 

As he worked, the commander thought again about who had once caused his fëa-mate such distress. Maybe he was making a fuss over nothing? Legolas had always said it had been a long time ago and he was sure all had been forgotten, and while it was not good that Legolas had suffered, still, he had come through it, and they had found each other. If Legolas believed he was forgotten, if he was prepared to try to forget his hurt, then surely Govon should be prepared to help him do so?

Except Govon could not believe anyone could forget someone as fair as Legolas.

‘You should have drawn this on my chest, so I could admire your handiwork.’

‘And tell me how close a likeness it is.’

He felt Legolas laugh. 

‘I am fine. It was nothing, a perfectly ordinary evening. I was foolish to worry. All will be well.’

Govon stopped drawing. ‘Good.’

‘You have stopped. Why?’

‘I do not know what colour to use for the hair.’

‘Black, of course. Noldor black, if you have such a shade.’ Legolas sighed. ‘Hurry and be done. I want to clean the paint off you, melleth. All of it.’ He stretched and twisted from under Govon, rolling to sit up and face him. ‘With my tongue,’ he added.

‘That will take a while, fair elf,’ Govon said.

‘Friend Captain, I hope it will.’


	78. More Important than Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil has cause to talk to Bregon and Esgaron...

‘What is there today, Arveldir?’ Thranduil asked.

‘There is a morning meeting between yourself and Lord Elrond to speak about what settlements will be appropriate. Iauron and Arwen are expected to attend with myself and Advisor Erestor present to record the salient points…’ Arveldir paused to glance at his king, making sure he was paying attention. It was difficult to know, at times, whether Thranduil’s languid, bored demeanour was entirely an act. ‘At some point, Healer Nestoril will meet with Healer Feril concerning Prince Tharmeduil’s illness; I understand that Lord Elrond would also like to be present… I shall be talking with Master Erestor concerning Lord Elrond’s schedule and…’

‘Lord Elrond’s schedule is of no concern of ours. We do not arrange our days for his convenience.’

‘Of course, my king.’ Well, at least Arveldir knew the king was awake, now. ‘Our planned archery tournament has not yet been organised, mostly because we expected Imladris to have more archers with them. As it is, Commander Esgaron does not think more than half of them can handle a bow. The commanders are rethinking.’

‘Good. We would not wish to overwhelm them with the skill of our warriors, after all. It would be ill-mannered.’

‘I will speak to our commanders about it; perhaps we could make it more than an archery contest, perhaps include some sparring?’

‘Yes – I am sure there would be several persons who would enjoy, for example, Govon participating in an exhibition fight…’

‘Indeed. And there is one other matter, my king – Commanders Bregon and Esgaron would like a word… they seem a little hesitant to discuss the subject with me, however…’

‘Send them to me. And then return once they have gone. It appears to me we will need to meet Lord Elrond’s hospitality from last night with a meal of our own. We will need to discuss it.’

*

It had taken Esgaron and Bregon the better part of an hour to talk themselves into what was, for them, a bold move. But Govon’s apparent belief in Prince Tharmeduil’s imaginary dragons had haunted them through the previous evening, and something must be done about it.

‘It’s not that he’s been a bad commander,’ Bregon had said, hesitantly. ‘And he certainly kept his head at the river…’

‘But you can’t go making command decisions based on the unsubstantiated images of a distressed mind!’ Esgaron had replied. ‘When he was in my command, Govon knew how to take orders. He knew how to give, them, too, even if he was only in charge of two lieutenants and a guard flet! No, I don’t blame him; he’s a good enough fellow. It’s the royals; you have to know when to stand up to them, sometimes. Or things like this happen.’

And so they had asked to see the king and now Arveldir was heading towards them with an anticipatory look on his face.

‘His majesty has a few moments spare now, if you hurry.’

Even in the dubious surroundings of a pavilion, King Thranduil managed to look imposing. He sat on a travel chest, his robes of office around his shoulders, and he looked enquiringly from one commander to the other, stroking his chin with long fingers.

‘What was it you wished to bring to my attention, Commanders?’ he said finally, once Bregon and Esgaron had exchanged glances at least three times. ‘The day wears on, after all.

‘Your pardon, your majesty,’ Bregon began. ‘But Commander Esgaron wished to say…’

‘Along with Commander Bregon, that we are concerned about Commander Govon…’

‘Pressures of command….’

‘…when not used to the honour…’

‘…not quite knowing what to do when…’

‘But Commander Govon appears to me to be doing an excellent job,’ Thranduil interrupted decisively. ‘His warriors have taken to him, he is an able fighter and, although he does have a certain flair for the dramatic, it does not seem to stop him getting results… or is this about the dragons?’

‘The… you know about the dragons, sire?’ Bregon managed.

‘Ah, good. I had thought he was a little hesitant about telling you…’

‘In truth,’ Esgaron said faintly, ‘we have not long known… and might we ask, what does our king think about the dragons?’

‘That is a good question.’ Thranduil thought for a moment. ‘And the reply is; it does not matter.’

‘I… it is better, I suppose,’ Esgaron offered, ‘to be prepared for battle and for it not to come, than be taken unawares…’ 

‘True. But I was thinking more that your warriors have been participating in target practice for pride already. It is my considered opinion, Commanders, that there is a very good possibility that we will come under attack from the air. Commander Govon was given this information, and told to act upon it; a direct order from his king. Do you understand?’

‘Of course, my king!’ Esgaron said quickly. Bregon looked less certain.

‘But it does not matter about the dragons,’ Thranduil went on. ‘What matters is that my son is ill, and his health is far more important than dragons. It cannot have escaped your notice that he has fits, that he has visions. We have noted that if he sees a danger, and the warning is disregarded, his fits return in more and more violence until such time that he is rendered unconscious. But if he sees his warnings are acted upon, if he believes safeguards have been put in place, then he is able to avoid these unpleasant and debilitating seizures. Now, we could argue from here to the Grey Havens and back as to whether his predictions come true, or his guesses are lucky, or he is reinterpreting after the event – it does not matter. What matters is keeping him calm and safe, and we do that, Commanders, by accepting his visions as insights and preparing for them as if they were the results of reports from experienced scouts.’ Thranduil’s voice had been building, was now up to his strongest tones of command, the ones he used in battle to drive the enemy away and the allies to his support. ‘Is that quite clear?’

Bregon nodded weakly. ‘Dragons,’ he said.

Esgaron hastened to agree. ‘Potentially. We will keep our archers practising.’

‘See that you do,’ Thranduil said softly. ‘And try not to undermine Commander Govon. He is steering a difficult enough course as it is. Now, while I have you here, concerning the revised plans for a tournament with Imladris. Include some double-lhaing combat, Bregon – that is where you will shine – and some knife-throwing, for Thiriston is excellent, when not put off by inconsiderate opponents… And you might put your archery practice to practical use – we will need to feast Imladris soon, so see what you can shoot and catch from the environment; we will show them we are spontaneous. Very well. You have much to organise. Please tell Lord Arveldir I will see him now.’


	79. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arwen and Iauron abscond from a very tedious meeting...

The meeting was dull, dull, dull, and Arwen wished she’d brought her crocheting with her. But she was meant to sit, demure and still, and listen while her Adar and the King of Mirkwood discussed her as if she was just another commodity, a sack of grain or a piece of land. It was some comfort to hear Iauron discussed in the same terms; at one point, she wondered if her father was going to ask to look in the Crown Prince’s mouth to check his teeth…

The thought made her stifle a giggle, and although neither father seemed to notice, Erestor glared at her and Iauron grinned.

Meanwhile, the debate continued.

‘While I accept it is only right and proper that a wife should be with her husband,’ her adar was saying, ‘I must insist that Arwen return home for her lyings-in… her children should be born in the safety of Imladris…’

‘We cannot agree. You must be aware that it is a difficult and tiring journey, and any perceived benefits must be outweighed by the very real dangers; I fail to see how you, a father yourself, could wish such a thing on your daughter… and the maternity facilities in the Palace Complex are such that we have even recently opened them to human females whose pregnancies are at risk…’

‘I do not mean that my daughter should make so arduous a journey while expecting, merely that her children should be conceived in Imladris…’

‘I have had the good fortune to hear many things about the prowess of my oldest son, but I have yet to learn that even his virility can stretch as far as from Mirkwood to Imladris!’

This was too much for Iauron, who burst out laughing, ‘Ai, father! I hate to boast…’

‘Are we not, perhaps, getting a little ahead of ourselves? Erestor put in, looking to Arveldir for rescue.

‘Indeed, my king,’ Arveldir inserted smoothly, ‘Imladris could not possibly expect you to allow the Crown Prince to be absent for so long. Why, I remember that you lamented at your youngest son being away for less than a year... and as he was not quite in the best of health when he returned, I am sure that…’

‘Very well,’ Elrond said, his face reddening. ‘I will not expect the Crown Prince to leave his home. But Arwen is my only daughter, and to be from her side at such a time…’

‘I am sure my king will be happy to extend a welcome to as many of Arwen’s kin as wish to stay at the palace during any such event,’ Arveldir said. ‘We have no wish for any young person to be away from home, and unhappy.’

Elrond winced. It seemed to him as if this entire meeting had been organised to jibe and bite at his conscience, although the Mirkwood elves seemed unaware of any other significance. Or were they? He had watched Thranduil keenly and was convinced the king was very good at dissembling… 

‘Shall we move on to more pertinent matters? The how and the where of the ceremony could properly be discussed now… We would suggest…’

Arwen flet a hand grab hers. ‘Come on,’ Iauron whispered. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

While the advisors, Elrond and Thranduil were all busy with a draft document of Erestor’s composition, Iauron lifted the hems of the canvas at the rear of the pavilion and Arwen crawled through. Once outside, she waited for him to join her and grab her hand again, and he led her off while she stifled her giggles.

They headed down to the river and found a part of the bank which would shield them from the camp behind. There was a little shale beach, and Iauron wasted no time in stripping off his boots and rolling up his breeches and going for a paddle in the clear cool water.

‘Honestly, I’d no idea it would be so complicated!’ Iauron said, holding out a hand for Arwen to join him in the shallows. ‘I thought, next full moon or festival of the stars, you and me swapping vows like Legolas and his…’ he broke off guiltily as Arwen stared at him.

‘Legolas has made vows?’ she demanded, an incredulous, but happy smile spreading across her face.

‘Yes. Look, I shouldn’t have said; it’s not secret, it’s just… just private.’

‘But why?’ she asked. ‘That is, I’m delighted for him and if I had known, I’d have wished him joy last night… and I wouldn’t have hugged him like that, either!’

‘Well, it’s complicated.’

Arwen blinked at him. ‘I’m sure I can keep up, if you explain in lots of little words,’ she said brightly, her face deadpan, making him laugh.

‘Forgive me, I didn’t mean it like that! It happened quite fast, Legolas had been sent on patrol – Adar does that with us, sends us out so we know what our warriors have to put up with – and he found him, and two others, sick. He cared for them until help arrived and… that’s how he met him. He didn’t want to wait to ask him until after we got back, he said it’d seem like an afterthought, but he didn’t want a fuss in case it spoiled your day…’

‘Iauron?’

‘Yes?’

‘There was a lot of ‘he’ and ‘him’ in that speech but not one ‘she’ or ‘her’…’

‘That’s right.’ He paused for a moment, wondering how innocent of the ways of the world Arwen actually was. ‘I don’t know how it is in Imladris, but we’re quite relaxed about such things these days. The fëa wants what the fëa wants, and his wanted him. And I really can’t say who – Adar made us promise. He said now wasn’t the time. So, now you know. As much as I can tell you, anyway.’

‘I see. And I’m glad for him; he seemed a bit lonely at times. But it’s different, at home. I think there are such arrangements, but they’re not in the open.’ She sighed. ‘You know, when Legolas stayed with us… I quite liked him. I wondered if Adar had hoped he’d like me, too. So I think he felt he had to tell me he was… different, in case… well, you probably know what it’s like. You don’t get to meet many new people so when you do, you look at everyone twice, just in case they’re the one.’

Iauron thought of the population of Lake Town, its many brothels…

‘Not so bad for me. There are a lot of us in Mirkwood, and human settlements nearby. But I can imagine.’

‘And Adar is always worrying about the future – my future, my brothers’…’

‘There they are, look! Your brothers!’

Arwen looked over at the far bank. Elladan and Elrohir were there, walking up towards the bridge. Seeing their sister, they waved.

‘Of course, now they will join us!’ Arwen said with a sigh.

‘Well, for the look of things, it’s probably better if we don’t spend too much time alone with each other. People might talk.’

‘Oh goodness! And then they’ll expect us to get married and everything!’

‘Yes, indeed, and everything…’ Iauron grinned, suddenly realising he liked Arwen quite as much as he’d liked her alter ego. ‘Shall we, Arwen? Shall we forget Belegornor and Gaelbainil, and just be Arwen and Iauron and get married and have lots of little elflings to annoy our adars with?’

She grinned. ‘Well… maybe…’

‘Maybe?’

‘Yes. It’s all going to depend on whether or not you like the nice presents I’ve made you!’


	80. Old Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas has an unexpected visitor...

Legolas glanced anxiously towards the opening of the tent. He’d not had as much as a glimpse of Govon since breakfast, and while to say he was pining would be an exaggeration, he was certainly looking forward to seeing him this evening. 

What was more, he felt as if he’d spent most of the day dodging one or other formal visit from the Imladris side of the river; for all that he’d got through last night’s first, awkward meeting unscathed, he was still edgy. He could not help it. He did not know what he feared most – confronting his past or not confronting it. Nor did it help that he felt everyone was looking at him, watching him…

Well, not everyone. Govon was vocal in his support, but was trying to respect his wishes and not pry. Iauron and Tharmeduil, though, when they thought he wasn’t looking, exchanged anxious glances over his head. 

Still, it was comforting that Adar seemed not to have noticed anything, which was unusual, but then, there was a lot going on, and with Tharmeduil’s recent illness and Iauron’s betrothal to organise, he supposed the king was already overloaded with things to think about, and with two brothers already worrying his father, Legolas wouldn’t want to make up the full complement.

It had been a long day without Govon’s presence. Even just seeing him in the distance would have been a comfort, and now Legolas was hoping that Govon could get through with his day’s work and come to him soon.

So when Legolas heard a sound outside, he got to his feet at once, feeling relief washing through him as he stared at the entrance to the tent.

‘Come in, melleth! I’ve been waiting all day for you!’

But the raven-headed elf who ducked under the tent flaps and stood smiling at Legolas was not his fëa-mate. 

‘So have I you, Legolas,’ he said. ‘Come here.’

Legolas stared, swallowed, and tried to back away.

‘You!’ he said. ‘I have nothing to say to you in private.’

*

Govon scowled as he hastened away from the two Commanders. Yes, it was very nice of them to apologise for doubting him about the threat of dragons, but now was not the time! Legolas would be waiting, would by this time have been waiting for him for a little while and was probably wondering where he had got to. He could see the back of Legolas’ tent now, deliberately set up a little way from his brothers,’ and he felt the scowl fading. He’d not seen his fëa-mate for most of the day and he was eager to be sure all was well with him…

‘Govon, wait…’ 

Prince Tharmeduil’s voice, just when he didn’t want any more delays…

‘Yes, my prince? I should warn you, I’m late…’

‘I know. Bregon and Esgaron, but it’s not their fault…’

‘Forgive me, was there something? Because Legolas…’

‘…is busy. Govon, I’m trying to help. I’ve seen…’

Govon took a deep breath and counted to ten while Tharmeduil tried to find the words he needed.

‘I’ve seen this, I’ve drawn it out dozens of times until I know exactly how it has to go. You have to wait.’

‘What for? Why?’

‘Because if you go too soon, it ends badly. And if you arrive too late, it’s worse… I… there isn’t time to tell you – and I can’t, because if I do, you don’t get it and it gets really messy… you can’t know who it is yet, because if you do you’re going to want to confront him and then everyone finds out and…oh, I’m sorry… Look, I’ll come with you and when I say, go in. That’s best. And try not to…’

Tharmeduil took hold of Govon’s arm and dragged him to the back of Legolas’ tent.

‘You have to hear it. You have to hear everything, because although Legolas would tell you, he’s too close to it, he’ll say it wrongly… I’m sorry.’

‘But…’

‘Hush.’

_‘…nothing to say to you in private.’_

Govon’s jaw dropped. Legolas’ voice sounded shaky, frightened, he would have said. He went to move forward, but Tharmeduil’s grip restrained him. He turned to argue, saw pity and regret in the prince’s eyes as he took in Govon’s stricken expression, and instead Govon waited, listened for the reply, his outrage growing.   
‘…But I have things to say to you. Too much was left unsaid, you misunderstood…’

Govon felt he should know the voice, he knew he had heard it, but it was changed by the density of the canvas tenting, it was barely above a distorted whisper.

‘I do not think I did,’ Legolas’ voice was replying, still tremulous, thick with emotion. ‘You made it quite clear you wanted no-one to know about me.’

‘You can’t like this. You can’t want Arwen to marry your brother, it would make us too closely related for anything more to happen between us…’

‘Nothing more was ever going to happen between us; it is over, it is done. It was done a long time ago and…’

‘Of course it is not done. I have seen you looking. Why would you look at me, if we were done?’

‘I wondered how I could ever have thought you cared for me, that is all.’

‘I did care for you – I still do; it was a misunderstanding. You must see that!’

‘All I see is someone who taught me to be ashamed of my nature.’

‘Consider who I am, what my family would have thought – how could you think of letting anyone know about us? It would have ruined everything!’

‘As it was, you almost ruined me! When I arrived here, I had thought myself different, other, but not wrong… and yet by the time I left, I felt shameful, polluted.   
You had almost destroyed me; you did not value me, you had only used me and left me feeling I was the one at fault while you enjoyed the sense of power it gave you… it has taken me decades to see it was not I who was at fault, but you! And now you think there is still something here for you? You are mistaken!’

‘Am I? Then why are you so angry with me?’

‘Because you made me feel I was to blame, when I was not. All those years I blamed myself… Please leave. There is nothing more I would say to you and there is certainly nothing I want to hear from you…’

‘Not even that I am sorry?’

Outside the tent, Govon held his breath. He had thought his heart would break, hearing the pain in his fëa-mate’s voice, hearing his pride as he stood up to his former lover. But now dread began to build in him, fear that the apparent sincerity of the voice might work on Legolas’ kind-heartedness.

‘I accept your apology. Good night.’

‘Is that it? You accept my apology?’ The voice was incredulous.

‘That is all there is. For your sake, and for the sake of your family – and my brother – I will not let my antipathy show but…’ Legolas broke off, and his voice grew alarmed. ‘Do not touch me! Leave now, or…’

‘Or what? You’ll call the guards? And what will that look like? Come, you must be lonely. You must miss it, miss me…?’

‘You? No. And I have lately found my fëa-mate,’ Legolas said, pride and dignity overcoming the shake in his voice. ‘So I have no lack of companionship or love.’

‘You? A fëa-mate? I do not believe you! And even if you had found someone, Mirkwood is a long way away, and I am here…’

‘It does not matter what you believe, but my fëa-mate is here and I am expecting him at any moment. Now, go… I told you, do not touch…’ 

Thranduil felt Govon pull at his restraining hand, and he saw how the stricken look had gone from Govon’s face to be replaced with one of outraged determination. The prince nodded, releasing him.

‘Commander Govon!’ Legolas called out. ‘Commander, attend me.’ 

‘I do not believe this!’ Govon heard the prince’s visitor hiss. ‘You have actually called the guards on me? On me?’

‘My prince?’ Govon made his voice calm as he hurried to the front of the tent. ‘How may I serve?’

‘Come in, Commander.’

Govon tried to behave normally, but it was difficult not to stare at Legolas, almost impossible not to ask if he was all right. The prince was flushed and shaking, his dilated eyes glittering with rage and fear and he extended an imperious hand towards the tall, hooded figure who was turned away from him.

‘One of our guests from Imladris missed his way and now requires an escort to the bridge. Will you see that this happens?’

‘At once, your highness.’ Govon turned to bow towards the guest, who was still hiding his face. ‘After you, lord,’ he said, holding open the flap of the tent.  
Outside, he saw Tharmeduil a little way off, now, talking to Canadion. Seeing him, Tharmeduil came over, bringing Canadion with him. Legolas’ guest, meanwhile, turned his back.

‘Govon, don’t you have a report to make?’ Tharmeduil asked, his tone curious but something in his eyes making Govon aware that the prince had a plan.  
‘Indeed, my prince, but I am escorting a guest to the bridge first…’

‘Oh, I’m sure Canadion will do that for you, if it’s a duty you can swap?’

‘I would be happy to serve, my prince,’ Canadion said, and Govon briefly wondered if telling his command to do anything Tharmeduil asked of them had really been such a good idea.

‘Then thank you, Canadion, please ensure our guest arrives safely on the far bank of the river.’

‘This way, my lord.’ Canadion presented himself at the hooded elf’s side, and smiled at him under long lashes and downcast eyes. ‘If you will permit the liberty, I do so admire the stature of the Noldor…’

Govon shook his head as Canadion moved off, solicitously attentive of his charge.

‘Tharmeduil, I don’t know what you think you’re doing….’

‘That’s fine, since I know exactly. To the second.’ Tharmeduil grinned and began to back away. ‘And it’s now that you go in and look after my brother while I make sure the next thing happens at the right moment… go on – hurry up, there is some cuddling that has to happen in the near future. Go!’

He waited for Govon to disappear into Legolas’ tent before he lifted his hand to his head, allowing himself to feel the pain he’d been trying to ignore since first he realised that tonight was the night Legolas was visited by the ghost of his past. Tharmeduil had read and written and drawn so much of the night’s events, but with each second, more was unfolding and keeping track of it all was straining his reserves… one last thing, though, and then he could go to his tent and sleep… but the timing had to be prefect, the wording exactly right…

He located Thiriston Cut-Face near one of the cook fires, prodding hopefully at a cooking pot that might contain something vaguely stew-like. He paused, waited for Thiriston to fill a bowl and eat a few mouthfuls, then he counted to five and stepped forward.

‘Thiriston, this isn’t a command or an order, but I thought you should know…’

‘My prince? Is all well?’

‘Canadion’s just volunteered to walk one of the Imladris guests back to their camp, only I’m a little worried; the elf was found in one of the tents, lost, I believe the explanation was, but your fëa-mate is very pretty and a little on the innocent side, and I’m slightly concerned about the guest’s intentions…’

Thiriston dropped his bowl, snatched up his cloak and almost ran towards the bridge.

The prince nodded and returned to his tent. Yes. That was it for tonight.

He pulled off his boots and lay down, covering himself with a blanket and sighing as the pain of his headache increased and a numbness spread through his left side. It would pass. It always did.


	81. Escort Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion escorts the mysterious elf back to his side of the river...

Canadion had to hurry to match his steps to the long, swift stride of the tall elf at his side. He glanced up, curious as to why he was hooded and hiding his face; perhaps he was embarrassed to have lost his way? Or perhaps he had been on his way to an assignation and had got the wrong tent by mistake?

‘Did you enjoy the dinner last night, my lord?’ Canadion tried again to make conversation; so far it hadn’t worked, and once more, there was no reply. He bit back a sigh; the silence made him uncomfortable. ‘I did; it was good to get an evening off duty and to spend it with those I usually serve… the princes are very approachable, for princes, do you not agree?’

There may have been a slight inclination of the hooded head; Canadion could not be sure.

‘Although I and my comrades felt a little… under-dressed… but that is our uniform for formal occasions since we are the Court Guard and we are Silvans; it is our tradition to wear our survivor scars as adornments. But I also admire the traditions of other elven cultures; I’ve a fair voice, they tell me, but not so fair as the minstrel who sang after the feast…’

They came to the bridge where two of Esgaron’s warriors were keeping guard. Canadion left the dark elf to approach and hail them.

‘Prince Tharmeduil has asked me to escort my lord of Imladris back to his encampment,’ he said.

‘Pass, Canadion. The others from Imladris went by a half-hour since… I hope your lord will not be looked for!’

‘Indeed,’ the second guard said, ‘what have you been doing with him?’

‘I? Nothing! The lord missed his way!’ Canadion said, hoping the dark elf hadn’t heard and hoping more that the guards didn’t repeat their suppositions to Thiriston… ‘I should not be long.’

Canadion rejoined the dark elf and nodded towards the bridge, flashing him a friendly smile.

‘I promised to see you all the way across, but it is not far now, my lord. You will soon be back amongst your cultured people and away from us wild wood elves!’  
He gave a little laugh and took a quarter step closer to his hooded companion, intrigued now about his identity. But the elf moved sideways to keep the distance between them the same. Canadion sighed. Without pushing the elf into the river, he could hardly move any nearer.

They arrived on the eyot, currently empty as the only guards were on the banks of the river, and something, perhaps a loose line from one of the pavilions, perhaps a loose rock or tussock, caused the dark elf to stumble.

‘Have a care, my lord!’ Canadion said, automatically reaching out to steady the elf, who reacted to the touch of Canadion’s hands by stopping and placing his own hands on the Silvan’s shoulders.

‘Are you all right, my lord?’

The elf sighed and shook his hooded head.

‘Can I help?’ Canadion asked, trying to surreptitiously peek into the darkness of the hood.

‘Perhaps.’ The elf slid one hand down Canadion’s spine, pulling him closer, his other had moving to grasp the back of the Silvan’s neck.

‘My lord!’ Canadion protested, trying to push away. ‘Let me take you back to your own people now.’

‘Not yet. What is wrong? I thought you claim to be a wild wood elf!’

‘Not quite so wild!’ Canadion gasped, trying to turn away as his head was pulled towards the shadowed face. ‘Please, you misunderstand…’

*

‘Have you seen Canadion?’ Thiriston asked the guards at the bridge.

One of them grinned. ‘Aye, he went by in company of a tall fellow from the other side of the river. They’ve not long gone; you should be able to catch up easily enough.’

‘Yes, the tall one didn’t seem to be in that much of a hurry!’

‘Seemed quite happy with his escort, too!’

Thiriston hurried on. He got maybe two thirds of the way across the eyot with no sign of either of the two elves; it worried him, as he had a clear line of sight across to the bridge at the far side of the eyot and Canadion should have been visible… Thiriston swallowed. The penneth wasn’t up to his old tricks again, was he?

From off to the left he heard his fëa-mate’s voice, quiet, urgent… or pleading? He headed off towards it, feeling the sick, cold dread of his insecurities building. He passed round the side of a pavilion and froze for a moment as he saw Canadion and the Imladris elf with their arms around each other.

A growl started deep in his fëa and he began to hurry, noting peripherally that, actually, Canadion was protesting and trying to push the other away. Any qualms he might possibly have felt evaporated and Thiriston leapt forwards to grab the taller elf’s shoulder and spin him round before burying his fist in the hooded face with the full weight of his rage and worry and insecurity behind his arm.

The elf dropped like a stone, landing in a crumpled heap of dark hair and long robes, and Thiriston stepped over him to place his hands gently on Canadion’s arms.

‘Are you hurt?’ Thiriston asked, and Canadion could feel the hands on his arms trembling with suppressed emotion.

‘No, I am not… I think… a misunderstanding...’

‘Is there anything you need to tell me? The guards on the bridge…’

‘I was asked to escort him home, that is all. I was… simply being friendly, but…’

‘He was lurking around our camp – someone found him in one of the tents, I heard… and Prince Tharmeduil was worried for you…’ Thiriston shook his head. ‘Ai, Valar! What have I done?’

Canadion put his arms around Thiriston and gave him a hug. 

‘You did what you always do - you saved me! Who is it, do you know? I couldn’t see, he kept his hood down…’

Thiriston knelt beside the figure and twitched the hood back, brushed the hair away.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘This is unexpected.’

‘Oh,’ Canadion added. ‘What should we do?’

‘Had he been drinking? If so, we could make it look like an accident…’

‘No, I don’t think he had… are we going to be in trouble?’

Thiriston shrugged. ‘Aren’t we always?’ 

The figure on the ground stirred, groaning. Canadion’s eyes widened in fright, but Thiriston shook his head.

‘Be calm, Canadion. Go back, if you like. I’ll sort this out.’

‘No, I’ll stay with you.’

‘Very well. Let’s help him up, then.’

Thiriston supported the elf on one side and Canadion the other, and they eased him into a sitting position. Canadion winced when he saw the bloody mess Thiriston had made of the formerly- well-arranged features.

‘Are you all right, my lord?’ Canadion asked tentatively as the elf prodded at the middle of his face with careful fingers.

Thiriston came to crouch in front of the fist-damaged elf, who seemed to recognise him as his attacker and flinched away. Before Thiriston could say anything, he began to speak.

‘I know what it must seem like, but I swear I did nothing, I assure you… ask him yourself… a mistake, a misunderstanding…’

‘What do you mean?’ Thiriston asked, glad he didn’t have to start apologising.

A pair of grey eyes examined him steadfastly, although one looked as if it would be closed and swollen before long.

‘You are not what I would have expected, I must admit, although, perhaps… you are old enough to know how to handle him, I suppose. But if you are what he wants…’ The elf sighed. ‘Can we let this go? Can we assume honour has been satisfied and perhaps not make mention of this? The repercussions… the embarrassment… Arwen and Iauron, my family and the Mirkwood princes…’

The two Silvans exchanged puzzled glances. Thiriston shrugged. The elf was probably dazed after the blow, but since he seemed to think he’d deserved to be knocked down, and since Thiriston thought the elf deserved it as well, who was Thiriston to argue with him?

‘I think we can keep the matter between ourselves, lord. It would seem you had an unfortunate stumble on your way home and messed yourself up a little…’  
‘It is true, lord, that you stumbled. And it is also true that we picked you up,’ Canadion pointed out. ‘We will be quite happy to forget what happened between the stumble and the picking up, if that is your will…’

‘Thank you!’ The elf exhaled heavily, with relief, Canadion thought, and tried to get to his feet. Canadion hastily helped him up. ‘I am happy to take this no further. I am a little unsteady; will one of you help me across to my people now?’

‘We both will,’ Thiriston said. ‘Just in case.’


	82. Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tharmeduil sees a new threat...

As soon as Govon returned to the tent, Legolas started speaking.

‘It was not my fault, I did not ask him here, I thought it was you and he just came in…’

The prince was staring, his eyes wild and there was such despair in his voice that Govon forgot about everything else and pulled Legolas into his arms, holding him close and pressing his head against his shoulder.

‘Hush, melleth-nin!’ he said softly. ‘It is over now.’

‘And I did not know what to do, he was here, Govon, he was here and he did not listen, he kept saying…’

‘I am sure I have told you about that lovely mouth of yours…’

‘Govon, I…’

‘Ai, finally, you stop talking and I can kiss you!’ Something made Govon hesitate, though, made him ask. ‘That’s if I may kiss you?’

‘If you want to, after…’

‘Of course I want to. You are my fëa-mate and I love you and it has been a long day without you. I am sorry I was late; it is my fault you were inconvenienced.’

‘Inconvenienced…?’

‘You were not harmed? Because, if so, I will ignore all Tharmeduil’s warnings that I must not know who this is and I will find out and deal with him… or perhaps it would be better if I dealt with him first and then found out who has so distressed you…’

‘No, I am not hurt. And it is not your fault… if anyone’s, it is mine, perhaps…’

‘Of all things, this is what I like the least – that you have been made to feel responsible. You are not.’ Govon shifted to take Legolas’ face between his hands and kiss him lightly, kindly. ‘We will talk later, once you feel safe again.’ 

He released his hold so he could take his fëa-mate’s hands in his own. ‘But I need to admit something to you first – I heard much of what passed, I was outside and your brother Tharmeduil also. He would not let me come to you sooner…’ 

Govon could not keep the frustration out of his voice or the annoyance from his face. He thought he saw a smile start in Legolas’ eyes and echoed it with one of his own as the prince replied.

‘My brother has become quite insistent, at times, where his visions are concerned. You’re sure you do not think it my fault?’

‘Of course not. Are you feeling better yet?’

Legolas nodded and sat down, not letting go of Govon so that the commander was pulled down with him. The prince reached out and slowly tugged at the lacing on Govon’s tunic to unravel the slipknot holding it closed.

‘I think I would feel even more so, were you to hold me, melleth?’

‘And even though there is nothing wrong with me, I think I would feel better, too.’ Govon smiled and began to work on Legolas’ own fastenings. ‘And, besides, Tharmeduil said he saw cuddling… in this, I have no argument to make with him…’

*

‘No! No, do not shoot…! Do not…!’

Tharmeduil woke with a start, his own voice ringing in his ears and reached for the notebook he always kept close. While he slept, his head had begun to clear and now he saw all the connections, all the places of contact and the chances of missing links, his mind popping and fizzing and burgeoning with colour and shape and words, and suddenly he realised to his horror what it was; there had been something missing, something he had assumed, but hadn’t seen or recorded; he had been so utterly focused on changing events so that he would see it, that he hadn’t considered the possibility that the reason he’d not drawn it, yet, was because it was too far ahead; he had thought everything had to line up, but now…

What if he was wrong?

What if…?

He scrawled and scribbled and new visions and shaped formed and he shook his head in dismay and tried to see past it, but the only thing he could see were the new patterns and this new, frightening sight, arrows arcing in the air towards the Mirkwood side of the river, and the more he tried, the harder it was and suddenly the red and black exploded in his head as all the potentiality mingled and flew apart and pain pierced him, a worse pain than any he’d experienced before, so that he couldn’t keep silent as everything clouded over and the pain grew, and grew and…

*

‘I won’t leave you unguarded again,’ Govon said softly. 

They had loved and talked and loved again, and now Legolas was draped across his body, relaxed and calm, and Govon felt the prince smile against his chest.  
‘It is a good thought. But you have your duties,’ Legolas said. ‘I will be more careful. Besides, I told him; it is done. He will not return.’

‘Nevertheless, we are too easy with security, and I can hardly tell Bregon and Esgaron that there is a threat from Imladris – they are still struggling with the idea of Tharmeduil’s dragons…’

‘Indeed, it is not a threat – it is simply that it had not been made clear to him. Now it has; I said that I have a fëa-mate…’ Legolas lifted his head to look into Govon’s eyes. ‘I never tire of saying it, or thinking it, melleth! Besides, I will not be caught alone and unawares again.’

‘I never thought, when I was bitten by spiders, that it would be a good day for my happiness,’ Govon said. ‘But I mean it; we will keep more of a guard on you – of all the court, perhaps, for it will look less that you are singled out if…’

Govon broke off as a scream ripped through the camp. It was wordless, agonized, and he had jumped up almost before he realised it, dislodging Legolas and reaching for his clothes. He stopped and sighed.

‘I said I would not leave you…’

‘You will not have to.’ Legolas began to pull on his own garments. ‘I’ll come with you. That’s Tharmeduil shouting.’

‘I thought so.’ Govon shook his head. ‘I am sorry for it. But he is trying too hard to order everything.’

‘I know. Are you ready?’

Tharmeduil’s tent was across the circle of the campsite, and there was already a bustle of people around. Nestoril was inside, trying to calm Tharmeduil and shoo away Esgaron’s watch sentries who had been alerted by the screams. Iauron was crowding her, Arveldir hovering. She looked harassed.

Legolas strode forwards and addressed the guards.

‘Thank you for your alertness. Please, return to your duties. Reassure your commanders that it is a matter for the healer, not the warriors.’

‘Govon?’ Nestoril spotted the Commander amongst the cluster of people. ‘Commander, he’s been asking for you.’

Govon nodded and briefly laid a hand on Legolas’ arm. ‘Your father needs to know, I think. Will you take your brother with you?’

‘Very well. Iauron! Will you come? Arveldir? Shall we leave the healer to her work?’

Govon joined Nestoril in Tharmeduil’s tent and knelt where the prince would be able to see him. The screaming had passed, and Tharmeduil was now muttering and twitching from time to time in a way Govon found difficult to witness.

Nestoril looked over the prince’s body at him and shook her head. Her eyes were tragic, and he realised how worried she was for Tharmeduil.  
‘Govon… where is he?’ the prince muttered. ‘We have to say to Govon that…’

‘You asked for me, my prince, and I am here,’ Govon said. ‘But allow the healer to help you, first.’

‘There is no help. It is lost. I was wrong. All is wrong… I have failed them, I have failed everyone…’

‘Hush, penneth,’ Nestoril said, stroking the prince’s hair. ‘You have failed no-one. Without you, how many lives would have been lost to the spiders? And if you were not blessed these visions, than all would have gone awry in any case… there is nothing you should reproach yourself for…’

‘Indeed, my prince. So much you have done to help us.’

‘I need to tell you, Govon. Before anything else happens…’

Nestoril rose to her feet. ‘I must prepare a draught for the prince. I will not be long.’

Once Nestoril had gone, Tharmeduil struggled to move.

‘Help me sit, will you? Pass me the paper.’

‘Of course.’ Govon supported the prince into a sitting position, pulling a travel trunk behind for him to rest against. ‘But I am not sure what Nestoril will say…’

‘She will say I should take the nice medicine and go to sleep, but if I do, I might lose this while I have a half chance to set it right…’ Tharmeduil tried to open the notebook and grimaced when his left arm refused to move. ‘Ai, I’m a little broken again… it passes, do not worry… Listen, Govon, I wanted to say – I may have been wrong…’

‘About the dragons, I hope? I do not care how wrong you are about any other thing, but if you are mistaken about them…’

‘No, sadly, they are still very real in the future… it is that… I saw that if you knew who it was that had visited my brother, if you spoke to this elf, then…’

‘I would have found it difficult to merely speak to him!’ Govon sighed. ‘But I would respect the wishes of my fëa-mate.’ 

‘You see, I saw that if he is …damaged, then it is reasonable to assume Imladris is less likely to be friendly towards us. And I see… I do not understand, and this is why I have been seeking… I see him, damaged, anyway now. And…’ Tharmeduil broke off. ‘I see Imladris, their warriors… and I cannot understand why, unless this is the cause… I may be wrong, but…’

‘What, my prince? What do you see?’

‘They are shooting. At us.’


	83. Chaperones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arwen and Iauron's chaperones have to find something to occupy themselves while their charges are away...

Arwen sighed as she looked across at Iauron. They were seated either side of a small table in the Imladris pavilion on the eyot under the watchful eyes of Advisors Erestor and Arveldir. A platter of fruit lay on the surface between them, goblets and a pitcher of water beside it.  
‘You don’t want to be here right now, do you?’ she asked.

‘No.’ Iauron echoed her sigh. ‘Not your fault, Gael.’

She smiled sadly at him. ‘How is your brother?’

‘I’ve never seen him this bad.’ Iauron shook his head. ‘He’s worse than he was in the night; he can hardly move his left arm… Nestoril’s with him, and your Healer Feril offered to help…’

‘My father’s sorry he couldn’t come. But he said something about how he doesn’t want to intrude, and Healer Feril, being your healer’s friend, is by far the better person to help. Besides, it seems everyone’s had accidents and… you don’t want to hear about that, though!’  
‘No – go on? It might take my mind of Tharmeduil…’

‘Well, after I went back to supper last night, Elladan went for a walk, and then Elrohir went out, too – next thing I know, word comes that Elrohir is back, but that he’d tripped over some tree roots, and then Elladan, who had managed to somehow injure his face, but the looks they were giving each other! I would not have been surprised if the pair of them had been fighting…’

‘Really?’

‘Except they hardly ever argue, but when they do it is a matter of pride to them never to admit it. And then Adar gave them a lecture about watching where they walked, which made them laugh because Adar had a fall from his horse, apparently, and his face is a bit of a mess today, also – and I think that’s really why he doesn’t want to go to your side of the river, he’s a bit embarrassed…’ She frowned, pondering the mystery. ‘So, obviously, the twins must have been fighting each other as Adar’s not going to be fighting with anyone, let alone my brothers!’

‘Oh, my adar fights with us all the time!’ Iauron said.

‘Really?’

‘Oh, not open hand fighting; sparring practice, swordsmanship, that sort of thing… he usually wins.’

‘Usually?’

Iauron grinned. ‘Almost always. One day, I’m going to tell him we let him win… not that he’d believe it…’

She smiled. ‘That’s better! I don’t like to see anyone looking sad – there’s been enough of that at home.’

‘I suppose there must have been… come on, let’s get out of here.’ Iauron extended his hand to her as he got to his feet. Their chaperones also rose.

‘My prince, what are you doing?’ Arveldir asked.

‘Indeed, our instructions are to oversee your meeting, Lady Arwen, and make sure nothing untoward takes place…’

‘Not that my prince would do such a thing,’ Arveldir added.

‘Nor does your father doubt your discretion, Arwen, but it is what has been agreed…’

‘Well…’ Iauron shrugged. ‘If you can keep up, you can come too. Or you can sit here with the fruit and have a nice conversation about whether the current trend to write contracts in Sindarin should be quashed and a return to formal Quenya instigated! Or whatever else you advisors like to chat about. Come on, Gael!’

*

Arveldir watched the two leave and turned to Erestor.

‘Personally, I do not wish to provide entertainment for Iauron by letting him lead me a dance across the plains… although if you feel the need to follow Arwen, I will, of course, assist.’

‘In all truth, I would prefer to talk further about the schedule… I do not mean to complain, but it has been noted that your party was later arriving than expected, and tonight is the formal exchange of gifts… I will understand if your prince is too ill for it to proceed, but Arwen has been so looking forward to it…’

‘Master Erestor, you say she has hand-made the gifts?’

‘Indeed, it has kept her busy, entertained and amused for many weeks now.’ Erestor’s eyes danced, although he kept his expression carefully controlled. ‘And some of the household, also.’

‘I would hope that Prince Tharmeduil will be well enough for the event. He recovers quickly from these bouts, and with two healers caring for him, all should be well. But otherwise, the gift ceremony could be brought forward to take place before Mirkwood feasts Imladris tomorrow night?’

‘That might be acceptable… Understand, no matter how much I may like an idea, it can take me a small while to let Lord Elrond believe he has thought it up for himself… Do you have such problems, Lord Arveldir?’

‘Alas, no; mine are of entirely a different nature!’ Arveldir sighed. ‘My king has too many ideas and is far too clever for his own good!’  
They shook their heads knowingly at each other.

‘Well, since we have lost our charges, would you like to go over the finer points of the timetable again together?’ Erestor suggested.

‘Could we?’ Arveldir said, brightening. ‘I happen to have a couple of bottles of very fine honey beer in my pack – we could requisition the fruit platter – the children obviously do not want it…’

‘There is a sheltered spot on the bank to the south on our side with a large, flat rock just perfect for spreading out large documents on… I have no other duties for several hours…’

‘Nor I.’ Arveldir smiled, feeling something very much like a rebellious leap in his heart. ‘You know, it is really rather nice to have someone to talk to who understands some of the pressures…’

‘Indeed, Arveldir; I have often wished for a little more support myself. Ai, I know what we need!’

‘An assistant each, Erestor?’

Lord Elrond’s formal and reserved advisor smiled suddenly. It made him look half his age and really quite attractive, and Arveldir found parts of himself sitting up and taking notice in a way previously entirely unsuspected.

‘A swim, Arveldir. Come. Fetch your beer, I’ll pack the fruit. It will do us good to have a little time off.’

*

‘What’s up with your brother?’ Arwen asked.

‘We don’t know, really. He has… insights into things. And sometimes, they give him headaches. Only lately, it’s been getting worse and… Our mother died of something similar.’ Iauron broke off, shaking his head. ‘Adar is worried about him. Well, we all are…’

‘It’s a pity. I like Tharmeduil.’

‘Arwen! You told me the other day you liked Legolas… now you tell me you like my other brother! It’s a bit worrying, you know!’  
‘What, jealous already?’ She smiled. ‘Look at it this way; at least you know I’ll get on with them once we’re…’

‘Once we’re what? Married? You’ll do it, you’ll come back to Mirkwood and live in the caves and put up with spiders and everything?’

She nodded. ‘I can’t think of any reason why not. And a couple of very good reasons why I should.’

‘What reasons?’

‘I like your brothers, of course!’

‘Arwen!’

She leaned in and placed the smallest, lightest of kisses on his cheek.

‘I like you more, of course,’ she said.

‘Yes?’ he said, turning to offer his mouth. ‘How much more?’

‘Enough,’ she said, and covered his face with her hand, pushing him away with a laugh. ‘But not so much as yet. Now, what do you want to do next?’

‘Something you don’t seem interested in, sadly.’

‘Not at present. Come, we’ve got forever ahead of us, Iauron. I’d rather not have a lecture from Father…’

‘Oh, you get them too, do you? Does he say he always expects to be disappointed…?’

‘No. He just gets very sad and says he knows it is only because I do not have my mother to guide me… and that makes it worse.’

‘Well, I’d better prove I can be responsible for once and get you home before we’ve been gone too long for decency’s sake. Shall we head back to our chaperones?’

But when they got to the pavilions on the eyot, there was no sign of the advisors.

‘Ha! They could have left us the fruit!’ Iauron grumbled. ‘I suppose if I take you back without Erestor, he’ll get into trouble…’

‘Possibly. Father isn’t in the happiest of moods today… and Erestor does try to help; I wouldn’t like to cause difficulties for him.’

‘Come on. Let’s have a walk round the eyeot, see if there’s any sight of them from there.’

The river Langflood ran straight for many leagues across the plains, but for all its straight path, still, it undulated. The banks curved out and in, reflecting the river’s younger energies, and when Iauron stared down southwards, a large sweep of the west bank hid a short expanse of the lower reaches from view. But on the bank, he could see what he thought looked like a discarded robe. 

Well, it was a very warm day after all.

Iauron wandered slightly to the east of the eyot, altering the angle of the protruding bank and caught a glimpse of two figures stretched on a little beach at the riverside.

‘I can’t see them anywhere to the north,’ Arwen said, coming up. ‘I think… Oh! Is that they?’

Iauron quickly put his hand in front of Arwen’s eyes.

‘Let us pretend it is not they, it is a trick of the light and let us assume our advisors are safely indoors somewhere discussing the deplorable state of modern document-draughting, shall we?’ he suggested.

‘I have a better idea,’ Arwen said tugging his hand away with a giggle. ‘Let us go and steal their clothes while they are…busy. It will be much more amusing.’

*

Arveldir smiled at the sky. Yes, the large, flat rock had been ideal for spreading out documents on… and clothing, and bodies, for that matter. 

The day had taken a very unexpected turn of events, and Erestor’s long, lean body resting over his, Erestor now sighing into his hair as he began to try to disengage, had been a delightful experience.

The only thing being, now what?

‘A good question.’ Erestor raised himself on his elbows and his rich brown eyes gazed down into Arveldir’s face. ‘Where you thinking, perhaps, of a swim? Or more beer? Or was it a more existential question?’

It was said lightly, too lightly, and Arveldir answered with care.

‘Forgive me; I had not realised I had voiced my thought. A swim would be practical.’

‘And fun?’ Erestor said. He sighed again and there was a tension in his eyes that had not been there before.

‘Yes, and fun. You are allowed to have fun, on your own time, I hope, Erestor?’

‘Indeed, and I enjoy my job so there are moments of fun there, too. Particularly when Arwen is pushing the boundaries and her father doesn’t notice…’

Mention of Arwen and Elrond made Arveldir flinch. ‘There is something I should say to you, Erestor, and now might be a good time to do so…’

‘Oh? What is it? Mention of your lovely wife and six little elflings who are missing their Ada?’

‘No, for I would not have lain with you had I any at home; it would not be fair to you or to them… there is no-one to miss me.’

‘But that is very sad,’ Erestor said.

‘One grows accustomed. Now, what of your own elflings?’

‘Indeed, apart from the children of the families of Imladris who I sometimes teach, there are none. So what is this thing you would say? I hope it will not spoil the plans I have been turning over?’

‘You have been making plans?’

‘I am an advisor, Arveldir; I am always making plans… No; it occurred to me that Arwen, when she joins the household of Mirkwood, will be lacking all familiar faces. No doubt she will wish to bring a handmaid or two, but I thought that the presence of her father’s advisor, for a few months, might ease her transition…’

‘An excellent thought! Of course, Elrond will wish to see his daughter, and my prince will no doubt travel with her and the presence of King Thranduil’s own advisor might be useful on such occasions…’

‘Good.’

‘Excellent. I daresay, if we were to put our minds to it, we could spend significant lengths of time together at one or other house without distressing our relevant employers… if the thought pleases you, Erestor?’

‘it does indeed please me. But there is one thing, still, troubling me… what do you wish to speak of?’

‘Ah. It is delicate.’

‘And so you wait until I am unclothed and vulnerable?’

‘No; I wait until we are both unclad and there is something between us which makes it less likely for you to take offence… and, indeed, it is not about you or about me…’

‘What, then?’

‘Last night, something transpired in our camp… there is rumour upon rumour, and only held at bay because our prince is ill… but word will out…’

‘There are rumours enough on our side of the river, too, but proceed?’

‘An elf – not one of our own – found his way into one of the tents where… his presence was unwelcome…’

‘And you seek to accuse one of my companions? I can account for the whereabouts of…’ Erestor fell silent, realising that there were several elves whose whereabouts he could not account for. ‘I fail to see…’

‘I do not accuse! All I have is rumour and wild tales!’ Arveldir said hastily, seeing Erestor withdraw into his professional attitude once more; it was a loss, a huge loss to see his mood change. ‘But he was not one of our own. If he is not yours, then there is a strange elf wandering our camp and you perhaps should warn your guard… and the point I wish to make is that I would like some way for us to be able to account for who is where at any given time. So that our guard know how many of our elves are visiting your camp, and how many from your camp are with us…’

‘I see. Well… with Arwen and Iauron running around all over the place, we could say it is to keep an eye on them… none need lose face, then, or feel accused or suspected…’

‘Or, indeed, threatened. But there is one thing more; I hear a tale that this elf – who may simply be an unfortunate wanderer – became injured as he was being escorted out of our camp…’

Erestor hissed in his breath. He had seen several damaged, unhappy faces that morning amongst Elrond’s household…

‘…the guards claim not to have recognised the individual – which backs up the supposition he was a stranger to us both…’

‘Or they may be trying to be discreet. Ai, Arveldir!’ Erestor rolled off the warm body beneath him and sat up. ‘This has been a pleasant interlude, but I think it is over…’

‘What is over, Erestor? For if my concerns have spoiled the day, I am sorry, but if they have spoiled more than that, it would deeply grieve me…’

Erestor held the gaze of the Mirkwood advisor, surprise growing in his face. He shook his head. ‘And me, also, Arveldir! No – I meant that now I at least must return to my duties and find a way to suggest we account for our people – I did not intend you to think I meant we were over – indeed, I find I hope this is just a beginning for us…’

Arveldir sat up so that his face was close to Erestor’s. ‘An opportunity to cement relationships between our two houses…’

‘…the start of a new era of friendly interactions…’ Erestor suggested.

‘…new levels of understanding…’

‘…and co-operation…’

‘...mutual respect…’

‘…to the satisfaction of…’

‘…all parties concerned…’ 

Their mouths met and, presently, they reached new levels of mutual satisfaction.

*

Arwen gently set down the robe she had lifted from the bank and began to back off. It was impossible to tear her eyes away from the sight of the two elves; what, from a distance, had looked like a clinch, now looked to be an act of slow and loving beauty and she lost all heart in the idea of stealing their clothes. She kept backing away until the rise of the land hid the two advisors from sight.

‘I couldn’t go through with it,’ she said, rejoining Iaruon. ‘I thought… well, you might have got the blame…’

‘True. It sounds much more like me than it did you. I suppose we’d better just start shouting their names…’

Arwen put her hand in his and led him away up the bank back to the bridge.

‘I think we should wait a while,’ she said.


	84. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which gifts - and insults - are exchanged...

‘…And the Lady Arwen has particularly requested that your elk be present, my king.’

‘Indeed?’ Thranduil’s expression was suddenly mistrustful. ‘And what reason is there for you to sound so joyful at the prospect, Arveldir?’

‘Forgive me, sire; I am in a good mood, that is all.’

‘And might a king who cares for the well-being of all who serve him enquire as to why this should be the case?’

‘Because Prince Tharmeduil has recovered so well as to be able to attend the gifting ceremony, of course!’ Arveldir said smoothly. 

Thranduil wasn’t fooled, but allowed it to pass. Sometimes it was better not to enquire too closely.

‘Continue. What else does Lady Arwen require of us?’

‘She would like the Court Guard to be present; she has gifts for them, also.’

‘Let them know. And remind them that it is a formal event: Paint will be worn.’

‘I am sure that will meet with approval, my king.’

‘Indeed, one wonders if Arwen knows this… Is there more?’

‘Simply the protocol. Elrond speaks first, Arwen’s gifts are explained…'

‘Explained? They require explanation?’

‘Quite, sire. And then you reply while Iauron presents our gifts to Imladris.’

‘Talking of which, there should have been two cases of honey beer as part of the presentation. I now learn that there is only one available…’

‘Having counted how many knights Lord Elrond has brought, that will suffice.’

‘Are the gifts sufficient? It seems to me that they may look insufficient?’

‘It is a long journey for both parties. More extravagant exchanges will come when Arwen arrives in Mirkwood. It is likely that their gifts to us will be less, when by rights they ought to be more; it would be rude to comment, however.’

‘Duly noted. And now I trust that really is all? Unless you care to explain the rumours to me?’

Arveldire froze, thinking guiltily about his stolen time with Erestor… and decided the wisest course was simply to ask: ‘Which rumours are these, my king? We have several currently circulating, all of which are guaranteed to amuse…’

‘I am particularly interested in any which may explain why Commander Govon will not let Legolas out of his sight today?’

Ah.

Sometimes Arveldir could get away with smooth half-truths and subtle changes of subject, but there were occasions when only the truth would do. Looking into Thranduil’s eyes and meeting the determination of both father and king there, Arveldir realised this was one of those times.

‘Govon was delayed on his way to deliver his usual evening report to the prince. He arrived in time to find Legolas in the throes of ejecting an intruder… Naturally, the commander was concerned that one of the court could be inconvenienced in this way and so he has been particularly alert today.’

‘Who was it?’ the king drawled, his voice iced silk and full of knives. ‘Who dared intrude on my son?’

‘We do not know; it would seem that nobody knows. Or, at least, nobody is willing to say. As a result, we are increasing the watch.’

‘And presumably you have liaised with Imladris about the matter?’

‘Indeed, I spent some time earlier today in company with Master Erestor…’

‘I know.’

‘Whilst chaperoning Arwen and Prince Iauron, my king…’

‘To begin with, at least.’ Thranduil’s face shifted fractionally into an amused expression. ‘Thank you, Arveldir. And now that really will be all.’

On his way to attend to the king’s wishes, Arveldir spotted Govon outside Prince Tharmeduil’s tent.

‘Have you been constantly on duty since yesterday, Commander Govon?’ the advisor asked. 

Govon shook his head. 

‘Not at all, Lord Arveldir. I had most of the night when I was not watching over the court.’

‘I understood Commander Esgaron was in charge of the watch, now we’ve established our camp here?’

‘New measures, my lord.’

‘I see. Well, I have new instructions for you from your king. The Court Guard is invited to attend this afternoon’s ceremony – as guests. His majesty expects paint to be worn.’

‘As my king pleases. I should alert my command to the honour that is before us. Excuse me.’ Govon nodded to the advisor, rattled the buckler outside the tent to announce himself, and entered.

The recuperating prince was sitting up, drawing, his left arm in a sling made of caul silk, and Legolas was with him, a notebook on his lap. 

‘I hope you’re feeling better, Prince Tharmeduil?’ the commander began. 

‘My thanks, yes, but it’s Legolas you really want to speak to.’ 

 

‘Govon, what’s this?’ Legolas asked.

‘All the Court Guard is invited to the gifting. We are ordered to decorate ourselves for the occasion. I need to inform my command, but that 

means there is no-one watching the tent…’

‘Legolas will be quite safe here with me for an hour,’ Tharmeduil said. ‘Although, if you want him to help, I’ll be fine by myself, too. Nestoril will be here any minute.’

‘Of course I’d like to help you,’ Legolas said.

‘And I would like your aid, my prince, but it might look better if you stayed with your brother…’

‘I’m past caring about the look of things, melleth!’ Legolas set down the notebook and rose to his feet. ‘Lead on!’

*

Govon fetched the warrior paints from his tent and called his command to him, Legolas at his side. Once all had assembled, he told them of the honour awaiting them.

‘Since we have done this before, there is no need to hide while we ready ourselves – unless we are suddenly become shy…’

Grins answered him and Tinuon began stripping. Soon, all were divested of tunics, jerkins, shirts. Legolas noticed Thiriston wincing as he   
pulled his right arm free of his shirt and he saw a strip of caul silk around the large elf’s hand.

‘Govon? Has Thiriston a new survivor’s injury to mark today?’ 

‘It’s nothing, my prince,’ Thiriston said. ‘An unfortunate collision…’

Govon came across. ‘You should have said, Thiriston! An injury such as this might affect your ability to defend the court… you can tell me later what happened.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I have the feeling I do not want to know, and yet at the same time, I might enjoy the tale…’

While Thiriston was busy trying not to growl at his commander, Legolas approached Canadion, speaking softly, quietly.

‘Were you hurt?’

‘My prince, whatever makes you think…?’

‘I know Thiriston protects you. I know there was someone in the camp last night… I am simply worried about my distant cousin, and seeing Thiriston has damaged his hand at such a time suggests you were put at risk. If this is my fault, I am most sorry…’

‘My prince, I…’

‘Legolas.’ Govon came across and laid his hand on the prince’s arm. ‘None of this is your fault. Canadion, if I’d known, I’d not have swapped the duty with you. Really, are you well?’

‘It was nothing, I am sure. A misunderstanding. Please, do not make so much of it! Thiriston had an unhappy incident; he hit his hand on something hard, that is all…’

‘Indeed, the faces of the elves of Imladris are very hard, at times,’ Govon murmured. He shook his head. ‘My prince, if you are going to help me, we should get on?’

*

The two parties assembled on the eyot, the facing sides of the pavilions opened and reordered so that the two were made into one large, covered space. Across the length of the Mirkwood pavilion were ranged the court, the Court Guard and the elk Nelleron in the care of a couple of Bregon’s honour guard. To one side, the rest of the warriors were seated, providing an audience.

Prince Tharmeduil had recovered enough to take his seat in the pavilion, although he needed support and his left leg dragged. His left arm was still in a sling, but he looked grimly determined to participate in the ceremony. He sat with Healer Nestoril to his left and Prince Legolas to his right; the King and Iauron were seated a little in front of the rest, and they faced the assorted and arranged knights and lords of Imladris.

Govon, standing with his command behind Legolas, Tharmeduil and Nestoril, tried not to gawp and boggle and stare at the condition of some of the Noldor. Arwen looked very lovely, in a blue and cream beaded gown with demure neckline and modest hems, but nobody except Iauron had eyes for her, and even then, he was distracted by Elrohir, Elladan and Elrond, all of whom seemed to have suffered unfortunate collisions with something hard, determined and possibly fist-shaped.

Arveldir was in his element, making announcements and pronouncements, reading the proper words and waiting for Erestor to reply for Imladris… it was all very formal, and it gave Govon plenty of time to look at the black eyes, swollen noses, and split lips that not even elvish healing could mend in time for the ceremony. He amused himself by thinking of the size and shape of Thiriston’s fist, trying to work out what injury could have most probably be caused by the impact of said fist… factoring in the different heights of the injured elves, the probably angle of strike, the damage to Thiriston’s hand…

And suddenly, as he realised who was the prime suspect and looked across for any kind of confirmation, a pair of grey eyes, one of them more black than grey, sought to fix on Legolas and Govon _knew…_

It was all he could do to remain still and control the anger and rage that blossomed in his heart, and he realised he would not be reprimanding Thiriston for anything except for not punching harder…

But now he had to drag his attention back to the business in hand.

The Lord of Imladris had stepped forward and was making a speech, his voice slightly thicker than usual, about the importance of friendship between different elven strongholds. He spoke of his admiration for King Thranduil’s rule, remarked that Mirkwood, for all the tales, was somewhere he felt his daughter would be safe… Thranduil replied, and then Arwen’s gifts were brought forward.

‘For your most gracious majesty, the Lady Arwen has spent many weeks of work designing and creating this… magnificent example of her diligence,’ Erestor announced, keeping his face entirely serious as he snapped his fingers for servants to bring forward an intricate, colourful, highly-improbable cushion. ‘It is known that the throne of Mirkwood is hewn of stone, and the Lady Arwen is keen to add to the comfort of your kingdom, great king.’

Thranduil inclined his head and waved an idle hand. Only once all the gifts had been presented would he speak.

‘For the comfort of the Royal Princes in the cold of winter…’

More examples of Arwen’s diligence were forthcoming; a set of cold weather wear for each of the princes; ear warmers, mittens, scarves and hats, all in toning shades. Tharmeduil began to laugh, but fortunately, the Imladris side of the tent thought he was coughing, and the looks they gave him were pitying rather than offended.

‘And remembering the healer’s needs, also…’

For Nestoril, Arwen had fashioned a shawl. It was, when held up, quite astonishingly pretty when compared to what had passed before. 

Worked in white and the same pale blue that Nestoril used for her head-rails, it was a delicate filigree of white snowflake motifs all held together with pale blue, and Nestoril forgot any protocol there may have been by calling out: ‘My Lord Arveldir! Please pass on my thanks to the Lady Arwen for so thoughtful and lovely a gift!’

‘That’s done it now!’ Tharmeduil whispered to Legolas. ‘Everyone else is going to have to gush about their gifts, too!’

Erestor was looking at Arveldir now as he introduced the gift Arwen had made for the Mirkwood advisor.

‘A case for keeping together all one’s quills and writing implements. I may say, I have one myself and it is forever a reminder of Lady Arwen’s thoughtfulness…’

Arveldir, trying to follow the proper protocol, bowed.

‘And finally, gifts for the Court Guard who have made such an impression on us…’

Servants brought forward bows, not just any bows, but long, strong bows which would have a vast range and which were exactly what Govon had realised he needed to keep dragons at bay. That the bowstrings were fashioned from lengths of crochet in differing shades of green mattered not a jot; he abandoned his place with almost a whoop of joy and reverently picked a bow from the pile, testing the pull of it. Even with the atrocious stringing, it felt powerful, perfect. His command followed him, and soon he was surrounded with happy elves all trying the bows.

Arveldir cleared his throat and Govon glanced up. He swallowed, realising he’d just spoiled the entire formality of the event as his painted warriors milled around.

Not knowing how else to rectify the situation, he looked towards Arwen and dropped to one knee facing her for a moment before standing tall again.

‘My lady,’ he said. ‘These bows are the very thing I have been wishing for since we came out from the shelter of the forest. Your gift honours us!’

Arwen smiled and nodded, and Govon allowed himself and his warriors to be ushered back to their places, leaving the bows with the other gifts.

‘The Lady Arwen has one more thing to bestow. Knowing that not all servants of the King of Mirkwood are elves, she has fashioned, for the elk Nelleron, a specific gift has she crafted for him, knowing that the antlers of elks lose their velvet coating and wishing for him not to be cold in the winter…’ Erestor could not believe he was saying this – did not everyone know that elks shed their antlers every year, and then regrew them? Arwen’s gift to Nelleron was about as useful as crocheted bowstrings… ‘She has made special covering for his head-set…’  
‘I can’t wait to see if it fits!’ Arwen exclaimed, and so the elk was led forward and held while two servants tried to fasten the elaborate crochet in place. Arveldir, seeing the elk not entirely happy with proceedings, hastened to the bridle and fed the animal dried blackberries until the job was done.

The work was made up of all the odds and ends of wool left over from Arwen’s other projects. Formed of two pieces for each side, there were gaps for the points of the antlers to slide through while the palmate sections of the elk’s head-set were covered with the crochet which tied beneath. Each tie was finished with a silver or a gold bell, and when the garment was installed, and the servants stepped away, Nelleron shook his head and was rewarded by the shrill ringing from the ties. Unnoticed, Thranduil covered his eyes with his hand and shook his head.

‘Magnificent!’ Erestor said, but he was looking at Arveldir’s profile when he said it.

After that, the presentation of Iauron’s gifts was a little anticlimactic. Two bottles of the best Dorinion wine for Elrond, a pair of the distinctive white knives of Mirkwood each for the twins… for Arwen, Iauron had a silver bracelet and several balls of wool. Erestor was given a set of quills while Healer Feril was delighted with the gift of two cauls of spidersilk. The crate of honey beer for the rest of the dignitaries was acknowledged, but from one or two expressions on the faces of some of the knights, they looked to be a little disappointed.   
Formal proceedings concluded and it was time to mingle. Govon lost no time in addressing Iaruon.

‘My prince, will you let me speak to your Lady? I wish to ask about the bows…’

‘All right. You did well out of this, didn’t you?’

‘Indeed!’ Govon laughed. ‘The very thing I needed! Although I think Nelleron has come out of this with by far the finest gift!’

‘Arwen, here’s Commander Govon,’ Iauron grinned. ‘You’ve made him a very happy warrior.’

‘I’m so pleased you like the gift, Commander!’

‘My lady, I cannot begin to express… I will have my warriors begin practicing with them tomorrow… but I wished to say – bowstrings wear swiftly, and these which you have made are the heart of this gift. With your permission, we will restring the bows and keep these you have bestowed upon us as tokens of your thoughtfulness, to make them last the longer and stay bright. If that is well with you?’

‘I had not thought, Commander – but you’re right, of course. Bowstrings do not last. Do whatever is best for you.’

‘My lady is most gracious.’ 

He bowed and turned away, intending to return to his place by Legolas, but he found Thranduil waiting to intercept him.

‘You know, do you not?’

‘My king?’

‘Come, do not pretend, not now, not here. You know who harmed my son – the same intruder the camp is talking about when nobody else is listening.’

‘I have my suspicions, sire.’

‘As do I.’ Thranduil sighed. ‘Perhaps now is not the moment. Spend all the time you need with my son. Consider this an order.’

‘Yes, my king.’

But Thranduil had already moved on. He went to stand with his elk, stroking the soft muzzle.

‘We will have you back in your lodgings and free of your finery soon, mellon-nin, do not fear.’ He smiled to himself. ‘Bells, indeed!’

‘Indeed.’ The clear, clipped voice of Elrond sounded just behind the king. ‘Arwen was most diligent in researching the meaning of the beast’s name…’

‘I regret to inform you, she is mistaken. It comes from the Quenya for ‘brook’; Nelleron is an exceptional jumper, over water. Arwen has worked hard.’ Thranduil paused. ‘But we were not aware that Imladris had fallen on such hard times…’

‘Hard times?’ Elrond echoed.

‘Indeed – to learn that your coffers are so empty you would have your only daughter hand-craft her own dowry is almost distressing…’

‘We have no lack!’

‘I am pleased to hear it,’ Thranduil said. ‘And you are modest enough not to flaunt your wealth, how refreshing.’

Across the pavilion, Arveldir and Erestor both became aware of the drop in temperature at the same instant.

‘Is there never a moment’s peace?’ Erestor said, heading towards his lord.

‘Not for the wicked,’ Arveldir replied, hurrying after him. ‘My king? Might I ask for a moment of your time…?’


	85. Diplomats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erestor and Arveldir try to sort out the mess their lords are making...

Erestor arrived at the Mirkwood side of the river to find himself stopped by the guards.

‘It is our king’s wish not to permit Imladris admission at present. We are sorry for it, but the king is the king.’

‘Then perhaps Lord Arveldir is available? I need to speak with him.’

‘He will be sent for,’ the guard said, and nodded to the second guard who nodded and left. A replacement arrived almost at once while Erestor kicked his heels and fumed silently.

Some few minutes later, the first guard returned, bringing Arveldir with him.

‘Lord Erestor? My king has granted me permission to speak with you, but has ordered me not to cross to the Imladris side of the river. And so if you would be happy to accept the eyot as neutral territory, I will be pleased to give you all the time you need.’

‘Good. That is to say, my thanks.’ Erestor nodded, turned on his heel, and marched back to the eyot. The guards exchanged worried glances.

‘Do you require an escort, Lord Arveldir?’ one asked.

‘No, all will be well. But it may take me some time to calm the ruffled feathers of Imladris. And, for that matter, for Lord Erestor to soothe the troubled breast of Mirkwood. Do not worry if I am some time gone.’

That said, he followed Erestor across the bridge and into the still-conjoined pavilions, trying to hide his smile.

Erestor had taken a seat at a small table and gestured Arveldir to sit opposite him.

‘I suppose we need to deal with our respective lords as a priority…’ Erestor sighed. ‘I do not wish to cause further offence to the house of Mirkwood, but what in the name of all the Valar was your king thinking? Suggesting Imladris had fallen on hard times…’

‘I think he was thinking nobody makes his elk wear bells and gets away with it…’

Erestor ducked his head, smiling.

‘Erestor, you and I, we have our work to do. The reason my king and your lord keep us is because they need advice. They are not perfect; they are flawed. And whatever you may feel you must say about Mirkwood, I will not take it personally… nor, I hope, would you be offended if I were to criticise Lord Elrond, for example.’ Arveldir sighed. ‘And I suppose it is partly my fault that Thranduil spoke as he did; I had mentioned that it is as difficult to bring a wealth of dowry gifts over the mountains as it is to fetch them through Mirkwood… that there would likely be an apparent disparity of gifts, and indeed, I suggested it would be rude to comment in such a case…’ Arveldir sighed again. ‘I practically invited King Thranduil to be discourteous!’

‘Perhaps – but I am sure he did not do so simply for entertainment! Could it really be because his elk was dressed in crochet?’

Arveldir hesitated.

‘Arveldir? Come, for the sake of the friendship between us, if we are to help these two fools not to ruin the chance of a most advantageous match for the young people who really seem to like each other…? Is it the incident of the unwelcome guest?’

‘I fear it may be. It seems there is more to the tale… although it is difficult to get a straight answer and even I have found it difficult to piece together any kind of coherent story… Nelleron’s bells were merely the catalyst for Thranduil to express his anger at events he seems to know about but is unwilling to publicise… Now, I do not know precisely what the nature of these events are…’

‘…but you could guess. And I could guess. But perhaps we are better off not guessing!’ Erestor tried a smile. ‘And yet, if I may speak frankly, I think there is more to this. Relations have been… I would have said ‘strained’, but ‘non-existent’ is probably closer to it – ever since your Prince Legolas returned home…’

This was why Arveldir seldom wore braids, so that at moments like these he could push his hands through his hair in frustration without catching himself. He did so now, his fingers furrowing across his scalp.

‘You may be right. Although it is old history, and however I recount the tale from our perspective, it will sound like an accusation, but I fear it has lain heavy on Thranduil’s heart all these years…’

‘Better I hear it than Elrond, perhaps?’

‘Our prince left us in good spirits, looking forward to the prospect of seeing new faces and meeting new people. He was escorted by four or five warriors; the way, as you know, is long and dangerous. While the king was surprised when Legolas begged to extend his visit, he was pleased to agree, for his son sounded happy. So to have him return, barely six months later, alone and despondent, to see him walk like a shadow amongst us for almost a year after… it would break any father’s heart, I think. He would never say what had caused his sorrow – at least, I think if he had, there would have been letters for me to write and perhaps even threats to issue, for my king was most worried about the prince… I was privy, however, to some of the king’s thoughts on the topic. He was outraged that Legolas had been permitted to come alone, that no messenger hawk had been dispatched so that Thranduil could, at least, have sent a troop out to meet him…’

‘We did not know he had left!’ Erestor protested. ‘And our side of the tale is different… Your prince was welcomed amongst us. He settled well, he was friends to Elladan and Elrohir and courteous to Arwen. In fact, at one point, it seemed she quite liked him but… then the way she looked at him changed. Even so, she spoke up in support of the suggestion your prince stay longer with us… And he seemed happy enough. He rode with the twins and he spent time in the library with Elrond and he walked with Arwen and stopped her being completely bored… true, he had mood swings…’

‘Our prince? He has always been most even-tempered…’

‘I can only say how it seemed to me. But one day he would be full of joy and brightness, and the next he would seem… perhaps timid is the word. Shy, maybe. Restrained. You would think, perhaps as one might be if a parent reprimanded them… I do not, at this distance, know how else to express it.’  
‘It does not sound likely; I must admit, all King Thranduil’s sons are used to being scolded…’

‘Be that as it may. One morning, he had arranged to go riding with Arwen, but did not meet her as agreed and it was found that his room was empty and his horse gone.’

‘And did you not seek him?’

‘My lord suggested perhaps there had been a disagreement and the prince did not wish to be found, that he had removed all his belongings out of some notion to worry whoever he had quarrelled with. By the time we realised he had not simply ridden out for the day, it was too late to do more; it was late autumn and a storm closed in on the valley…’ Erestor shook his head. ‘And hearing myself say that, I wonder how I could have permitted it? Why was I swayed by the arguments presented at the time, why did I not say: if the storm is too bad for us to ride out, surely it is too bad to be caught out in if you do not know the mountains well? Yet I did not, and I am ashamed…’

‘Erestor!’

‘I know. The next day, of course, when Legolas did not return, Lord Elrond himself rode out after him, but there was no trace; the storm had washed away any tracks there may have been. I do not know why messenger hawks were not sent; perhaps my lord felt ashamed that we had lost the prince. Indeed, I do not know why more effort was not made to seek him. When I learned he had returned safely, I was most pleased to hear it!’  
‘How did you hear? For I know the king did not write to Elrond as originally planned; since the sons of Elrond could have ridden back with our prince to bear him company on the road, and since Legolas had returned so unhappily, King Thranduil did not extend the anticipated invitation to Imladris…’

‘From Arwen. Legolas wrote briefly, I understand, to say he was home safely, that he knew she would have worried, for she had been his friend, but that all was well. I think the message came with a company of dwarves that were travelling in search of work.’ Erestor shrugged. ‘I realise that it looks as if Imladris has behaved badly towards Mirkwood… and, indeed, when that first missive concerning Iauron’s interest in Arwen arrived, I was delighted that it seemed no offence had been taken…’

‘My king was most displeased to learn the letter had been sent; he had planned a more formal approach. I think, for his sons, my king is prepared to set many things aside. But I do not think he would value the well-being of one son over the happiness of another. I know he hopes your Healer Feril will be able to help Prince Tharmeduil, and for his sake, he has been prepared to let the past lie.’

‘And so instead of grabbing Elrond by the throat and asking him what he was doing, letting his son wander through warg-infested and orc-rich mountains alone, he casts aspersions on Lord Elrond’s generosity instead. Displacement activity…’

‘Yes. It is typical of my king that he will insult someone whose head he would like to rip from their shoulders… I have seen him truly angry, Erestor. He is most impressive.’

‘I see there is a deep wound somewhere between our two houses, and it has only the lightest of scars covering it. We must endeavour to keep our lords calm.’

‘Indeed, the slightest of things might exacerbate matters… Nelleron’s bells aside, I fear the full tale of the unwelcome visitor has not come out…’ Arveldir paused, looking into the deep brown eyes of the Imladris advisor. So much was at stake here! Not only Iauron and Arwen’s futures, but the whole nature of relations between the two houses… not to mention his nascent friendship with this wise, intriguing elf who seemed to intrinsically understand him so well… ‘The facts I can verify are these. Interpret them how you will. A dark-haired stranger was ejected from Prince Legolas’ tent. One of the Court Guard was asked to escort him home; the elf, so Legolas claimed, had lost his path. On the way, it seems the intruder stumbled into the guard… what passes next is… unclear. The guard who is, perhaps, an over-friendly individual and who, bear in mind, thinks only that this elf is lost – reacted by reaching out to steady him… the lost elf could have misinterpreted that friendliness and the gesture… but our Guard was… importuned upon, I gather, and only the arrival of another guard prevented matters from becoming unpleasantly confusing…’

‘And you do not know the identity of this individual?’

‘Indeed, it is cowardly of me, but I am at pains not to learn it. For then there would be no avoiding a confrontation… but if I add that one of our guards has a damaged hand today and several of your Imladris persons have damaged faces…’

Erestor shook his head. ‘I no longer wonder at your king’s insult; instead, I can only marvel at his restraint! Well, I will go back to my lord and tell him that if he insists on feeling insulted, then something may come out which will reflect very badly on Imladris… I will imply that Mirkwood will not want to ally with such a house…’

‘While I will implore my king to consider his sons’ future, if he insists on provocative dialogue… perhaps we can guide them into behaving better. Even if they will both insist that it is the other who needs to behave better…’

‘Thank you, Advisor Arveldir.’

‘It is a pleasure, Lord Erestor.’

‘Of course, we cannot possibly have reached this conclusion so swiftly – our respective lords might wonder whether we have given adequate thought to the matter…’

‘I concur; perhaps we need to wait awhile before returning to our relevant camps…’

‘I wonder how we should pass the time…’ Arveldir said.

Erestor reached out and lightly touched his hand.

‘We are two of the most renowned advisors in the land, known for our wealth of ideas. I am sure we will think of something…’


	86. Elk, With Bells On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nelleron objects to having his new gift removed...

‘We have been most fortunate,’ Govon said. The pile of bows, complete with green crocheted stringing, lay before him on a blanket. His command clustered round. ‘Lady Arwen has agreed that we may remove her hand-made bowstrings and, as long as we store them with proper respect, we can restring to our preferences without causing offence. I’d like you each to pick a bow and string it as soon as you’ve got the paint off yourselves. We’ll begin practice with these in the morning.’ 

He reached out to the pile and took the bow he’d first handled; it had felt right, perfect at the time and no less so now, the wood silking under his touch, the perfect blend of power and flex mingling in the shape and spring of its manufacture.

‘Esgaron’s command has the watch, Bregon’s guard are keeping the bridge. After the incident of the intruder last night, King Thranduil has ordered me to spend considerably more of my time guarding Prince Legolas…’ There were one or two smirks and sniggers. Govon sighed and allowed himself to grin. ‘Ai, it’s a terrible job, but someone has to do it… If you need me, look to the prince’s accommodations first. Bear in mind, while I’m beyond embarrassment, our royal family perhaps is not… Also, at the end of the gifting ceremony, there was an exchange of opinions between the two houses and so relations are a little strained at present… Advisor Arveldir and Master Erestor are meeting as we speak to try and smooth things over…’

‘What exactly happened?’ Hador asked. ‘I was helping Prince Tharmeduil walk out and the first I knew was when the King sprang up on his elk, galloped out of the pavilion, and took the river in one leap without bothering to use the bridge!’

Govon shook his head. He had his own ideas, of course, but it would be better not to share them with his command. But Tharmeduil’s vision of Imladris firing a storm of arrows over the river towards the Mirkwood encampment filled his mind. The prince had needed to share the vision, he’d explained, or it would have gone around and around inside his head and possibly make him ill – and he had specifically chosen Govon as his confidant.

‘I know you will not feel the need to share this, as perhaps my brothers would,’ he’d said. ‘Nor will I say anything, not before I know more about it. If either of the other commanders heard about it, if Adar got to know… But I know you can keep quiet, when you have to. And while we’re on the subject – there are some things you shouldn’t keep quiet about…’

‘But it is so difficult to know which is which, my prince…’

‘True. No mention of arrows, please, Govon. It’s important,’ Tharmeduil had finished, leaving Govon to fret about attacks from dragons and attacks from Imladris and kept his own counsel. 

Now he gave himself a little shake and tried to get back to the thread of the conversation.

‘I think it was the bells that did it,’ Tegolon was saying. ‘And nobody can get near the elk now, to remove the… gift from its antlers…’

‘Well, he’ll shed in the winter, antlers, gift, bells and all!’ Tinuon said. ‘I cannot believe that the Lady Arwen does not know this!’

‘Perhaps she has no need to,’ Canadion put in. ‘And if you do not know something, and do not know that you need to know it, how can you know where to go to seek the knowledge?’

‘Well, I am seeking to remove myself to my watch,’ Govon said. ‘You know where I will be, should you need me.’

‘Anywhere your prince is, Commander!’ Tinuon said with a grin. ‘And we’ll make sure we cough very loudly before we announce ourselves!’

 

But Legolas was not in his tent, nor was there any sign of Tharmeduil in his… that was a slight worry, for the prince had not recovered as well or as swiftly from his last attack as he had from previous ones; it could be he would be with Healer Nestoril, and Legolas with him…

A disgruntled bellow from the back of the camp where the horses – and the elk – were housed broke the air, and a crowd of voices rose up. Thinking he heard Legolas’ amongst them, Govon headed over. More disturbingly, he could hear Tharmeduil, his tones unusually loud and insistent.

‘Leave the elk alone! Lieutenant, stand aside! I see an elk, with bells on. So you must leave the elk as he is, do not…’

Govon sighed, and sprinted over.

Three of Bregon’s command were converging on Nelleron, who was staring down at them, the whites of his eyes showing. As they approached, the elk snorted and pranced, causing the bells on his crocheted head-set to shrill and bounce.

‘What’s going on here?’ Govon demanded.

‘Commander, we’ve orders from the king himself…’ the lieutenant stressed the pronoun, ‘to remove this decoration from his elk. The elk will not co-operate. And now our princes request we stop, but they are not the king and…’

‘I see.’ Govon glanced across to where Legolas had his arm under Tharmeduil’s shoulders and was holding him up. ‘Lieutenant Maedon, I know I have no authority over you, but I would ask… would you stand down for a few moments?’

‘But, the king…’

‘Moments only; I will take the blame, if there is any.’ Govon turned to Legolas. ‘My prince, will you give your brother into my keeping while you seek your father?’

‘Commander, I will,’ Legolas said. ‘Although I have already added my voice to my brother’s…’ 

‘Ai, two princes do not equal a king, you see.’ Govon placed himself to take Tharmeduil’s weight and Legolas hurried off to seek his father. ‘My prince?’  
Maedon gave a gasp, abandoning his ministrations to the beleaguered Nelleron.

‘The prince is injured! He is bleeding!’

‘So, if one of you would, please seek Healer Nestoril, I will keep watch on the elk.’ Govon glanced around, noting the unwilling expressions. ‘Come, for the sake of our prince who, as you see, is not well… it is a request, not an order…’

‘Forgive me,’ Maedon said, coming forward and helping Govon support Tharmeduil. ‘Go, both of you, seek the healer, seek a seat, a trunk… anything the prince can sit on or lean against; the elk is tied, he will not escape!’

Tharmeduil began to tremble and shake between them.

‘What should we do?’ Maedon’s panic made his voice plaintive.

‘Help lower him to the ground… on his side…’ Govon got down onto the grass beside the prince. ‘We can do nothing but watch him, now.’

The prince convulsed, Govon lightly restraining him, while Maedon looked for any sign of approaching help.

‘I see the healer!’ he said. 

Nestoril arrived, falling to her knees and taking Tharmeduil’s head onto her lap. ‘Oh, my poor, dear prince! What happened, Govon?’ 

‘Prince Tharmeduil was asking about Nelleron…’ Govon tried to be discreet. ‘And Maedon noticed he was bleeding. Then the shaking began…’

‘I see. Prince Tharmeduil? My prince?’ She shook her head. ‘Has it been going on for long?’

‘Just a few moments only, Healer.’

‘Good. Maedon, would you please bespeak me a bowl of water and a cloth – from anywhere will do. My thanks. Govon…’ Nestoril waited until Maedon had gone. ‘Govon, what brought this on?’

‘I think it is to do with Nelleron; the prince seemed determined the elk should not have its decorations removed… but I do not yet know why…’

‘What is this? What has happened to my son?’ Thranduil demanded, joining Nestoril and Govon on his knees beside Tharmeduil. The fit appeared to be passing, the convulsions slowing, stopping. ‘Should not you move him?’

‘Not while the fit is on him, my king,’ Nestoril said. ‘Ah. Maedon, thank you.’ 

She received the requested water and bowl from the lieutenant and began to gently wipe Tharmeduil’s face, soothing the blood away.

‘Maedon, my thanks for your attempts with Nelleron,’ Thranduil called out. ‘We will leave him as he is for now. You may return to your other duties.’

‘It’s something he’s seen, Adar,’ Legolas said. ‘He told me Nelleron is wearing that hat-thing when… well, when something happens. He got upset when he saw what the lieutenant was trying to do.’

‘Then my poor elk must remain decorated.’

‘I don’t think Nelleron minds, really,’ Legolas said. ‘He was fine until Maedon tried to take it off him. He likes the noise of the bells.’

‘Indeed? And do you speak elk, Legolas?’

The prince grinned. ‘Not as well as you, Adar.’

‘We can move Tharmeduil to his own tent now, I think,’ Nestoril said, putting an end to the discussion. ‘I will arrange for a stretcher…’

‘There is no need.’ Thranduil got to his feet, stooped to gather his son in his arms as if he were no burden at all, and nodded to the healer. ‘Lead on. Govon, do not forget your new duties.’

‘As my king wishes.’

‘What new duties?’ Legolas asked, his voice tinged with anxiety.

‘After events in the pavilion, the king has ordered me to – and I quote – ‘spend all the time you need with my son…’ He was not referring to Tharmeduil.’  
‘And do you find the need to spend much time with Iauron, Commander?’

‘None whatsoever, my prince, and you know it! As soon as I am out of my paint, I will attend you.’

Legolas smiled. ‘Could I perhaps help with that?’

‘I was going to wash in the river; there’s a place in the shallows…’

‘It sounds perfect. I’d like a swim, myself.’


	87. Suspicions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erestor begins to come to some uneasy realisations...

It had, perhaps, not been the most comfortable of places to lie, but the grassy ground in the pavilion was, at least, softer than the rocks of the riverside. Arveldir smiled as Erestor’s raven-wing hair drifted across his chest and he brought his arms around the slight, tight body, squeezing gently.

‘It’s getting dark,’ Erestor said, and there was a certain sorrow in his voice that made Arveldir’s heart grow heavy. ‘And I must return to my own encampment.’

Arveldir released his hold and the two slid apart, reaching in silence for abandoned garments.

‘We will meet tomorrow, at the feast.’

‘I hope so. Although I will try to find an urgent excuse to consult with King Thranduil’s advisor first, but…’

‘Indeed. But.’

‘I do not suppose… that is, I have not been requested to inform you but, in general I am asked to make sure it is known… Lord Elrond and his family do not eat meat.’

‘…What?’ Arveldir said faintly. ‘And Commander Esgaron has been hunting game through the plains since we arrived so that we may feast you with proper honour?’

‘Some of the household do eat meat; I myself, and most of the knights, at least when Elrond isn’t looking. But for himself and his children, he holds that meat is neither moral nor beneficial…’

‘But that is plainly rubbish! If we do not eat meat, we do not hunt. The populations of, for example, the deer we take for their venison would explode, supporting a corresponding explosion in the numbers of warg packs… it is the only way…’

Erestor stepped forward and silenced Arveldir with a soft, swift kiss.

‘Indeed. But our lord will not. And so, I am glad I have been able to warn you, I hope, in time…’

‘Yes. Thank you, Erestor.’

‘It must have been an oversight; I cannot see why else I would not be asked to inform you…’ For it was plainly unthinkable that Elrond should seek an excuse to feel offended, especially when King Thranduil seemed so ready to offer insult in any case… Erestor let it go. ‘But then, Prince Legolas would have known it; perhaps it was assumed that he spoke of the matter.’

‘I rather think our prince has more important things on his mind than the eating habits of Lord Elrond’s family,’ Arveldir said, his dry tone causing Erestor to laugh.

‘Indeed, and if it is so that he has been made unhappy at our hands… why would he wish to remember anything of us?’ He sighed. ‘I am sorry. I liked your young prince from the first, and I feel I should have taken better care of him.’

‘It is well; he has a fëa-mate now who seems to take very good care of him.

‘Does he so, indeed?’ Erestor’s eyebrow lifted in surprise. ‘I am very pleased to hear it, but it comes as a surprise…’

‘One of our warriors, no less. Commander Govon, of the Court Guard.’

‘He of the kilt? The one who was so delighted at the gift of bows?’

‘Yes, the same. They took vows only just before we left Mirkwood; it was thought that to make it publically known would be to minimise the significance of Lady Arwen and Prince Iauron’s betrothal, and perhaps be seen as disrespectful to the lady. Whatever my king’s opinion of your lord, he has no wish to hurt Arwen’s feelings.’

‘If you have the opportunity to do so, please pass on my best wishes to your prince for his future happiness.’

‘Of course.’

‘And now, Arveldir, I really must go; they will be sending out a search-party soon, otherwise!’

‘Take care, mellon-nin.’ 

Arveldir extended his hand to the other elf, and Erestor smiled broadly and folded his arms around him in an affectionate hug.

‘And you, also. I will see you tomorrow, one way or another.’

He didn’t look behind him as he exited the pavilion; had he done so, he doubted he would have been able to leave. But things had come out in his discussions with Arveldir that had seriously worried him; he needed to speak to Lord Elrond urgently, although it was not a conversation he was looking forward to.

Still, it was his duty to look after the House of Imladris, to be an impartial advisor, and he was good at his job. He only hoped he was good enough, for the course he would have to steer to bring all parties through the present mess safely and with dignity intact seemed nigh on impossible at present…  
And then there was the matter of his personal integrity, of course.

Time was when he would set aside his own beliefs and opinions, for the sake of Imladris, for the safety of the majority, but that time was beginning to look as if it had passed.

He nodded to the guards and swept through the camp until he came to Elrond’s pavilion. His lord was alone, reading a scroll with a frown on his face, and he looked up with some irritation when Erestor announced himself.

‘Erestor, finally! I hope you have been able to impress upon Thranduil’s advisor how seriously offended we were by the king’s behaviour?’

‘It would be fair to say we have discussed the matter at length, my lord.’

‘Well it certainly seemed to take long enough! And did the advisor give a reason for the insult?’

‘Not in so many words…’ Erestor chose his own words with precise care. ‘I am led to believe that his majesty’s displeasure stems from events which took place previously to the gifting ceremony…’

‘What, the alleged intruder in their camp? There is no proof that it was someone from Imladris, after all, and…’

‘My lord,’ he said, hastening to interrupt before matters became any worse. ‘My lord, I have learned that when Prince Legolas was staying with us, he… there is a suggestion that he had a lover from amongst our number and that this is why he left us so suddenly…’

‘Yes? And…?’

‘You knew, my lord?’

‘Did you expect something so significant to pass me by?’

‘Elrond! You mean to tell me you were aware of this?’

‘Of course I was aware of it, Erestor! Neither were unwilling, and both well over their majority, after all… Nothing happened to the prince in which he was not a complicit partner, and when the two argued and Legolas left, there was really no need to make it public knowledge…’

‘So when you suggested we did not send out a search party after the prince, when you said there was probably no need to worry, you already knew he had left for home?’

‘You must remember, we were in daily expectation of Celeborn and Galadriel’s arrival! Can you imagine their response, if they had found out that a Sindar prince had left our shelter under unhappy circumstances? The inferences they could have made? The embarrassment it would have caused?’

‘Elrond!’ Suddenly Erestor understood why Arveldir didn’t wear braids; it was so much easier to tear one’s hair out without them. ‘But… this is…’

‘Is what, Erestor?’

‘Prince Legolas returned home in poor spirits and King Thranduil must have noticed; I would not be surprised if this is the real reason behind his behaviour at the gifting… I do not know how I am to remedy this for you!’

‘It was, after all, a very long time ago, Erestor! I really do not see why there should be such a fuss about something that obviously is of no importance to the prince; it is long since over, as far as he is concerned. And he has a fëa-mate now, after all!’

‘You know about his fëa-mate?’

‘Indeed, yes – a big, strapping fellow –the same as punched the alleged intruder, I understand…’

Erestor’s heart fell. He did, indeed remember a big, strapping fellow with a damaged hand… but that had not been the same individual who called out his thanks to Arwen. His thoughts suddenly leading in a most unpalatable direction, he shook his head…

‘My lord, excuse me. I must think on this overnight. Permit me to retire and speak further to you on the morrow.’

‘If it is too much for you, of course. But remember – we’re expected to eat with Mirkwood tomorrow evening – you need to have this mess sorted out by then.’

Biting back a reminder that this was actually Elrond’s mess and refraining from expressing the wish that Elrond should sort out his own messes for once, Erestor inclined his head briskly, and strode out of the tent.


	88. Kind, Mostly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas tries to explain...

‘I hope all is well with Canadion,’ Legolas began. 

Swimming with Govon had been pleasant, a welcome break from the confinement of the camp, and watching Govon’s warrior paint smudge and smear and dissolve in the clear, crisp waters of the Langflood had been oddly soothing, as if more than just tired paint was washing away.

Now, swathed in towels and ensconced in the comparative privacy of his tent, Legolas dared to broach the subject that had been bothering him most of the day.

Govon leaned forward so that his face was close to the prince’s; the movement caused the towel to slip from his shoulders, exposing his now-clean skin. He smiled.

‘I wonder what Thiriston would say, to hear you so concerned about his fëa-mate?’ he said, placing a swift, teasing kiss on his beloved’s lips.

‘Canadion is my kin, so why should I not be concerned? But I would be more than willing to ask Thiriston how his sweetheart is, if you prefer…’

Govon laughed sitting back. ‘Be my guest! But, I warn you, both are being uncharacteristically discreet. In fact, both claim not to have seen the face of the elf until after Thiriston’s fist had rendered it somewhat unrecognisable…’

‘I hope they have not been questioned too closely. By my father, for example. You know how he likes to feel he knows everything…’  
‘Ha! To my cost, fair elf!’

‘And Canadion is too trusting, perhaps, too friendly and does not see it can be read wrongly. But if he was harmed… Ai, it is my fault for allowing Tharmeduil to interfere…’

‘Do not. Do not say this, do not try to take blame for this. It was I agreed to allow Canadion to take over. I understand that there was a stumble, Canadion steadied the elf, who then placed his hands on your cousin’s shoulders, he protested the contact politely and then Thiriston arrived and made his own, more forceful protest…’

‘It is his way,’ Legolas said softly, his eyes dropping as if he couldn’t bear to meet Govon’s eyes while he spoke. ‘His hands on your shoulders, just as one might giving advice, or as a friend would. A gentle word, your own name, perhaps, spoken as if the very sound of it is sacred… and if you glance up, if you dare match his gaze, you look into eyes that seem so kind and wise, full of suffering and understanding and… and if you do not pull away swiftly, if you stay, and see, then you will fall into the eyes of him… and he will slowly move towards you, and yet make you feel you are moving towards him, and you know what will happen, but how can you avoid the offer of a simple kiss? How reject the plea of so much pain?’

Govon swallowed. Was this what had happened last night to his fëa-mate, his fair elf? 

‘Legolas, melleth… was I not in time to prevent…? I heard you say, ‘do not touch me’, and I…’

‘He extended his hands towards me, that is all. I spoke in haste, in fearful haste, knowing the power of his gaze, and I did not want him near enough to touch me again, not ever again…’

‘Hush.’ Govon folded Legolas against his chest, stroking his back kindly. ‘I am here. And I have orders from the king to stay with you, if that is what I need to do to keep you safe. He will not abuse you again.’

Legolas looked up into Govon’s face, his eyes surprised.

‘Abuse me, melleth-nin? No; he hurt me, once, but… it was not like that. I would not have you think it was like that.’

‘You see, I do not know how it was,’ Govon said softly. ‘I have tried not to ask – I did not want to distress you, or to make a Thiriston of myself by appearing jealous and possessive… but almost, I wish now that I had, my fair elf…’

‘Do you not see, friend captain?’ Legoas gave a small shrug against Govon’s enfolding arms. ‘It seems impolite to tell one’s fëa-mate about previous… entanglements. And then, you brought such joy to me, I did not want to think about the past. But perhaps you think worse of him than he rightly deserves. I would not tell you who before I have told you how and why… if you will hear?’

‘Of course I will hear, melleth-nin…’

‘Then lie down and face away from me. I don’t want you to see me, I could not bear your eyes on me while I speak of him… let me hold you, though. May I hold you?’

‘I would like for you to hold me, beloved.’

Legolas curled up against his fëa-mate, one arm enfolding his waist. Govon exhaled gently, feeling safe and treasured, and the thought crossed his mind that he should be holding Legolas this way, should be giving comfort instead of receiving it. But this was how Legolas wanted it to be, and he seemed at ease enough to start talking, his voice quiet.

‘Understand, melleth-nin, when I arrived in Imladris, I already knew what I was and did not think the knowledge would sit well with my father. There had been one or two encounters, friendly, affectionate but nothing serious, and I was glad of a chance to travel, for I had realised it would be difficult to be discreet and intimate at home… not that I was looking for a lover… I quickly made friends, but it wasn’t long before I noticed that they looked at me. Arwen especially; I think perhaps by inviting all three of us, Elrond had half-hoped to find a husband for his daughter, but the other two didn’t want to go. There is a sort of rightness that Arwen and Iauron have found each other anyway, I think.’

‘Was she very disappointed at the time, melleth?’

‘I do not think so. We became better friends once she knew.’

The prince fell silent for a long moment. Govon stroked his hand lightly across Legolas’ enfolding arm, wanting to make sure all was well with him.

‘Forgive me, friend captain! I find I do not know quite how to continue…’

‘What I wonder – what I find I need to know – did he love you? Was he kind to you?’

‘Love? He told me from the first he sought no life-companion. Perhaps I was a little in love and thought more was there than actually was… but I felt he cared for me. He was kind.’ Legolas paused once more. ‘Mostly.’

‘Mostly? Melleth-nin…!’

‘Hush.’ Legolas snuggled close against his fea-mate and kissed his neck, causing Govon to shiver. ‘I’ll get to that later. I was, I said, in love a little. Perhaps I was merely infatuated. The elves of Imladris – you have seen them, so stately, so proud. To be sought by one of these Noldor… I felt special, honoured by the attention.’

‘But surely he was the one honoured! You, a royal Sindar prince…’

‘I understand. But we of Mirkwood do not carry ourselves like royal Sindar.’

‘For which I, a wild Silvan wood-elf, must be grateful. I would never have dared look so high, had I known your name when my fëa claimed you.’

‘And I am glad too, that I could be just an elf amongst elves with you. But in Imladris, I felt uncouth, untutored.’  
‘Arwen is in for a shock, then, when she comes to Mirkwood.’

‘She will be fine. Arwen is far less stuffy than most of the Noldor. She was bored much of the time and was pleased when I extended my visit.’

‘What of your… companion? Was he also pleased?’

‘He? It was his own idea. We had become intimate within a month of my arrival, and when the visit was drawing to an end, I was thinking of the road home with a heavy heart, it is true. When he asked if I was much needed at home, if I would be missed, I knew I would not. I had arrived at Imladris in the spring, and I knew any extension to my visit would have to be for at least nine months of the year; the mountains are harsh for much of the autumn and winter and it did not seem my father would wish me to travel in such conditions.’  
‘And yet I hear you returned alone, and in winter?’

‘I left in autumn but, well, yes. For some time, all was well between us. I learned much about myself, we grew in friendship and companionship. But then things began to change. From visiting each other’s rooms freely, suddenly I needed to go to him, and to knock and wait like a servant. And if he did not answer, I was to go away and return later, or not at all. But if I returned, I was too eager, I was told. Sometimes he would come to me, but not so often. None of it was so often, and if I had not known there was no other, no chance that he had another, that is what I would have thought… but even when I asked, when I begged, there was no explanation. Only silence and the sense that my behaviour was unbecoming.’

_‘You do not need to knock, you do not need to beg, you do not need to… there is no difference between us…’_

‘Melleth?’

‘So you told me, when we were first lovers. I have often wondered why.’

‘I thought he perhaps felt I had been too much the prince with him. That he was reminding me I was but a guest. When I spoke so to you… I wanted you to know you were my friend captain and I your fair elf, and that I did not think myself above you.’

‘I understand. But you never made me feel I was not good enough, melleth, even though you are far too good for me.’

‘Hush.’ Legolas kissed Govon’s neck once more. His voice when he continued was wistful, plaintive. ‘I find I would prefer to continue with this and tell my story later… but perhaps, if I stop, I will never continue.’

Govon turned and pulled Legolas on top of him, unable to bear the resignation in the prince’s voice without doing something to console him. He folded him into his arms and Legolas buried his face in Govon’s hair, inhaling the scent of him before gently disentangling himself and shifting back to sit cross-legged facing his fëa-mate. 

‘Give me a moment, friend captain. There is not much more to tell and then I will most willingly let you hold me…’

‘I like that you feel you can look at me, now.’

‘Yes. I was afraid… but I know I should not have been. Not of your eyes on me, melleth. I am s…’

Govon caught Legolas’ mouth with his own before the prince could finish his apology.

‘Tell me the rest, my fair elf. What happened?’

‘The weather broke, the summer ended. And Imladris had word. Relations of Arwen’s – of everyone’s, I suppose – were coming from Lothlorien, Celeborn and Galadriel and others of the Galadhrim. They had not been expected to set out until after the winter’s end, so this news caused consternation. They were but days away. And so it began to end. I was asked – no, told – to keep to my rooms as much as possible while the guests were there, I was not to draw their attention, because the lady could sometimes read the future; if it were known that one of Imladris had taken up with a Sindar of Mirkwood it would greatly displease her… and I realised, to my great sorrow, that he was ashamed of me. Not of the fact that he had a companion, but that it was I… and I saw then, also, that much care had been taken to keep the knowledge from others of the household, even though we were not the only such pairing. But not he! It was demeaning that he had been reduced to such straits, that I had convinced him…’

Legolas shook his head.

‘Yet it had not been I who started the affair; it had been mutual, I thought. Govon, with us… I must know, was it…? Was I mistaken?’  
‘As I remember it, it was very mutual – after I had given you my fëa on the flet when you kept me alive, I had to do my best to give you my body, also. I was never more glad than when that earth tremor hit and I had a reason to lie over you…’  
Legolas smiled. The memory helped him continue. ‘And thinking back, I am sure I was not the one to start the affair at Imladris. But at the time, the accusation fired my anger. After all I had done, had tried to do, had accepted for the sake of a few snatched hours which had come to bring me lately as much pain as they did pleasure... and so we quarrelled, it was all over, and I left during the night. It was a long ride home, alone, the mountains were cold and grim, but in my heart’s ache, I didn’t notice. Even so, I was most pleased to be home.’

‘I am sure you were. I am sure your father was glad to see you.’

‘He was surprised; he had thought he would not see me before the summer. And then Adar was angry to think I had been allowed home alone; it took many months to calm him. But do you see, melleth? It was not good, how it ended between us, but it was not all so very bad. And he – when he came to my tent, it was to apologise. Even though I did not want his apology, even though I wanted and want nothing to do with him, and it is done and past and gone and ended… There is nothing here for him, do you see?’

‘I do indeed, melleth-nin.’ Govon nodded. ‘But I wonder if he himself sees it?’


	89. Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the identity of a certain individual is uncovered...

Erestor’s day began with the ringing of the breakfast bell and with worry. While he had rested, his subconscious had been working on the problem of relations between Mirkwood and Imladris, but it would be wrong to say he had awoken with the solution, nicely framed, waiting in his mind.

Instead, he was starting to see a way, and just a glimmer of hope that the situation could be salvaged was occasionally beginning to appear.

The major hurdle to overcome would be in facing Legolas’ seducer – for Erestor could not imagine the prince as the culprit – and convince him the only way forward would have to begin with a confession and an apology to the king.

He did not expect this advice to be well-received.

Suddenly finding he had lost his appetite, he readied himself for the day and left his tent, seeking Lord Elrond, knowing the lord always took breakfast in his pavilion and so ought to be free now.

He had only gone a few steps from his tent, however, when he was addressed.

‘Master Erestor? My lord?’

‘What is it?’ he asked as the servant approached and bowed; for all the alleged equality of Imladris, some differences of station were rigidly maintained.

‘It is the Lady Arwen. She appears to be in great distress, and my Lord Elrond is unavailable.’

Erestor bit back a sigh. Why was he not surprised? ‘Let me speak to her,’ he offered, and the servant led the way.

Arwen was standing close to the edge of the riverbank below the eyot, not far from where the river narrowed and presented a clear line of sight to the Mirkwood camp. Even as Erestor’s gaze ranged the moving figures seeking Arveldir, he wondered if Arwen was hoping for a glimpse of Iauron. The set of her shoulders was slumped, despondent.

‘My lady?’ Erestor said.

A glance over her shoulder at him; Arwen unguarded, unfiltered, sad and lost.

‘It’s all my fault, Erestor,’ she said.

‘That is quite a sweeping claim, my lady,’ he said, coming to stand beside her and giving as reassuring a smile as he could muster. ‘Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong? I might be able to help.’

‘Mirkwood is insulted by my gifts. But I – I only meant… I did not intend them to be the only things given. And it is all my own doing, I was trying to see how far I could push my father before I got a real, proper response from him, I had grown so tired of ‘That is very pretty my dear’, and ‘how thoughtful you are’... I sought only for him to pay attention, to look, to really look and see and even to tell me to stop being so silly… but no, he agreed my gifts were wonderful when even I knew they were not, and he insisted on all being presented with such pomp… it was bound to fail. And now I have ruined everything!’

‘No, Arwen, that is not so! And while, perhaps, not all your gifts were properly appreciated, the Court Guard, you see, are already practising with the bows you gifted them.’

Across the river, targets had been installed to the south and a cluster of warriors were preparing to shoot at them. One of the guard loosed an arrow from his new bow; it fled through the air to bury itself with considerable force into the target and the assembled warriors cheered and whooped.

‘You see, Arwen? You made gifts for thirteen individuals all told; these six guards are all delighted. The Mirkwood healer could not wait to express how much she liked the shawl… it is true, we do not know precisely what the king and princes thought, but as for the elk… I understand he will let no-one near who intends to divest him of his antler-covers. He likes to play with the bells, I hear.’

Arwen smiled and rested her head against Erestor’s shoulder for a moment.

‘Dear old friend! I will miss you when I am married and gone to live in Mirkwood.’

Erestor found it reassuring to find that, in spite of fearing she’d ruined everything, Arwen could still believed her wedding would go ahead. And although now was not the time for selfishness, it was the perfect moment to plant a thought in Arwen’s mind.

‘Well, I have been thinking,’ Erestor began. ‘There will be much to see to, many new things for you to learn. I would be willing to accompany you to your new home, if it would be of use to you… Your father has other advisors, but none are so well-placed to help you as am I, dear child.’

‘Would you, Erestor? Really?’

‘You are the nearest thing to a daughter I am likely to have. Besides, I… get on quite well with King Thranduil’s advisor. I am sure we could work well together…’

Arwen brightened suddenly, and she placed a swift, friendly kiss on his cheek. ‘Oh, I am sure you could do many things well together!’ she said. ‘Thank you for listening, and for your suggestion. I feel much better now.’

And oddly enough, Erestor mused, as he headed towards Elrond’s pavilion, so did he.

*

He held on to the feeling of almost-optimism until he reached the shadow of the pavilion where he paused for a moment, marshalling his arguments, preparing himself. It wasn’t often that he had found himself questioning his lord’s decisions or behaviour; it seemed disrespectful to do so, as Elrond had such a reputation for wisdom… although, it had to be said, he had been taking advice from Erestor for almost as long as he had been considered wise…

Erestor announced himself and Elrond’s terse request for him to enter did not help him feel any better.

‘My lord, we agreed to speak again this morning…’

‘We did. I requested a solution for our present situation with regards to Mirkwood’s willingness to insult us at the slightest…’

‘I have been assessing the situation, my lord, and the only conclusion I can come to, from the evidence I have gathered, is that Imladris is not the one insulted here. Mirkwood was insulted when one of its princes was abandoned to find his own way home through a bad autumn and a worse winter. Mirkwood was, and still is, offended because the prince was made unhappy at our hands and we did nothing about it – unless you count allowing the prince’s seducer to accost him in the privacy of his own tent as doing something…?’

‘Who is to say the prince was the one seduced, Erestor? There are many things about this which you do not understand…’

‘I will be happy to be enlightened, my lord, presently. But to the matter in hand. There is but one way that King Thranduil’s honour will be satisfied – this has nothing to do with the gifting ceremony. It is about his son. I feel sure that if the prince’s seducer…’

‘Former companion,’ Elrond corrected.

‘Seducer,’ Erestor insisted, his voice cold and hard. ‘Should he approach the king with an apology – it need not be a public one, I feel – then it may be that…’

‘Impossible! You cannot expect me to…’ Elrond faltered, tried to recover. ‘…to try at this distance of time to discover who…’

‘It is not that difficult. There are only three persons who look to have been injured by the fist of an angry elf. And besides, my lord, you paused for too long.’

‘Erestor, you are making no sense.’ Elrond’s voice became stern, but there was an edge of panic to his tone the advisor could not remember having heard before. ‘I do not understand you…’

‘No. And I do not think I understand you, either, my lord. Not any more.’ Erestor sighed. ‘Elrond, I know it was you. There are two guards on the other side of the river, and while for reasons best known to themselves, they do not seem to wish to make the knowledge public, they also know it was you. And during the gifting ceremony, I saw the king’s face change and I begin to fear he knows it was you, also…’

‘You cannot possibly… ’

‘Elrond! I have proof! I have spent the better part of the night trying to explain certain things to myself without implicating you, but I cannot. The fact is that you spoke of Legolas as having a fëa-mate… which is presently known only amongst the Mirkwood elves; I was told in confidence last night, but you already knew. How could you know?’

‘I… Legolas told me…’

‘Regrettably, I do not doubt that he did. But you and he have not exchanged ten words in public together beyond the most basic of courtesies. And so it must have been in private – the night you went to his tent and tried to talk to him… Elrond, what were you thinking?’

‘I wasn’t thinking; I was hoping… I could not understand why he had left,’ Elrond said. ‘Which is why, at the time, I did not want him followed; with no way of knowing how he would interpret events, with Celeborn and Galadriel on the way… I was not sure that the word of a peredhel would hold as much weight with our Lady of the Golden Wood as would that of a prince, and then, I had been married to her daughter after all, until she left me…’ He paused, waiting for Erestor to comment. But his trusted advisor, his friend, was looking at him as if he’d just asked to be served a puppy for breakfast. ‘When I went to Legolas’ tent, it was to find out what had happened, why it had gone wrong. Perhaps I even hoped it could continue…’

‘Elrond! I did not mean why did you go to speak to him – I meant, why did you seduce him in the first place? You must see…’

‘No, mellon-nin, you must see…’

Erestor flinched at the term. He found he had no wish to be considered Elrond’s friend at the moment.

‘…must understand. I had been so long alone… and he was lonely and eager to learn, and just too tempting to refuse… perhaps it was foolish of me…’

‘Foolish! That does not even begin to cover it! Yes – he was lonely, perhaps, but you must have seen that such loneliness meant he was vulnerable? So much older than he, with so much perceived wisdom… It was stupid at the very least, if not highly improper…’

‘Who are you to lecture about what is proper or not? You can have no idea what it is to be alone, to sleep alone, for year upon year…’  
Erestor’s mouth became a hard, solid line as Elrond remembered that, actually, never in all the long years he had known Erestor had there been any word of him taking a lover.

‘Just because you do not indulge does not make what I did wrong!’

‘Perhaps not, Elrond. What you did is what makes it wrong; he was our guest. You abused that fact, you took advantage… You are, were, old enough, and one would have hoped wise enough, to know better…’

‘Oh, be quiet! Do not rub it in! Very well, I was foolish. But he was so… And then we quarrelled, and he went off in a fit of pique. But who is not to say that he returned home in low spirits because he was pining for me, rather than because of any perceived slight?’

‘I would say that the fact that he did not want to speak to you says it quite clearly enough. That you are wearing the imprint of a fist in your face, too, is highly suggestive that your behaviour is still not what it should be. And if that is not enough, the prince is now under the constant eye of the Commander of the Court Guard…’ Erestor did not add that said Commander was the prince’s fëa-mate. He felt he had been forthcoming enough. ‘I think all those things together suggest that it was your fault, Elrond, and if you have any real love for your daughter, you will do all in your power to resolve this now, before Thranduil calls off the wedding and leaves in fury.’

‘He would not… not after coming all this way…’

‘He is more than capable of coming all this way to try to find out who distressed his son. In fact, if it were not that he is concerned for his second son, I wonder if he would even have come at all. Elrond, the only way to salvage anything from this is for you to go to the king and apologise…’

‘I will not do it! It is impossible! It would look as if…’

‘As if you were in the wrong? Well, let me tell you something, mellon-nin…’

*

Arwen had joined her brothers for breakfast but excused herself early. ‘I want to go and speak to Adar – about after I’m married.’

‘Are you sure? He said he was busy this morning…’ Elladan said.

‘I saw Erestor headed that way earlier,’ Elrohir added.

‘Oh, it won’t take long!’ Arwen said brightly.

She got to her father’s tent and was about to call out when she heard raised voices; really, it was most unlike Adar to be angry this early in the day and was that…? Was that Erestor…?

*

‘As if you were in the wrong?’ the advisor was saying. ‘Well, let me tell you something, mellon-nin!’ Erestor hissed the last two words. ‘You were!’ You were wrong to visit the prince in his tent, you were wrong to seduce him in the first place, and you were certainly wrong to betray your marriage vows! And I wonder if that was not the real reason you did not want Galadriel and Celeborn to find out about your affair with Legolas – the insult to Celebrian...’

Arwen gasped in shock and the voices fell silent.

‘There is someone outside!’ Elrond said. ‘Who is that?’

‘Adar…? Arwen said faintly, and made her way to the opening of the pavilion. ‘What was that I heard? Did you really…?’

‘Arwen, this matter does not concern you. Go back to your tent. I will speak to you later. Erestor and I were just… talking. That is all.’

‘Talking, Adar? It sounded more like disagreeing…’

‘Erestor has some interesting opinions and was making me aware of them, that is all, my dear. Now, run along, and…’

‘That is all you ever say, Father! Run along, Arwen, how nice, Arwen… this is not your concern, Arwen..’

‘Now is not the time, Arwen!’

‘That is exactly what I mean! But I think it is my concern, if you have made my friend Legolas unhappy, since I am to marry his brother!’

‘Arwen…’ Elrond tried to stop her, but Arwen was in full flight.

‘And, it is even more my concern if you have been unfaithful to my mother!’

‘I have not!’ Elrond protested. Unveiled like this, Arwen was a revelation, a force to be reckoned with. ‘Not while she was here, at least…’

‘Father! It does not matter if she was here or if she had already left, my mother is still your wife! How could you?’ Arwen stuck her chin in the air and turned to leave.

‘Arwen – my dear daughter – please…’

But Arwen had gone.

‘This is a disaster! If word gets out that I allegedly did these things, who will respect me after this?’

Erestor sighed. ‘My lord,’ he said slowly. ‘You are known as a wise and kind leader who tries to do the best for all in his care. I believe you would find that your people willing to forgive you many things. They know you have had your disappointments and dealt with them as best you may. They will excuse a brief moment of weakness. But they will not forgive you for trying to deceive them one the truth is out. If you value what you have built, admit your flaws and move on. People may even like you the better for admitting you are flawed.’

Elrond didn’t seem to have heard.

‘Go after Arwen, Erestor, make sure she doesn’t say anything about this. Especially not to her brothers. Then you had better go and talk to the king’s advisor. Tell him something has come up, and we are leaving.’

‘I will talk to Arwen,’ Erestor said. ‘And I will speak to Arveldir.’

He inclined his head and left the pavilion, heading after Arwen. Yes. He would speak to Elrond’s daughter, and to Arveldir. But with his own words, not Elrond’s. Those days, he realised with some sorrow, were probably gone.


	90. The Other Side of the River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Govon and his command try the new bows

It had been a long night.

Once Legolas had talked as much as he could, and until Govon couldn’t bear to hear any more, they had lain in gentle silence together for a time, touching hands, shoulders, hair. So difficult to hear the full tale, even filtered through Legolas’ forgiving eyes – and this was what had surprised Govon so much, how could his fea-mate not see how badly he had been treated, how ill-used? But although he wanted to protest, to say, simply, this was not right, this was not kind, it was selfish, self-centred, it was but a hair’s breadth away from abuse – he didn’t. For how would it help Legolas to make him feel even less valued by his former lover than before?

So Govon held peace, but there was a very long list building in his mind of the things he would say to the culprit when he saw him – and an equally long list of things he would like to do to him.

It was Legolas who broke the silence first.

‘I did not tell you yet. I did not name him.’

‘There’s no need, melleth – I know.’

‘How?’ Legolas shifted, propped himself on one arm to look into Govon’s eyes with dread and fear. ‘How do you know?’

‘It had to be one of the three injured elves. And I can only think of one who has the power, the authority to do something like this. And then, Thiriston Cut-Face has very large fists, and there is only one face that holds the shape of his knuckles in its bruises… I did not think it could be the twins, anyway, because the night we all ate together, you talked to them freely and they with you; it was only Elrond you avoided – no, that is not right. He avoided you. And it was he that Thiriston hit, and I must remember to thank him…’

‘Govon!’ Legolas was startled into almost laughing. ‘But, yes – Elrond.’

‘How can you bear it, my fair elf?’ Govon brushed his fingers through the golden hair. ‘His daughter will be your sister-in-law, the two families inextricably bound…’

‘Once we break camp, I will never need to see or speak to him again. And I have you.’ His azure eyes clouded. ‘Please, friend captain – I know you are angry at how you feel I was treated, but… but it was long ago, so long before we met… do not tarnish your fëa for something so long over.’

He placed a soft, pleading kiss on Govon’s forehead, and the warrior sighed. The thought occurred to him that, had Elrond been kinder, had he realised what he was casting so lightly aside with his casual neglect, Legolas might not be here with Govon now. Without Elrond’s fear for his good name, they might never have found each other. 

The thought was sobering. Perhaps he could let it go. Perhaps, in time, he could push away the image of Legolas fighting his way home, unaided, through autumn storms and winter blizzards.

But he did not have to forgive Elrond everything. He had invaded the privacy of the prince’s tent, had dared accost him and, even after Legolas had told him he had a few-mate, he had tried to lay hands on him…

‘Melleth?’ Legolas said softly. ‘I had hoped… that you would hold me?’

Govon set thoughts of retribution aside as he saw the uncertainty in his fëa-mate’s eyes. He opened his arms and wrapped Legolas in all the affection and love that he could.

And holding had led to touching and kissing and stroking and loving, and Legolas had nestled into his arms afterwards with every appearance of feeling secure. But he had disturbed Govon’s rest more than once by whimpering and protesting, as if now the truth was finally out, the prince was replaying it in his sleep. 

Govon hushed him and soothed him until he settled. Yes. He could respect Legolas’ wishes to let Elrond be, up to a point. But if Elrond did not treat the prince with the utmost respect in future, he would not let it pass.

*

Daybreak filtered through the fabric of the tent slowly, brightening the interior, and Legolas sighed and opened his eyes. A hand was softly stroking his hair and he was cradled against a warm, strong body which curved against his contours as if they had been designed for just such a purpose. He exhaled slowly, languorously, stretching against the body behind him.

‘Good morning, friend captain,’ he said.

‘Good morning, fair elf.’ Govon pressed a kiss against his shoulder. ‘And I am sorry to say it, but I must move. My other duties call, I am afraid.’

‘But to wake with you beside me after an entire night for the first time since we left the palace… I can cope, I think, with a few hours apart from you.’

Govon was already moving, seeking clothes, dressing.

‘I must begin practice with the long bows today; they will be no protection against dragons if we do not know how to use them.’

‘May I join you? I know Thiriston’s hand is still damaged; he will not be able to draw even a short bow for a day or two, I hear?’

‘Yes; Healer Nestoril says he has cracked a bone in his knuckles, but the heal silk is helping. Will you break your fast with my command, my prince?’

‘Ai, on duty as soon as you’ve pulled your uniform on!’ Legolas smiled to take any sting out of his words. ‘Although I suppose you’re never really off duty now, are you? Not after my father’s orders. Would you mind if I didn’t? I need to see how Tharmeduil is.’

‘Of course. I’ll walk you over.’

Nestoril met them outside Tharmeduil’s pavilion with sad eyes.

‘He has not passed the best of nights, I am afraid. Healer Feril was visiting yesterday, and stayed over to help me nurse him through the night… The fits have passed now, but he lost more blood, again, and although he is sleeping, I am worried…’

‘Has the knowledge from Imladris been no help, then?’ Legolas asked.

Nestoril found a smile for him. ‘Oh, I would not say that! Feril is, as I say, helping. She has suggested an alteration to the restorative draughts, and we will be trying those today.’

‘My prince, I must to my command…’ Govon prompted.

‘Of course. I will sit with Tharmeduil, if that is all right with you, Nestoril?’

‘Yes, indeed. We expect him to wake soon.’

*  
Govon headed to his own encampment where he was met with grins and whistles. He could not help grin in return.

‘All right, let this be a warning to you – when you find yourselves promoted to Commander, there is no telling what will be expected of you! Pass the bread – I’m famished. Tinuon – anything to report from overnight?’

‘A quiet one, Commander. Healer Feril from the Imladris camp is still here, but that is all.’

‘Good. When we’ve finished eating, set up the targets – a long way from the camp, to the south, I think. We’ll try those bows this morning.’

The practice went well. Aware that Arwen had intended the main focus of the gift to be the hand-crafted crocheted bowstrings, Govon did wonder where she had managed to source six high-quality long bows, or whether they had disappeared from a weapons trunk in the Imladris camp and someone, somewhere, was in for a shock. But the bows pulled well and the arrows flew straight and far and with deadly force.

When Legolas arrived, Govon passed his own bow to him.

‘Try this, my prince. I’m sure you’ll appreciate it.’

Legolas fired off three arrows in quick succession. 

‘Not bad, considering the bow is new to you,’ Govon said; all three had hit the target with one in the bull.

‘My thanks; it’s a good weapon. Does it allay your fears at all?’

‘Somewhat; we’re going to try with moving targets later.’

‘Commander?’ Thiriston had been sitting near the river bank, his attention split between the archery practice and activity on the far side of the Langflood. ‘I think you should see this.’

‘What, Thiriston?’

‘Something’s happening on the other side of the river.’


	91. Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arwen makes a decision...

Arwen was in the pavilion she shared with one of her handmaids, throwing apparently random items onto a pile when Erestor found her.

‘If you’ve come to explain what Father’s been doing, don’t bother!’ she said.

‘I have not. I wanted to see how you were.’

‘How I am? What about poor Legolas? What about…? Did you know, Erestor? Did you know about this?’

‘No. I only began to suspect yesterday.’ Erestor dropped into a chair and rubbed his face with long fingers. ‘Today I knew for certain.’

‘You can tell my father I don’t want to talk to him! In fact, I don’t want anything to do with him ever again!’

‘I cannot, Arwen. I can’t face him myself at the moment. I think I have to leave.’

Arwen stopped her frenetic sorting and turned to face him.

‘Erestor! What will you do? Where will you go?’

The advisor shrugged. ‘To begin with, across to the Mirkwood camp. While I have no wish to defend your father’s actions, there is too much at stake here to risk it getting out of hand. We cannot afford another kinslaying…’

He said it as a joke, an attempt to lighten the mood, but then he realised that matters possibly could deteriorate to the point where Mirkwood and Imladris were at each other’s throats. Suddenly he felt very old and rather tired of it all.

‘I’m coming with you, then,’ Arwen said.

‘My lady… Understand, I fear King Thranduil has discovered your father’s secret. I am not sure he will be pleased to see you…’

‘I don’t care. Erestor, I can’t stay here. And there is nowhere else to go. At least Iauron likes me.’

‘We’d best hurry, then. Before Lord Elrond seeks to forbid you to cross the river. He was talking about breaking camp and returning to Imladris.’

Arwen shook her head, looking at the pile of belongings in the middle of the tent, suddenly realising that none of it mattered.

‘All right. Give me moment to change into something better for wading in, and then I’m ready.’ 

‘A good idea; I’m sure I’ve something other than robes in my tent. I will meet you near the south end of the camp in ten minutes.

*

Most of the camp was bustling with the post-breakfast clear-up and nobody had eyes for Erestor and Arwen as they wandered through the camp. Erestor had a small pack on his back into which he had put one of his robes of office, a few quills and one or two important documents; Arwen seemed to have brought nothing except a couple of balls of wool and a crochet hook, and when Erestor raised a dark wing of an eyebrow, she sighed and smiled.

‘Because everyone is used to seeing me with yarn and hook in my hands and, besides, Iauron gave me this.’

‘I see. This way, then.’

Instead of heading for the bridge, Erestor led her along the bank of the river, heading south.

‘I fear that if you try to cross the bridge, you would be stopped,’ he explained. ‘And although I have formal duties to take me to the eyot, I am not sure the Mirkwood guard would permit either of us to pass into their camp. There is a place where the river is shallow and, with the dry weather we have had, it is running low. It is certainly calm enough to cross, if you are determined.’  
‘Erestor, I do not know when I have been more determined about anything!’

*

The actual crossing was easy enough; they were unobserved from the Mirkwood side of the camp, for the banks curved and hid them most of the way, and the water barely higher than Arwen’s waist until the moment she lost her footing and dunked herself entirely in the river. Erestor reached in to help her to her feet, himself becoming wetter than he needed to be, but still, they crossed safely. Clambering out and shaking herself off, Arwen managed a little laugh.

‘What a fine pair we look, Erestor! Quite bedraggled; I am sure Mirkwood will not regret the loss of such assets!’

Erestor gave his small, brisk smile.

‘I am sure Elrond will regret many things today, but your absence will be the most keenly felt. Come; we should find someone to surrender to.’

‘Surrender?’

‘A figure of speech.’ 

Erestor pulled himself up the bank to peer over the top to find seven interested pairs of eyes looking down at him; the Court Guard and Prince Legolas.

‘Master Erestor, Lady Arwen,’ the prince began. ‘Forgive me for stating the obvious, but you look to be a little wet…’

‘Your highness.’ Erestor bowed to the prince. ‘Lady Arwen and I are seeing sanctuary. We… surrender. We are unarmed.’

‘Unarmed?’ Legolas grinned. ‘When I can see a crochet hook in Arwen’s hand? We’ve all seen what she can do with one of those!’

‘Your highness…!’ Erestor protested.

‘Come. The bank is easier further along this way.’

‘My prince?' Govon came to stand beside Legolas. ‘Security of the camp is, by rights, in Commander Esgaron’s hands; he should be informed…’

‘Of course, Commander. Have someone tell him Lord Erestor and Lady Arwen have… surrendered to me and will be in my care.’

‘Yes, my prince. Canadion, seek Commander Esgaron and pass on the message. And while you are in the camp, see if Lord Arveldir is available, too. Hador, Tegolon, assist Lord Erestor and Lady Arwen. Then assist the rest in taking down the targets, and return to the camp with them. Target practice is over for the morning.’

As soon as Arwen had been helped to clamber up the bank, she hurried across to Legolas and gave him an impulsive, wet hug.  
‘Are you all right?’ she asked, looking into his eyes with solicitous care.

The prince gave a startled laugh and pushed her away gently, drawing closer to Govon. The commander put an arm around him automatically, remembered himself, and released him again, but not before he saw Erestor’s eyes on him.

‘Of course I am!’ Legolas insisted. ‘Whatever is the matter, Arwen? Apart from being very wet, that is?’

‘I know. I know what happened…’

‘My lady!’ Erestor hurried up. ‘Please… such matters are not for public discussion…’

‘Oh! I did not think – I was just worried about Legolas – he is my friend.’

‘Erestor, Commander Govon is fully in my confidence,’ Legolas said. ‘So if there is anything you need to share, perhaps before my father summons you to talk to him?’

‘It is… I cannot feel comfortable... it is a new concept to me, a new way of thinking and…’

‘Let me say, then,’ Arwen said. ‘Legolas, I overheard my father saying… talking about when you were staying with us and… that’s why I asked if you were all right…’

‘I got home safely, as you see.’

‘No, I mean...’

Legolas sighed. ‘Arwen, I know what you mean. It was all done with a long time ago, as far as I was concerned. That you have found out now… it must be distressing for you.’

‘Distressing?’ Arwen shook her head. ‘You could say so. That he could do such a thing, to you, to my mother, to my brothers and to me… and then to try to hide it and… and… But you were unhappy!’

‘Yes, I was. But not now.’ Legolas glanced at Govon, saw the commander’s eyes on him, and smiled. ‘I am far from unhappy now. Would you like some dry clothing?’ he went on. ‘Healer Nestoril may well have something… Lord Erestor, I am sure there will be someone in camp of your height and build…’

‘I have spare robes; somewhere to change is all I need.’

‘Will you both come back to the camp, then?’ Legolas suggested.

Arwen walked beside Legolas, and Govon fell into step alongside Erestor.

‘I do not know how I feel about this!’ Arwen said. ‘I’m so…. so disappointed in him – how could my father do such a thing?’

To her surprise, Legolas laughed.

‘Ai, forgive me, Arwen! But you see, ever since my brothers and I have been old enough to understand the concept, my father has made a point of telling us that it is the way of things; sons - and, presumably, daughters – disappoint their fathers, and in turn, their fathers will disappoint them one day; it is inevitable. So far, it has been we three disappointing him with monotonous regularity… it is part of growing up, I suppose, to first begin to notice those times when our fathers are prepared to expose their weaknesses to us.’

‘But I cannot believe it is not some sort of mistake or misunderstanding… Legolas, my father is… is… he is respected, he is the Lord of Rivendell! People look up to him… ’

Govon’s eyes snapped in Arwen’s direction. How long would it be before Arwen talked herself out of putting the blame where it deserved and began trying to fit it onto Legolas’ shoulders instead?

‘And Legolas’ father is the king. It is different, perhaps. A lord may please himself, he has not so far to fall as a king who has to be above reproach.’

Arwen gave a little gasp and her cheeks flushed and Erestor shot Legolas a curious look, as if expecting him to reprimand the commander, but the prince simply turned the subject slightly.

‘Arwen, I am sure this will not alter Iauron’s wishes in any way; and do not worry about Father’s reactions.’

‘Your father? I had not even begun to think about that!’


	92. Guests

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arwen and Erestor are brought into the camp.

‘Lord Arveldir? Are you busy?’

The advisor looked up from his task – he had been catching up on some much-needed reorganisation of the documents and letters and scrolls pertaining to Iauron and Arwen’s forthcoming union – at the voice, and saw Canadion smiling a perfectly respectable smile for once.

‘It is nothing I cannot set aside. What is it?’

‘We have… guests. Lady Arwen and Lord Erestor have…’

‘Erestor?’

‘Yes, lord. They have crossed the river – waded it – and are seeking sanctuary. Commander Esgaron has been informed and Prince Legolas and the rest of the Court Guard are with them, to the south of the camp.’

‘I see. Very well.’ Arveldir frowned. Erestor, here? And with Arwen? ‘I must inform our king, and then I will come to meet them. Thank you, Canadion. You need not wait for me.’

He set aside his work and went in search of the king. Thranduil was not in his pavilion, nor was he with Prince Tharmeduil. Arveldir finally ran him to ground in Nelleron’s enclosure, where he was feeding dried blackberries to the elk whose crocheted antler-warmers were still firmly in place. The bells attached to the long ties jangled gently from time to time.

There was something so determinedly calm about how entirely absorbed the king was in his task that Arveldir knew without anything being said that this was not a good time.

‘There is something very soothing about animals, is there not, Arveldir?’ Thranduil said. ‘Their needs and wants are so simple. If they are injured, or ill, they feel the pain and discomfort, yes. But do they have any idea of how long they will suffer for? Is it all in the moment for them? With no fear or concept of the future? So placid and self-contained… what is the matter, do tell me?’

‘Lady Arwen and Lord Erestor have crossed to our side of the river. I do not think it is on Elrond’s business, but I have yet to speak to them…’

‘Do so. I will not be able to give them an audience this morning; I need a little time to myself today.’

‘My king?’

‘Tharmeduil has not recovered as fully as expected. The healers are concerned and trying not to show it. That is all, Arveldir. Thank you.’

Dismissed, Arveldir bowed and turned away, heading through the camp towards the south.  
Presently he saw the visitors, approaching from the riverbank, flanked by Legolas and Govon, and he stopped a little way outside the camp to allow them to draw near. He felt unable to take his eyes off the Imladris elves; there was something wrong, he was sure of it, Erestor looked devastated and Arwen little better, and it took him a moment to find his voice and advance to bow and speak.

‘My prince, I have been requested to bring our visitors into the camp and see to their comfort.’

‘Thank you, Arveldir. I was going to give Arwen into Nestoril’s hands – she is not hurt, merely damp…’

‘An excellent idea. I would be happy to offer the hospitality of my own lodgings to Lord Erestor, my prince, if that is acceptable? And… I think you ought to speak with the king, once you have seen Lady Arwen settled. He is with Nelleron.’

‘Really?’ Legolas shook his head. At home it was usually a bad sign when his father escaped to the stables. ‘Very well. Arwen, will you come with me and Govon?’

Arveldir waited for the prince to move off before extending his hand to Erestor in greeting. He kept his tone formal, official since there was a possibility of being overheard.

‘Please, Lord Erestor, follow me. Is all well?’

‘It has been a trying few hours…’ Erestor sighed. ‘And we have much business to discuss.’

*

Healer Nestoril did not look as if she was in the right frame of mind to receive visitors, but when Legolas found her, she was taking a few moments to brew some chamomile tea outside her tent. Seeing the condition Arwen was in, she set her own concerns aside immediately and ushered her into her tent.

'Oh, my poor dear! Come, take a seat…’

Arwen smiled. ‘Indeed, I think I had better stand! I lost my footing crossing the river…’

‘Here is a blanket for you… a moment…’ Nestoril found her little store of clothing and took out a skirt and a tunic. ‘These should be fine while your own clothes dry off; I will go out to my little camp fire and see to the tea while you change. And if you are still feeling the chill, well, I have the most lovely shawl you can borrow!’

By the time she returned with the tea, Arwen had discarded her wet clothing in favour of Nestoril’s offerings and was looking much drier, if rather forlorn.

‘Are you well, Healer?’ she asked, accepting tea. ‘You look a little tired?’

‘Indeed; it has been a busy night. But what of you, Arwen? You look a little more wan than an unexpected swim can account for?’

‘Oh, Nestoril…!’ Arwen sighed. ‘I can trust you, I know I can…’

Nestoril herself sighed, hiding her face behind her cup. But there was so much tragedy around Arwen’s eyes, she hadn’t the heart refuse the confidence.

‘Well, why don’t you drink your tea and tell me what’s troubling you?’ she said.

*

Areveldir found a towel and passed it to Erestor. Finally in the privacy of his tent, he felt free to ask what he really wanted to know.

‘You look as if your world has fallen apart, my dear friend. Are you all right?’  
Erestor covered his face for a moment, looking over his fingers at his friend before letting his hands drop.

‘It has, Arveldir, indeed it has. All I have worked towards, everything I have supported is at risk… I fear I have lost one of my oldest friends, that I have on some level been betrayed and used… and that I have lost everything.’

‘Erestor…’ Arveldir made his voice gentle, and came to sit beside his friend, putting an arm around his shoulders. ‘What happened?’

‘I have left Lord Elrond’s employment. He… you will remember we talked about the intruder in your camp, and the individual who made your prince unhappy? Well, I have discovered the identity…’

‘And did you discover that Elrond knew? And yet did not tell you? So that it comes to this, and you cannot do your job properly because the information was withheld from you?’

Erestor nodded, but ended with a shake of his head.

‘It is not quite so simple. Elrond knew because…’

‘Perhaps because it was he?’ Arveldir finished quietly.

Under his arm, he felt Erestor’s shoulders slump, and Arveldir sighed. Of course, once he had seen the damaged faces amongst the elves of Imladris, it was only possible for the intruder to have been amongst them. And of them all, Elrond was at once the least likely – he was old enough and allegedly wise enough to know better – and the most, for he had been alone for a long time. It would only take a moment’s madness to start something that could only finish badly, but yet to feel unable to resist starting it anyway. He gave Erestor a gentle hug.  
Getting to his feet and moving a little way away from his friend, he took off his moss-green robes of office. Now wearing his leggings and shirt, he returned to his place beside Erestor.

‘I am off duty now, Erestor,’ he said firmly. ‘And so anything we discuss here will be between us, as friends, and for your comfort.’  
‘I do not wish to discuss anything. I do not see how it would help. I do not know what to do, I have spent so many long years supporting Elrond that now… now I am bereft.’

‘It is entirely understandable. Your friend has revealed a side of himself you did not expect – perhaps it is a side he did not expect, too – and as loyal as you are, when something so sure as your faith in your friend is shaken, how can you trust in the stability of anything else? And the repercussions… once word gets out in our camp, how will the wild wood elves respond?’ 

He said this lightly, trying to pierce Erestor’s misery, and was rewarded by a fractional smile. 

‘Well, I think some of the wild wood elves already know,’ Arveldir went on. ‘But there is the personal response, and the official response, and the two are like to be different. I will – when I return to my duties, that is – I will try to make this plain. I will try to express the damage which could be done if we allow our personal response to taint our official response… I am not a father, and I cannot begin to imagine what it would be like to see a son unhappy… and yet his unhappiness has passed, he is loved and he loves and perhaps, had he not received an unexpected visitor to his tent, he would say it didn’t matter. But for those who love him, and who have just learned of this, it is all new and fresh and raw. I could perhaps approach the prince and ask him to intercede, to ask his father to consider the political aspects of this discovery and how it could weaken our communities to be opposed to one another…’

He stopped abruptly.

‘But none of that matters at the moment. My king, your erstwhile lord… they do not matter. You matter, Erestor, and you may have lost faith in one friend but you have another friend here who would help.’ 

Erestor turned bleak eyes on him. ‘You would still be my friend? When our lords are likely to be at each other’s throats?’

‘We will not let that happen.’ Arveldir moved to keel in front of Erestor so that he could look up into his eyes. ‘We will save them from themselves, as I suspect we always do. But not yet. My king has other business this morning, and so I cannot begin to approach him yet.’

‘Besides, I think you said you were off duty?’

Arveldir smiled. ‘I am indeed.’

‘That is good, because I… would like…’

‘I hope it is the same as what I would like, Erestor,’ Arveldir said, and when Lord Elrond’s former advisor leaned forward to place a kiss on Arveldir’s lips, he discovered that it was.


	93. Something Wrong With the Page

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tharmeduil draws Govon's attention to a conundrum...

Thranduil rested his forehead against Nelleron’s sturdy neck and closed his eyes. As he had said to Arveldir, there was something profoundly reassuring about the company of animals. But now the last of the dried blackberries had been fed to the elk and it was time to gather his energies and try to work out which, of the many demands on his time, was the next priority.

Tharmeduil, Legolas, Elrond… potential dragons and unexpected guests… and those were only the most pressing of his concerns.

‘I think it suits him, Adar.’

Thranduil found a smile tugging at his mouth at the sound of his youngest son’s voice and opened his eyes.

‘There is no doubt that Arwen worked hard on it, Legolas,’ Thranduil replied, standing tall once more and patting the elk’s neck. ‘And you have some lovely cold weather gear from the lady.’

Legolas laughed and took something from his pocket. ‘Here. I brought him some dried blackberries.’

‘Thoughtful of you; he has had a handful from me, also. No, go ahead; I am sure he will be glad of them.’

They stood in silence for a moment or two, Legolas feeding dried blackberries to the elk and Thranduil watching his son, taking in the set of his shoulders, the easy smile in his eyes.

‘I hope you do not find the new security arrangements too arduous, ion-nin?’ Thranduil asked. 

Legolas dipped his head to try and hide a grin.

‘I think I can cope. As long as you don’t decide to take Govon off the duty and put Canadion in his place…’

Thranduil laughed, startling himself as much as Legolas, and he realised that there was possibly one person less to worry about than he had thought.

‘Are you well, Legolas?’ he asked.

‘Very well, Father. I had a long talk to Govon last night…’

‘Oh?’ Did he want to know? He hoped that whatever confidence Legolas was about to honour him with would not be too personal…

‘Yes, and… well, you don’t want to know the details but… he knows, now, who it was in the camp and… you don’t need to worry about it.’

‘Perhaps now is not quite the place, my son.’

‘It’s only that I don’t want it to spoil things for Iauron and Arwen when it’s all so long ago…’

‘And on the subject of Arwen, do you happen to know why we are blessed with her presence today?’

Legolas fed the last of the blackberries to the elk and shook his head. ‘She was about to tell us when Erestor shut her up.’

‘Ah. I see I shall have to speak to the fair lady myself. But ahead of that meeting, I should like to talk to your fëa-mate; I will allow you to inform him of the fact. Walk with me, my son.’ Thranduil put a hand on Legolas’ shoulder and led him away. ‘Your brother Tharmeduil is worrying the healers.’

‘Everyone needs a hobby, Father. Healer Feril is rather pretty, and our own Nestoril is quite a beauty in her own right.’

‘You noticed?’

Legolas laughed. ‘Of course I noticed! Just because I’m not interested doesn’t mean I’m not aware…’

‘Come. Let us pay a visit to your brother. He was talking earlier about wet elves, does that make any sense to you?’

*

‘Your pardon, Healer Feril?’ Govon stood a respectful distance outside Tharmeduil’s tent and waited for the healer to turn to him.

‘Yes, Commander?’ she said politely. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Not at all. I am come to ask after the prince?’

‘Ah… Healer Nestoril is the one to speak to…’

‘And she is taking a moment to herself.’

‘Govon?’ Tharmeduil called out. ‘Is it you?’

‘It is indeed, my prince.’

‘Come in, come… I wanted you, but I saw wet elves in your morning?’

Govon laughed and neatly sidestepped Healer Feril to duck into the prince’s tent. ‘Indeed, I have had two wet elves on my hands, but they are now in other hands, and so here am I.’

‘Good, take a seat, start writing. You know how it is done.’

‘My prince, I do not think…’ Healer Feril began to protest.

‘Lady Healer,’ Govon said with all the patience he could in his tone. ‘I have worked with Prince Tharmeduil before. There are some occasions when he prefers my aid to that of your friend Nestoril, or that of his brothers. I assure you, if he becomes ill again, I know what to do and I will call you at once.’

‘Except I’m not going to be ill again, not for a while, at least. Not until after the… well, not for a goodly time. Please, take a rest. Come back in an hour.’

‘Very well, your highness,’ Feril dipped her head. ‘But if…’

‘Govon will send word.’ Tharmeduil waited for her to leave before grinning at Govon; disconcertingly, only the right side of his face seemed to move. ‘Of course, she’ll be back in half an hour so we’d better get the tricky stuff out of the way first… can’t tell you how glad I am you came, I was on the point of sending and then I saw… well…’

‘I’m pleased to be of service,’ Govon replied. ‘Shall we start, then? Why, specifically, me?’

‘Because it concerns my family, and if I tell one brother, he’ll want to tell the other… but you understand… I made a mistake, before, keeping you in the dark about Legolas’ visitor… if you’d already been there, he wouldn’t have become a such nuisance and then he wouldn’t have been hit and then Father wouldn’t have worked it out and they wouldn’t be snarling at each other… but, you see, I could see down that path further and… see that paper, there? It’s numbered 33?’

‘Yes.’ Govon drew the paper towards him and looked it over.

‘It’s all to do with what happens here, by the river… what do you see? Just describe it for me as best you can.’

‘I see Nelleron with bells on… there is Canadion with an elf standing in front of him… it is not Thiriston, in fact it resembles Lord Elrond… there are arrows flying from the west riverbank and there are dragons in the sky… I see… Is that…? Our own Lord Arveldir appears to be wrestling with…’

‘Cuddling.’

‘Ah. Yes, indeed. Cuddling makes more sense, even if it is Arveldir… I can see many things here I recognise and some I do not… Iauron, sleeping… You, on horseback…’

‘Not going to happen for a day or two; my leg’s proper gone at the moment and my arm’s not much better… very well. But think. What’s wrong with the page?’

‘It’s a little alarming, with dragons in the sky…’

‘Think, Govon. Why are we here? What are we actually gathered here for?’

‘The agreement between Imladris and Mirkwood to the marriage of Iauron and Arwen and to formalise their union.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Forgive me, my prince? Your point?’

‘Well… if that’s why we’re all here, if that’s the entire purpose of this parade… why have I never once drawn the damn thing?’


	94. The Perils of Armour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Govon talks with Tharmeduil

Govon stared first at Tharmeduil and then at the page. He got up and went to fetch the rest of the sheets, scanning them one by one, shaking his head.  
‘You’re right… there is nothing, no formal ceremony, no exchange of the circlets of the two houses…’

‘Everywhere I looked, I looked for it and I didn’t see it. So I looked harder…’ Tharmeduil sighed. ‘It was possibly stupid of me, because I gave myself another fit trying to make it all work… don’t tell Adar, he’d be… disappointed…’

‘I will not. Yet…’ The commander spread one of the sheets out across Tharmeduil’s lap and pointed to a small sequence in one corner. ‘Here is Iauron. Here is Arwen. I think this is Erestor, which suggests something official, doesn’t it? And here is Nelleron, with bells on his antlers. And they are walking amongst trees, in the midst of what appears to be a procession. This is Mirkwood, here, and again on this other page…’

‘Yes, I see… but…’

‘Could it be that there’s a delay? It might explain why you haven’t recorded the event, because it’s not happening soon.’

‘I suppose… but why would they delay it?’

Govon’s eyes widened.

‘You mean you do not know?’

‘Who tells the sick prince anything that might upset him? It wasn’t so bad until Feril arrived, but she’s trying to shield me from everything – extrasensory isolationism, she calls it – she reckoned if I could go a good few days without a vision, then my brain might reset itself and I’d be all right… but that’s not how it works with me, not when I’ve got something half-cooked inside my head, I have to complete…’

‘Very well. What is the last significant event you can remember?’

‘It’s the insignificant ones as well, you know… the last thing I can recall being outside my tent, being anything like aware, was when you found me telling them to leave Nelleron alone… after that, it’s unclear.’

‘Indeed, it was a severe attack… Well… I remember one of my warriors saying he had been helping you out, so you may have missed the exchange between the king and Elrond… Thranduil insulted him, quite effectively, and then rode out on Nelleron… relations grew strained, the advisors met… Erestor said Lord Elrond felt insulted and our Arveldir said that if anyone had cause to feel aggrieved it was the king… and that night, your brother confided in me… he told me how it was, and then I told him who it was.’

‘I knew, of course. Only from my drawings, but I knew Elrond had been the one to hurt him.’

‘I worked it out during the gifting ceremony, from comparing his injuries to the shape of Thiriston’s fist, from how he looked at Legolas. Your father guessed, also, which is why he insulted Elrond…’

‘I’m sorry I missed that.’

‘He looked as if he wanted to horsewhip him, in truth.’

‘Ah… wait… here?’ Tharmeduil pointed at a drawing in the middle of a page, and Govon laughed.

‘Yes, indeed, that is exactly how he stood and looked!’

‘What else? There is more, I can feel it…’

‘I think… I am guessing, I do not know for sure… when Erestor and Arwen arrived this morning, the first thing the lady did was throw her arms about my fëa-mate and ask if he was all right. Erestor stopped her saying more, but I drew the conclusion that the lady – that they were both – in some distress. It’s reasonable to assume they, at least, now know of Elrond’s former involvement with Legolas.’

Tharmeduil reached for a drawing stick and began to sketch.

‘So they are here, they are both here, but why wet?’ he asked.

‘They waded the river.’

‘A secret crossing… Elrond does not know they are gone… when he does, he will come seeking… he is wearing armour… it is all right for him, but, oh, Adar, do not!’ The prince’s voice grew anxious. ‘Do not wear armour today or tomorrow or the next day…’ He looked up from his drawing, but his hand kept working. ‘Do not let anyone wear armour, Govon, not while we are camped here!’

‘Why not, Tharmeduil? Only the king and the princes have armour with them anyway…’

‘Because the dragons are still coming.’ He tapped a completed area of page. ‘Do not worry about the grey one, he is a cold-drake, with no flame. But the black one is cruel and the red one is wild… How long does it take to smother a fire on your clothing?’

‘If you can roll, or someone is to hand with a blanket, seconds… I am sure it does not feel like it, though…’

‘And how long does it take a hot cauldron to cool down? Or a sword when it’s taken from the furnace? It is hours, sometimes, and we are expecting dragons, mellon-nin! Or do you want me to show you this picture? I fear I must hide it, lest Nestoril see. It would break her heart…’

‘Your point is made, Tharmeduil! I will steal the armour if necessary… but why would anyone be in armour anyway?’

‘If they find out about the arrows, perhaps… or…no, it is clearing… it started with my father, it is Adar, Adar wants to wear armour because Elrond is in his – and it does not matter about Elrond wearing armour, it is not his side of the river…’

‘So we must dissuade the king from going out to meet Elrond as a warrior… he would never agree, I am sure he would say it would look cowardly, to face Imladris as if unwilling to fight.’

‘Then find another way for him to show his battle-readiness…’

Govon thought for a moment, and then grinned. ‘I do not suppose you have a picture there of the king in warrior paint, do you?’

Tharmeduil laughed. ‘Try page twenty,’ he said. 

They were still laughing at the image when the voice of the king himself distracted them.

‘It is good to hear you in high spirits, Tharmeduil. Perhaps you would care to share the joke?’

‘Oh, it is nothing, Adar, Govon seems to have sorted out the thing that was sticking in my head, though.’ Tharmeduil rolled up his papers. ‘I’m already feeling better.’

‘Then I will express my gratitude to Govon and free him for his other duties; Govon, you have nothing pressing to report, I hope?’

‘Not at the moment, my king, but I need to give orders to my command.’ Govon slid the pages away and closed the notebook. ‘I’m glad I was able to help. Look after my fëa-mate for me, Prince Tharmeduil.’

‘I will.’

Govon headed back to the camp of the Court Guard to find them engaged in a practice session with Thiriston growling encouragement from the side-lines. The commander took a seat next to the injured warrior.

‘Did I express my thanks yet, Thiriston?’ 

‘I deserve none, Commander; I was protecting my own. I confess, I didn’t give a thought to anything beyond that.’

‘Politics are unpleasant. They mean one cannot act as one might wish to act, but have to look beyond the personal and to the good of all.’

‘I am sure your moment will come, Govon.’

The commander raised an eyebrow at the familiarity, but let it pass. Instead, he laughed. ‘Yes, I find I hope so! I should have asked Prince Tharmeduil if he sees it anywhere!’

‘Is our prince still prophesying?’

‘He doesn’t see it quite like that, but yes. And I may need help with one of his notions. We must prevent the king wearing armour for the next few days…’

‘Because…?’

Govon sighed. ‘The dragons are still coming. Tharmeduil is… disturbed at the thoughts which come to him…’ He saw Thiriston’s face grow pale, felt his dread, although the big warrior held his silence. Inwardly, he applauded the courage this demonstrated. ‘Concerning which… I have a specific task for you. Prince Tharmeduil has not recovered from his last fit, and although he is starting to feel better, he is still weak. When the dragons come, you are to carry him to safety. I know he survives the attack – he has seen himself, you, Canadion talking after it – but I want to take no chances. Under the bridge, at the edge of the river, you will have most protection there. If Lady Arwen and Lord Erestor are still with us, they are in your care too. Can you still wield your axe?’

Thiriston stared at Govon as if not sure what to make of this assignment. Was it pity? Fear, lest Thiriston’s ingrained dread of dragons get the better of him?

‘I can,’ he replied. ‘But I do not understand why you ask this of me?’

‘I am your commander and I do not need to explain myself and, if others were listening, I would not do so now. I am being practical. Your hand is injured and you cannot draw a bow. But you are still the strongest of us. You can carry Tharmeduil with ease, while it would take two of any of the rest of us. In the event of any attack, the Court Guard’s first duty is the safety of the king and the princes.’

Govon broke off; the practice bouts had finished and the rest of his command had noticed him. He waved them over.

‘I have been planning,’ he said as they gathered around him. ‘Hold yourselves ready for a summons to a formal meeting later today; nothing is certain yet, but it seems likely… also increasingly likely is the threat of dragons…’

He raised a hand to silence the mutters and quell the unbelieving looks.

‘Yes, we would all like Prince Tharmeduil to be wrong about this, but if he is not, we must prepare. And so. Canadion, you and Thiriston are to take charge of Tharmeduil and our other non-combatants – this includes Healer Nestoril, although she may well argue, and if Arwen and Erestor are still here, they too are in your care… the remainder of us will protect the king and the other two princes. I am assured that only two of the dragons have flame; the third, the one depicted as a grey wyrm, is just a cold-drake…’

‘Just a cold-drake?’ Thiriston said slowly, as if every word was being pulled out of him. ‘Are we so forgetful of the ways of these beasts that we have lost the knowledge?’

Govon bit back a reprimand. ‘If you have useful information, Thiriston, I would be glad if you would share it,’ he said.

‘Cold-drakes do not breathe fire. They breathe poison. Not every breath, as not every breath from a fire-drake has flame. But it could be any breath, when they fill themselves up with air and rage it forth… it takes away the senses, you fall into sleep, into stupor. And you do not wake. And eventually you die.’ He looked around and shrugged. ‘It is less painful than flame, so they say. But you are still dead at the end of it.’


	95. Deputation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil talks to Arwen, and Legolas prepares to face Elrond.

Thranduil’s pavilion was the largest of all the accommodations in the camp, with the possible exception of the shelter for the horses and Nelleron. The king’s quarters were sectioned off so that he had a private sleeping area behind a curtain and a large space, perhaps half the size of his study at home, in which to hold court.

Even in such surroundings, Thranduil was impressive. A travelling chest made a makeshift throne with a screen placed behind it and himself in his red and gold cloak over his formal silver coat, the spring crown on his head and some of his Court Guard in attendance, so that even those who had seen him in his own throne room could not help but feel that all the dignity and power they felt came, not from the surroundings, but from the person of the king himself.

He sat in typical pose, semi reclined against the screen with on leg crossed over the other and he beckoned loosely with one hand to Hador, on guard at the opening to the pavilion, who turned to the opening and spoke to someone outside.

‘You can come in now.’

Arwen and Erestor entered, Arveldir and Legolas following to stand just inside the pavilion. From his place just behind the king, Govon caught his fëa-mate’s eye and saw Legolas smile acknowledgement.

‘I understand you seek sanctuary amongst us. Will you tell me why?’

‘Because my father is horrid!’ Arwen burst out, causing Thranduil to raise a dark eyebrow in response. ‘I just found out this morning that he… he… oh, I cannot bear to tell you but I am so ashamed to call myself his daughter and I…’

‘Peace, Arwen.’ Thranduil raised his hand and she faltered. ‘All fathers are occasionally horrid; it is an unfortunate fact of life.’

Behind Arwen, where she couldn’t see, Legolas was grinning at his father’s response; Thranduil’s eyes warned him, but he was unable to quite prevent his own amusement. He did, however, manage to keep it from showing in his face.

‘Perhaps, Lord Erestor, you can express matters with a little more eloquence?’

‘Your majesty, I will try, although 'horrid' is a good summation… if I may speak freely?’

Thranduil tilted his head. ‘Proceed.’

‘Lady Arwen is correct. Lord Elrond...Some time ago, he fell from wisdom. He behaved appallingly, and although I did nothing about it at the time, I did not realise, perhaps… but that is no excuse. My former lord has since compounded this lack of judgement by…’

‘Would you care to explain what you mean by ‘fall from wisdom’ and ‘lack of judgement’, Erestor?’

Elrond’s former advisor and friend swallowed. There was unexpected ice in Thranduil’s tone and he suddenly felt on shaky ground.

‘He began a somewhat… unconventional relationship… it is not this which I find so abhorrent, you must understand, not the parties involved, but rather that he… I heard it did not end well, and it is my former lord’s part in this ending, his reasoning on the topic which I… which causes me such difficulties…’

‘I see.’

‘And compounded by an ill-advised attempt to revisit this relationship… I cannot reconcile my friend of so many years with this newly-discovered flaw of character…’

‘Do you try to tell me you were unaware of this… perfidy?’

‘Indeed, your majesty, I realised only yesterday ago that any such relationship had taken place and it was as recently as this morning that I discovered my lord himself was one of the parties involved…’

‘It has been the case, I think, that many who surround those involved have only just found themselves aware, or at least aware of the full scope of the matter.’

‘I tried to reason with him, you majesty, explaining that the only possible way forward would be for him to apologise, to repent of the distress he has caused, but for my pains I was told instead to deliver a message to your advisor. Having decided to leave Elrond’s employment, however I did not deliver said message, which was to announce something had come up and Imladris will be leaving…’

Arwen gasped. ‘You did not tell me this, Erestor!’

‘I do not see that it is relevant. I told you I was leaving, and you said you wished to leave also. It is done, we are here.’

‘But… the wedding?’

Thranduil stared. Did Arwen still want Iauron, after all this?

‘Regrettably, I no longer feel that a formal alliance with Imladris will be in the best interests of my family, my kingdom, my people… do not look so sad, penneth!’ Thranduil said. ‘I only said a formal alliance! If you and Iauron are determined to proceed, you may take your vows as fëa-mates and I will even officiate if that is what you wish.’

‘Really?’ 

Arwen brightened, flashing him the most beautiful smile and Thranduil began to think he could forgive her all the crochet. Almost. Not Nelleron’s antler covers, however. And not the bells. Never the bells.

‘Really. I would not inflict the indignity of a relationship-by-marriage with your father upon my youngest son, but neither would I see my eldest son unhappy. Although, if you seek to cleave to Iauron simply because you have nowhere else to go, I will be most disappointed…’

‘Lady Arwen does indeed have somewhere else she could make a home, your majesty; she could easily take ship down the river to Lorien, where I am sure her grandmother would be happy to take her in…’ Erestor muffled a sigh. It was he who had nowhere else to go.

Arveldir heard him and stepped forward.

‘My king, if I may make a suggestion… no doubt there will be a significant increase in formal communications of one sort or another between Imladris and Mirkwood as a result of recent events… my workload is already more than adequate to keep me busy and the assistance of one who is familiar with the ways of Imladris and its other advisory agents would be most beneficial in future decades… I would request that you consider Lord Erestor as more than capable of joining your own team of advisors…’

Thranduil held Arveldir’s gaze until his advisor flushed to the tips of his ears.

‘Let me think a moment. Imladris takes my son’s peace of mind… and Mirkwood takes their lady and their advisor… I think that would be an acceptable outcome… yes, what is it?’ Thranduil finished, seeing one of Esgaron’s guard at the opening to the pavilion.

The guard approached and bowed. ‘My king, there is a deputation from Imladris at the bridge. It includes Lord Elrond, all the knights of his house… they are caparisoned as for war and demand speech with you. Commanders Esgaron and Bregon are in attendance.’

‘I am busy; you may tell him I have no time to deal with him at present.’

The guard gulped and bowed. ‘My king, as you desire,’ he whispered.

Legolas stepped forward. ‘Adar, can I make a suggestion? Perhaps Lord Elrond would be more inclined to listen to me than to Rimon here?’

‘Ion-nin? Are you are certain?’

Legolas nodded. ‘I’ll be fine. May I take Thiriston, Canadion and Govon with me, also?’

Thranduil waved. ‘Go.’

Legolas bowed, and headed out of the king’s pavilion.

‘My prince, may I give Canadion a brief errand?’ Govon asked. ‘It will not wait.’

‘Very well. But be swift.’

It was but a few moments before Canadion and Govon were back, Canadion grinning and Govon trying not to smile.

‘Do I want to know?’ Legolas asked.

‘We’ve stolen your father’s armour, that is all.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Prince Tharmeduil said we should. And he had pictures.’

‘Tharmeduil always has pictures… come, then. Let’s go and embarrass Lord Elrond.’ Legolas smiled. ‘I think I may even be looking forward to this.’


	96. An Alternative to Armour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil's armour has been misplaced as he prepares to meet with Elrond...

A pang of panic flared somewhere inside Legolas as he and his guards approached the bridge, and he made himself be calm, look the scene over, try for a little objectivity.

There appeared to be an uneasy stand-off taking place. Commanders Esgaron and Bregon were standing on the bridge itself, a few paces out, and a selection of their warriors were lined up on the bank. Facing the two commanders, on horseback and in full armour, Lord Elrond was glaring down. His sons were beside him on their horses, Glorfindel and the rest of the knights – no more than half a dozen – behind.

At this distance, and unobserved, Legolas was able to take in his former lover’s appearance without himself being the object of scrutiny. The lord he had once held in such high esteem now revealed as overbearing, come in armour and on horseback with weapons displayed to shout at a warrior dressed only in leather and linens, and proud, his camp full of cooks and servants.

But the Elrond looked tired, and worried, and although Legolas no longer cared about him enough to either feel pity for him, or to gloat at his loss, the prince did wonder whether Arwen’s defection was filling the Lord of Imladris with something like the same distress that Legolas’ return home in sorrow had been so evident in his father’s eyes.

One thing was sure. Legolas’ fear was gone.

He took a breath and glanced to his right. Govon smiled reassurance, and behind him, the powerful solidity of Thiriston and the lighter presence of Canadion reminded him that Elrond would remember, if not Canadion’s face, then at least Thiriston’s fist.

‘Commander Esgaron, Commander Bregon. Thank you for holding the bridge. You may return to the bank.’ Legolas took up a place on the bridge, nodding as the commanders passed him. He remembered all the hurt he had felt at Elrond’s hands, reminded himself that he was a royal prince, the son of King Thranduil, and knew he was ready.

Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, gave a formal smile and inclined his head towards the armour-clad figure on horseback in front of him.

‘Mae govannon, Elrond. What do you want?’

All the lines in Elrond’s face drew forwards in fury.His eyes went from the prince to the elves with him; recognising Thiriston and Canadion from the incident on the eyot, he drew back, a hand unconsciously lifting to touch his face.

Legolas stood apparently relaxed and smiling, his head slightly tilted, but Govon could feel the thrum of tension from his fëa-mate as he waited for Elrond to compose himself. 

In the pause, Thiriston shifted position and cracked the knuckles of his unbandaged hand.

Elrond started, but the noise was enough to make him hurry into speech.

‘I want – I demand the safe return of my daughter and my advisor! I demand to see King Thranduil at once…’

‘Arwen and Erestor are both here, yes. They came this morning, as a matter of fact, Arwen was quite upset… I assume you know why…?’

‘Legolas, this is not the time for…’

‘No, it is not the time. My father is busy.’ He levelled his gaze at Elrond, his blue eyes echoing the same ice his father was capable of. ‘You may wait, if you like. Or come back later. Although you wouldn’t want to look overeager, would you?’

‘What did you say..?’ 

‘I said, good day, Lord Elrond.’

Govon managed to wait until they had turned and were walking away from Elrond before he grinned. He wanted to applaud his fëa-mate, to hug him, to cheer, but stayed at his side in proud, but proper silence until they were back in the middle of the camp.

‘Thank you, Thiriston, Canadion. I think you can return to your other duties now,’ the prince said.

‘Gather the rest of the Court Guard; I will join you presently,’ Govon told them.

They turned away, and the prince headed for his own tent, glancing to make sure Govon was following. Once inside, out of sight, Legolas shook his head.

‘I do not remember when I have been so anxious…’

Govon threw his arms around him, hugging him tightly.

‘I am so proud of you, melleth! To hear you say that, to him, to tell Elrond to wait… it is a pity we do not have a door to the bridge, or you could have told him he had to knock on it.’

Legolas was shaking against him, burrowed into Govon’s chest, but he managed to laugh.

‘I do not think I will ever be afraid to face him again, not now.’

‘Come.’ Govon stroked his fëa-mate’s back and gently pulled away. ‘There is more to be done this day. If I read your father aright, he will want Elrond to wait, but not wait so long he gives up. So I should help him prepare. But I wanted to tell you, first. You were amazing.’

‘Ha!’ Legolas grinned. ‘You always say that.’

‘But not about facing your demons. Now. Your father will want to know how it went.’

*

Thranduil was pacing the pavilion when they found him.

‘They have lost my armour,’ he complained. 

Govon shrugged. ‘It is a hot day, my king. You would do better without.’

‘But Elrond is in full array!’

‘Which implies he does not trust his own abilities to keep himself safe,’ Govon said. ‘It suggests he is afraid. But you do not require armour, great king. You trust your own might of arms. You are not afraid.’

‘No, I am not afraid but if I, the king, arrive in my usual clothes it will look as if I seek to present myself as a non-combatant…’

Govon grinned, causing Thranduil to break off.

‘Why do I think you have something in mind, Govon?’

‘Perhaps because I do. If my king would follow me, my command is waiting to assist with an alternative to armour…’

*

Despite his misgivings, Thranduil allowed Govon and Legolas to lead the way through the camp to where Govon’s warriors were waiting. They were already stripped to the waist and the packet of warrior paint lay waiting, ready.

Thranduil stopped and turned to Govon.

‘No.’

‘My king, it is not as if I am suggesting you borrow my kilt…’

‘No. It is inappropriate.’

‘It is very Silvan, I know. But just this once…’

‘No. I do not have the scars.’

‘I know,’ Govon answered. ‘The day we practiced together, I noticed you were unmarked, or your scars where not where it shows. But it does not matter, not today. This day, my warriors will only have their armbands, showing the names of their fëa-mates and the name of their king. You, King Thranduil, you who visit us when we are injured and know us all by name, who come to us after our loved ones have fallen, you who feast us and honour us… it is our names you will be decorated with. Because our scars are your scars. We fight for you, we are wounded in your name, so that you do not have to be. By allowing us this, you allow us to honour you in return.’

Legolas snatched up a dark grey paint-stick.

‘I’ll help, Adar,’ he said. ‘We’ll keep to just the one colour; it will look better.’

‘Legolas, this is…’

‘…going to look stunning.’

*  
Elrond waited. His horse was bored, his sons were bored, the knights at his back were beginning to ask questions and it was all his seneschal could do to keep them in line. He glared at them, and then returned his attention to the camp in front of him.

Two dozen warriors were standing in neat lines in front of the bridge. Although their hands were empty, there was no doubt that they were armed, and if they needed to, they were ready to act.

He scowled, but raised a hand to quell the muttering behind him as finally there was activity from the camp.

The twins, bored, probably, and thankfully still unaware of why their sister had left, laughed, but their father hushed them.

‘This is a serious matter. Your sister has been here all day unaccompanied.’

‘But Erestor is here, too,’ Elladan said, his tone questioning.

‘And Healer Feril, Father, so…’

‘What a parade!’ Elrond muttered as the king approached the bridge.

*

Thranduil rode on Nelleron at the centre of the group. His pale hair hung loosely over his shoulders, stirring in the breeze like silver gossamer. His chest and arms were covered with charcoal markings and he was accompanied by his Court Guard, also bare-chested but today lacking most of paint marking their scars, only bands on their arms decorated, making the king look even more spectacular.

Walking to one side were Arwen, Erestor and Feril, Thranduil’s own advisor with them.

‘What do you want, Elrond?’ Thranduil said, his tone bored, his expression disinterested.

‘I want my daughter and my advisor back immediately! I do not know how you stole them…’

‘They were not stolen,’ Thranduil said. ‘Objects are stolen; hearts, peace of mind, perhaps can be stolen. Your people were not; they were not even kidnapped. Nor were they in any manner opportuned, persuaded against their better judgement, seduced…’

Arwen stepped forward and Erestor, in a show of solidarity, followed her.

‘I chose to leave,’ Arwen said. ‘I decided I could not stay another moment…’

‘Arwen, my dear, you cannot possibly begin to understand the complexities…’

‘You see?’ she demanded, turning to Thranduil. ‘This is what it is like! I cannot be expected to understand… because I am never talked to, nothing is ever explained to me – except when I find out by mistake and then, oh then, he is at great pains to explain… that I could not possibly be expected to understand…’

‘I, also, left freely, Elrond,’ Erestor said. ‘And while you may be able to get away with patronising your daughter into silence, you know me too well to accuse me of lacking the intelligence to understand your particular complexities. I shall not be returning with you to Imladris.’

‘Arwen, you must come home! You cannot possibly stay here!’

‘No. I cannot possibly come home.’

‘But, Arwen!’ Elrohir spoke up. ‘Why not? It can’t just be that Adar talks down to you all the time… you should be used to it after all these years…’  
‘No, it’s more than that, Elrohir, it’s…’

‘Arwen!’ Elrond shouted.

‘What if I do come back, then, Father? Are you going to keep me quiet all the time? Forbid me to talk to my brothers? For I will not keep silent about this; it was wrong. You were wrong, and…’

Elrond compressed his lips in a hard line.

‘You obviously need time to think about the wisdom of your decision, Arwen. Very well. I will return tomorrow and see if you have come to your senses. Healer Feril, you will be doing me a great favour if you will stay with Arwen and see that she does not come to any harm. Erestor… you are making a mistake.’

He turned his horse and his knights made way for him to ride away. Elladan and Elrohir looked at their sister for a long moment before a shout from their father made them shrug and wheel their horses and follow reluctantly after him.


	97. Conversations with Glorfindel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel finds out rather more than he expected...

Elrond fumed all the way back across the eyot and over the river to the Imladris camp. His sons shot questioning glances at his back, at each other. The knights of the household looked about them for answers to the puzzle of their Lord’s mood, but found none. Only Glorfindel seemed uncurious, calm.

On arrival, Elrond dismounted and threw his reins in the general direction of a servant and stalked off. Left in charge, Glorfindel took over.

‘See to the horses, and then stand down. I doubt King Thranduil is quite our mortal enemy, so we can put our armour aside… double the watch, though. And someone send to the kitchens; Mirkwood was meant to be feasting us today, but I doubt that will happen…’

‘Glorfindel?’ Elladan had dismounted and now approached the golden-haired seneschal, helpfully holding his horse’s bridle while he dismounted. ‘What do you think is going on? With Arwen and our Adar? Have they had a disagreement?’

‘I do not know, penneth.’ Glorfindel scratched his horse’s neck. ‘I would say it is more than a simple disagreement between father and daughter, since Erestor has left, also. I will speak with your Adar presently and see what I can discover.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘I am sure it will be well. Do not worry.’

He nodded to Elladan and headed for his own quarters, unbuckling his breastplate as he went. It was too warm for armour, and he found even the fact that Elrond had ordered his knights to wear it somewhat disturbing; his lord was being uncharacteristically defensive where Mirkwood was concerned, the whole thing an obvious misunderstanding or miscommunication…

Except… Except for Erestor.

Glorfindel had known the advisor for as long as he’d been at Imladris, and although it must be said that Elrond’s chief counsellor was expert at keeping his own counsel, still, the seneschal had thought he’d grown to know his ways at least a little… for Erestor to suddenly leave… unless he had seen someone he liked in the Mirkwood camp? Erestor? In the throes of passion?

The thought made him smile. There was that rather fetching advisor of Thranduil’s – and who else would put up with the pedantry of an advisor except another advisor? – it seemed a perfect match… but would Erestor just throw up his life’s work for love?

Still, even so, that would not explain Arwen…

He broke his line of thought off suddenly. He was outside his tent, now, and he could hear someone inside… he’d heard rumours of a mystery elf in the other camp, and since then, things hadn’t been the same, somehow. Was it true, was there a stranger around? And had he crossed to the Imladris side of the river?

He drew his sword and went cautiously inside.

But it was no mystery elf; it was Elrond, and he looked tired and unamused to have a blade pointed in his direction.

‘Put that thing away; I need to talk to you.’

Glorfindel smiled grimly as he sheathed his sword and began to cast aside his armour. Elrond, he noted, was still wearing his own burgundy corselet.

‘Well, you’ve saved me the trouble of seeking you, Elrond!’ He took a seat, stretching his powerful legs out in front of him. ‘What’s going on?’

Elrond hesitated. Erestor’s advice came back to him; that his only hope of retaining the respect and support of his people would be with the truth. But truth was a tricky thing, subjective and fluid. Perhaps if he started with the facts and moved on from there?

‘Arwen and Erestor have, as you have seen, crossed the river. At first I feared Arwen had been persuaded, enticed over, but she has decided…’

‘Why, my lord?’

‘Because…’ Elrond broke off. He had been about to say, because his daughter did not understand, that she had no idea how alone he had been, but he stopped himself and rethought. ‘Glorfindel. I have been alone for a long time, you know this. You may even understand this.’

‘I do.’

‘There was a time when I was not quite so alone. Just for a short time, a season, a few months. It did not last.’

‘I know this also.’ And as Elrond stared at him, astonished, Glorfindel went on. ‘I am your seneschal. The security of Imladris is given to me. I watch, Elrond. I watch your borders and your home to keep them safe. I will not claim to see everything, but I see enough. I saw your mood change and lift, and I saw changes in someone else, also. I said nothing; it was not my business, you obviously wanted to keep matters private or you would have spoken about it. Perhaps to your advisors, perhaps even to me.’ He shrugged. ‘Besides, as you say, it did not last long, and since you did not much care that he had gone, I judged it one of those encounters the lonely amongst us fall into from time to time; necessary, perhaps, to remind us that we are still alive, but not vital to our existence…’

‘What? Of course it was important to me; do you think I would risk so much for a brief fling?’ Elrond found himself growing angry; was that what Glorfindel thought of him? He tried to frame a response to adequately express his displeasure at his seneschal and his former attachment to Legolas. But before Elrond could continue, Glorfindel apologised.

‘Your pardon, my lord; I may have misread how you were at the time. But I could not have given up one I loved so easily as you did he. I wondered, indeed, if I might have been wrong about there having been an affair, so unconcerned as you were. Yet he seemed a pleasant ellon enough, and courteous and polite, not above himself as a prince might be. In fact while he was with us he grew, if anything, too aware that he might be perceived as trading on his royal father’s name…’

Elrond sighed. ‘It was a difficult time. Confusing. I was, I will admit, perhaps overly concerned lest when Galadriel and Celeborn arrived, they thought I was not properly respectful of their daughter’s memory.’

‘But why now? Has something occurred between you and the prince recently? And did Arwen learn of your previous affair?’

‘Arwen found out, yes… she is very distressed, thinking of her mother. But, Glorfindel…’

‘It is no wonder, then, that relations are strained. When will Erestor be back?’ 

As the silence stretched out between them, Glorfindel found himself growing uneasy.

‘Erestor will be back, I take it? Is he not simply… trying to smooth things over, helping Arwen, liaising with Thranduil’s counsellor? It cannot be that Erestor is staying away out of respect for Arwen’s mother…?’

Elrond closed his eyes. It had not been enough. He had so hoped that Glorfindel would let him be once he had confessed to the affair, but it was no use. He would have to tell him everything.

‘There is, perhaps, a little more to add… it has to be said, I may, possibly, have made an error in judgement… given that our two families looked likely to be united, I decided I should talk to him, to see how things stood between us…’

‘But it was over, surely? From your unconcern after he left, from the lack of communication between Imladris and Mirkwood for so long?’

‘I told myself it had been foolish, an indulgence… a mistake. And, yes, at first, I thought it was over. But as time passed, I wondered… I see now, too late, that it was also a mistake to attempt to revisit the past. He put me in my place, he has moved on, I felt… humiliated and ashamed that I had gone there, that he had made me feel I had to go there…’

‘I do not understand – you said he had not contacted you. How could he have compelled you to visit him, then?’

‘Because he had not contacted me. Because we…’ Elrond heaved a sigh. This was it. ‘Because we parted on bad terms and I was, perhaps, harsh with him. And I learned that he had been unhappy and it had been my fault. Maybe it was not him, but thoughts of him, guilt, even, made me go. He told me we were done, that he had another now, and I thought… yes, he can find another to care for, but I? I cannot do this again, I cannot allow myself…’

‘And Erestor?’

‘Had not known about the affair, was shocked that I had gone to speak to Legolas, seemed to think him too young for me and that I have stepped over some sort of moral line… and most displeased at what happened after.’

It was Glorfindel’s turn to sigh. It was impossible to get a full answer from Elrond sometimes, he would give you just what he felt you needed to know…

‘What happened after?’

‘I wanted to reach out to Legolas, just a friendly touch, but he backed away and called a guard and I realised, to my horror, that he was afraid of me. More than anything, that made me ashamed. I hid my face, I did not want to be recognised… Another came to lead me, a friendly, talkative ellon, and on our way across the eyot, I stumbled, and the elf with me held me up. And I wondered… perhaps, just for a night, an hour, a little companionship, even from a stranger… but when I touched him, he backed away… and then Legolas’ new lover arrived and hit me.’ Elrond gestured towards his still-injured face. ‘And I am rather ashamed to admit that I believe I may have deserved it.’

‘It is now that you will feel the loss of Erestor most keenly. Not just his advice and wisdom, but his friendship, Elrond.’

‘In truth, he gave me the benefit of his advice – that I should apologise to King Thranduil.’

‘Instead of which, you don your armour and ride out to make demands of him.’ Glorfindel could be prevent a smile. ‘Elrond, you are impossible. I have no idea how to aid you…’

‘Just tell me you do not despise me, mellon-nin, and it will be enough.’

‘I cannot pretend to like what you have done. But I have lived a long time and yes, I have seen worse. And none of this directly concerns me, my lord. We are friends, yes, but not such close friends that I feel wronged that you did not confide in me…’

‘And yet I have done so, although perhaps a little late in the day.’ 

‘What do you intend now, Elrond?’

‘Wait for tomorrow to come so that I can try to talk to Arwen again. Hopefully I can persuade her to come home.’

‘But… my lord? What of her marriage?’  
‘It is unlikely to now go ahead. Thranduil will not want her for his son’s wife. I do not particularly want Iauron for my son-in-law. She will be sad for a time, but she will recover.’ Elrond slapped his hands on his knees. ‘I suppose I had better speak to the cooks; we will not now dine with Mirkwood…’

‘I have already sent to the cooks.’

‘Then I will walk the camp and make arrangements for moving out tomorrow. Good day, Glorfindel and… thank you for not thinking too badly of me.’

Glorfindel nodded and refrained from pointing out that he hadn’t mentioned to Elrond exactly what he thought of him at the moment.

Certainly, he had a lot to think about, and by the time he heard Elrohir sing out his name from the entrance to his tent, he had got his ideas into some sort of order.

‘Come in. Is your brother with you?’

‘When am I not?’ Elladan said with a grin, following his brother into Glorfindel’s tent. ‘So, what did you discover for us?’

Far too many things.

Glorfindel had considered explaining how, once an ellon had been alive a certain length of time, things began to look the same, the tastes and smells of every day merging into monotony. How a younger (but not necessarily young) lover could change that outlook, bring back the excitement and the freshness.

But then he thought of the uneasy look in Elrond’s eyes and couldn’t quite bring himself to believe he’d had the entire truth yet, and he had no wish to be an unwitting supporter of any further deceit.

‘In short?’ He gave a smiling sigh and a one-sided shrug. ‘Your father’s an idiot.’

Both twins laughed.

‘This we know already. And?’

‘Well… Arwen is upset, I think, because she’s lately learned that your father had an affair. It was a long time after your mother sailed west, but, still, it will have been a shock.’

‘That’s not good,’ Elladan said.

‘I can understand Arwen going off… makes you think,’ Elrohir added. ‘Is it still going on?’

‘No. Not for want of trying…’ Glorfindel took a deep breath and, as casually as he could, went on. ‘It was when Legolas was staying with us…’

‘Legolas?’ Elrohir’s voice was shocked now.

‘But that’s disgusting!’Elladan added.

‘What was the word Arwen used…? Horrid.’

‘Yes, horrid! I mean, Legolas and Adar? What would Legolas see in him? Adar’s far too old!’

Glorfindel fought against a smile. The twins were notoriously unpredictable, and at the moment, he was finding it quite refreshing as they ignored him completely and dealt with the subject in their own way.

‘Do you think that was why he stopped talking to us so much? It was as if he was upset all the time… Do you think he was all right after?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know… but you’re right. He seemed to get sad.’

‘Was that why he left? Adar can be a bit thoughtless sometimes… I don’t know. Adar? When Legolas has got all those lush Silvan ellyth?’

‘It’s probably the fact they were ellyth… mind you, some of those guards of his are quite handsome, especially in their warrior paint…’

‘Elrohir? Is there something about you I don’t know?’

‘Just saying… Nothing wrong with that, is there?’

‘It’s just a pity we didn’t know before…’

‘Why? Fancy your chances, Elladan?’

‘To quote: ‘just saying’, Elrohir…’

Glorfindel cleared his throat. 

‘Entertaining as this conversation is, I’d quite like a few moments to myself, if you don’t mind?’

‘Sorry, Glorfindel.’

‘And thank you, Glorfindel. It’s a bit of a relief, really. I thought – I think we both thought it was going to be something really grim…’  
‘Well, it’s grim enough, Elladan…’

‘Yes, but it’s not like he’s about to run off with a dancing girl from Lake Town…’

‘What do you know about dancing girls from Lake Town?’

‘Not half as much as Iauron does… have you heard him…?’

The twins left, their conversation wandering after them out of the tent.

*  
Glorfindel was left shaking his head. In some ways, the twins’ attitude was refreshing… although even the vaguest suggestion that Elladan would even consider Legolas as a potential partner was enough to make him shudder…

He stretched out, crossing his legs at the ankles and allowing himself to relax. Just a few moments to think…

Barely any time seemed to have passed before a shout went up outside. It was followed by more, by a scream from one of Arwen’s handmaids… and another…

Already on his feet, Glorfindel picked up his sword and headed out.

‘What is it?’ he demanded of the nearest figure.

The ellon fled without reply. From the far side of the camp, Elrond strode out of his pavilion.

‘What in the name of all the Valar is going on?’ he demanded.

‘Lhuig!’ one of the guards shouted. ‘Lhuig!’

‘Dragons?’ Glorfindel echoed, and looked to where the guard was pointing. From the north, three shapes were heading towards the camp. He took up the shout. ‘Dragons!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations, for those who need them:
> 
> Ellon – elf (m, sing.)  
> Ellyth – elf (f, plural)   
> Lhuig – dragon (plural)


	98. 'The Dragons are Now'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the the two elvish encampments prepare to battle the dragons...

Glorfindel stared at the sky. Still a long way off, riding high in the air, three dark smudges, little more than dots. They could be eagles, almost, except even at this distance the proportions were wrong, with too much neck and tail…

He gave himself a shake. What was he doing, staring at the sky? He should be preparing his forces, consulting with his lord.

‘Elrond! Where is Elrond?’

Elladan dashed up. 

‘He is at the armoury, he is in despair! More than half the good longbows are gone!’

‘What?’ Glorfindel hastened after Elladan, who explained as they went. 

‘He said Arwen could have them – I was there – she was making her gifts…’

‘The bows she presented to Mirkwood’s Court Guard were ours?’

‘Yes – but she asked – take what you want, Arwen, he said, go away Arwen…’

Glorfindel didn’t know whether to laugh or weep. In truth, it was all too typical of Elrond’s way with his daughter of late; Elrond obviously loved her deeply but had less of an idea of how to deal with her than he did with dragons…

‘They are still a long way off,’ Elrond was saying as Glorfindel hurried up to him. ‘And we still have four good bows…’

‘Four bows, three dragons, what’s the problem?’ Elrohir asked the air somewhere to the side of his father’s head; it was obvious that while the twins accepted the necessity of talking to their father, it didn’t mean they had to look as if they wanted to.

‘The problem is that we are primarily sword-skilled,’ Elrond said. ‘Some of the servants can use a bow, but the thought of relying on the cooks…’

‘Glorfindel, I can use a bow,’ Elladan said, grabbing one of the longbows and a quiver of arrows. ‘Legolas taught us. Elrohir’s not bad, but I’m better…’

‘No, you’re not! Don’t listen, Glorfindel, Legolas said I had the better eye…’

Elrond closed his eyes at mention of the prince’s name but forced himself to focus.

‘Well. Good,’ Glorfindel said. ‘One of you, round up all the archers you can from amongst us. And I can use a bow, also – It may have been better to use sword and spear in Imladris, Elrond, but the bow was my first weapon and I never gave up the practice.’

‘Very well. Get your archers into place. I’ll command the defence; order your longbows as you will but wait for my orders. I know you have fought dragons.’

‘Amongst worse creatures,’ Glorfindel said softly. ‘I have fought dragons.’

*

The first warning the Mirkwood camp had was when Prince Tharmeduil started shouting for Healer Nestoril. 

Instead, Healer Feril attended.

‘Your highness?’

‘I want Nestoril. No disrespect, but…’

‘I am sure I can help.’

Tharmeduil took a breath in, exhaling with his eyes closed. He appeared to be counting.

‘No, no you can’t. Please get Nestoril. Or do you want me to start shouting again?’

‘Your highness…’

‘Nestoril!’ Tharmeduil threw back his head and bellowed her name. ‘Healer Nestoril! To me!’

‘This is most unbecoming, your highness and…’

‘Sorry, Feril, I did warn you. Nest…!’

‘Hush, oh, please hush! I will seek her!’

Feril fled, and Tharmeduil began trying to ready himself. He managed to pull on his leggings; his left side was by no means so useless as formerly, and he coped pretty well, although pulling the clothing up was a challenge. He even managed his boots, even if the effort did leave him feeling weak and shaky.

‘What are you doing, may I ask?’ Nestoril demanded, ducking into the tent, her tone by no means friendly for once.

‘Dressing, Ness.’

‘Dressing and intimidating my friend. You were very rude!’

‘I know, I’m sorry. But there wasn’t time…’

‘You look better, though.’

‘Once Govon stole Adar’s armour, that did the trick. They’re coming, Ness. The dragons. The dragons are now.’

‘What?’ She paled, her hands going to her cheeks. ‘I must prepare…’

‘Thiriston’s coming for me – I hope he knows! I need my papers… no, there won’t be room, I’ll manage with a notebook… pens…’

Tharmeduil looked around, but Nestoril had already gathered them together and passed them to him.

‘Thanks. Will you tell Govon, or someone?’

‘I will. Oh, this is… even though we knew…’

She hurried from the tent, seeing first Feril. 

‘My friend, excuse the prince; there was no time… put together some battle packs for us, quickly! Do not stint the caul silk. Then find Arwen and Erestor – the camp will shortly be under attack…’

‘Really? But…?’

‘Yes, Feril, truly! We have been long-time friends, trust me now. Oh, there is Hador… Hador! Where is Govon?’

*

Glorfindel looked at his scratched-together archery division. Himself and the twins. Lindir, of all people, had claimed skill with a longbow, although he didn’t look strong enough to draw one. Three cooks and two ostlers, a handful of other servants including, to Glorfindel’s surprise and earning his respect, one of Arwen’s handmaidens… but they were a sorry lot, really…

He quashed his qualms and addressed them as if he had every faith in their ability to shoot straight and long.

‘I have fought dragons. They are hard to kill, but not impossible. Aim for their eyes, their heads, their underbellies. Shoot often; even the passing of arrows past them may be a distraction. Do not let them get close enough to flame…’

He glanced around at the huge sprawl of the camp.

‘And for Eru’s sake, shoot away from our own people!’

*

In the few minutes since Tharmeduil had yelled for Nestoril, much had happened.

Alerted by Hador, the entire camp had been put in motion, and now Thiriston and Canadion had gathered the non-combatants together near Tharmeduil’s tent.

‘I can walk if you’ll just put your shoulder under mine,’ Tharmeduil said. 

‘I’m well able to bear you, my prince,’ Thiriston replied, causing Nestoril to hide a smile.

‘Yes, but nowhere in my drawings does it show you giving me a soldier’s lift!’

Hador came across.

‘Commander Govon would like you all to follow me, please.’

They followed him to an open space in the middle of the encampment; Govon was there and the others of his command, along with the two princes. Iauron came over to give Arwen a quick hug.

‘Never a dull moment with us, you see.’

‘Why did you summon us?’ Erestor asked, looking around.

‘My king asked me to gather everyone here,’ Govon told him. ‘He wishes to address us. Do not worry, Lord Erestor. You will all be safe.’

Commander Esgaron and many of his warriors arrived, lining the edges of the camp and Erestor noted they were all armed, short bows ready at their backs, knives in their belts. He shook his head.

‘Safe from whom?’ he asked.

Arveldir rubbed Erestor’s arm. ‘Do not worry. Our prince receives warnings, sometimes, and we have learned to heed them.’

‘But…’

‘We have two of the Court Guard looking out for us; there are no better warriors,’ Arveldir said with confidence. ‘Unless you are a crack shot with a bow, you’ll stay with us.’

‘I am a fair shot…’

‘No, Erestor, it’s important you stay with us,’ Tharmeduil said. ‘Just until it’s over. Then you can go where you want. We’ll be under the bridge, looking after the horses. We’re going to need the horses.’

There was a stir amongst the guard as more warriors arrived, parting to make way for Nelleron and the king. The elk still bore his crocheted antler warmers, with the ends of the long ties dangling and the bells jangling softly. Thranduil looked resigned to the chiming, and brought his mount to a halt at the edge of the warriors so he could address them all. 

He was not, Tharmeduil noted with relief, wearing his armour, but his silver-grey coat over a shirt, the neck of which was open to reveal his grey decorations, still marking his pale skin. His double sword belt was fastened about his waist and a set of long handled throwing knives were in sheaths attached to Nelleron’s saddle. Further knives were slid into the tops of the king’s boots, and his hair swung unconfined, giving him a dangerous, predatory air.

‘Have I time to speak?’ he asked, looking at Tharmeduil. He didn’t add – are you certain, are you sure? He would not be seen to doubt his son. But he did hope, this time, he was mistaken.

‘Yes, Ada. But better ask Esgaron to pull the bridge guards back.’

Thranduil looked at Esgaron and nodded, and the Commander sent one of the guards forward with the order to stand the sentries down.

The king waited a moment and then lifted his head.

‘My warriors,’ he began. ‘My Silvans, my family, my friends. We will shortly be under attack. Salute your friends, embrace your lovers…’ He waited. All were listening, nobody moved. ‘But that was an order! Commander Govon? Canadion, you also, did you not hear…?’

A smattering of laughter as Govon shrugged. ‘As my king commands,’ he said, and kissed Legolas, giving him a swift hug. Canadion and Thiriston showed they, too, could follow orders. Iauron sneaked a kiss from Arwen, hoping nobody was looking and, indeed, more eyes were on the two advisors, sharing a chaste, but fervent embrace.

‘You, also, Arveldir? Why am I not surprised?’ Thranduil covered his eyes momentarily in mock-despair before continuing with his speech. ‘All of you, who have fought and suffered for us – today, I honour you.’ He gestured towards his open shirt, the decorations he’d not had time to remove (but his warriors did not know that, of course) ‘…for your service honours me. Be bold, but not overconfident. Try not to die. I will look for you all after the battle.’

Thranduil’s warriors shouted and cheered and fell silent, waiting for orders. 

‘But… where is the enemy?’ Erestor softly asked in the pause that followed.

A sudden singing in the air and a curving shower of arrows arced through the sky from the Imladris side of the riverbank. Most fell short, onto the eyot, into the river, but several speared down, thunking into the earth just where the sentries had been pacing a few moments before.

‘Not Imladris?’ Erestor gasped. ‘Elrond?’

Tharmeduil nudged Govon. ‘Arrows. What did I tell you? Come, we need to get moving.’

*

As Glorfindel finished addressing his archers, Elrond strode up.

‘Get your warriors in position, Glorfindel; the dragons are approaching rapidly.’

‘Yes, my lord. Lindir, Elladan, Elrohir; I want you with me; we have the greatest range. The rest of you, take up positions around our perimeter, remember, do not fire across the camp, you will endanger each other, and our unarmed personnel. Wait for Lord Elrond’s command.’

Glorfindel led the way to the approach to the bridge. But for the obstruction of the pavilions on the eyot, there was a good line of sight, and the dragons were clear now in the sky. Looking to the north, still far and high, the three smudges had resolved into proper shapes, tiny dragons apparently at play, for their flight was erratic and convoluted.

‘This is the worst moment,’ he said, for Lindir’s sake rather than for the twins’, who had experienced such pauses before action before. ‘They are near, but not too near, close, but not close enough… I do not think they have seen us.’

‘Are they hunting?’ Lindir asked.

‘It looks more like they are playing… but no doubt, once they catch the scent of us, or the sight of us…’ Glorfindel sighed. ‘Or the horses, they will become much more interested.’

Elrond walked the line and watched the skies, stopping near Glorfindel’s position.

‘Should you be here, my sons?’

‘We’d rather be over there with Arwen,’ Elladan muttered under his breath.

‘And Legolas,’ Elrohir added.

‘What, and his handsome warriors?’

‘Better than dancing girls in Lake Town.’

Elrond stopped between the two of them, rested a hand on each of their shoulders. ‘What are you both talking about now?’

‘Nothing.’ Elrohir moved away.

‘Just one of our random conversations.’ Elladan stepped to the side.

‘What’s wrong with you two?’

‘Us? Not a thing. We’re fine.’

‘Not sure about our sister, though.’

‘Or our friend Legolas.’

Elrond stepped back, lifting his hands skywards in a gesture of frustration.

‘There are dragons in the sky! Is this the time for your nonsense?’

The twins raised eyebrows at each other in a way Glorfindel found eerily reminiscent of their father. In spite of the gravity of the situation, he struggled to hide a smile.

‘My lord, this is the best place for these bows,’ he said. ‘Do not worry; your sons know what they’re doing.’

‘Unlike our Ada,’ Elrohir muttered.

Elrond shook his head and turned away to order the defence. People were trying to get under cover, to get the horses corralled together in the centre of the encampment, to follow orders and to keep out of the way, the whole area in motion and confused and noisy.

‘They’ve seen us!’ Lindir called out. ‘The dragons are turning towards the camp!’

‘Ready your bows, nock arrows,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Wait for the order...’

Now the colours of the dragons could be seen; grey, red, black. The grey creature was of a different form from the others; narrower in the body, longer in the neck and tail. They were dropping though the sky, no longer playing and twisting but heading arrow-straight towards the camp.  
And they were fast.

Glorfindel hissed in his breath as he realised something else; they were smaller than he had expected. Still huge, but nowhere near as large as the dragons of the past… which meant they were a lot nearer than he had thought, too, and now, as he was able to tie them in against the landscape, he realised just how swift they were. He lifted the bow, sighting along the arrow; he had a clear shot and the black one was almost in range… and he waited for the command… and waited…

And suddenly from the sides of the circle of archers, arrows were loosed, more followed and Elrond yelled something indistinct. Assuming it was the order to shoot, the twins raised their bows, Lindir following suit. Glorfindel prepared to take his shot…

Another arrow flew over their heads towards the dragons, hitting the black midflanks but bouncing off; the dragon gave a roar and all three turned in the air, wheeling away, and a shout went up from behind and more arrows flew over their heads…

_Over their heads?_

‘Get down, those behind are firing over us, that was not the order to shoot I am sure…’

The four dropped flat on the ground as more arrows flew, and Elrond continued to shout… and now his words, as he approached, were clearer.  
‘Cease fire! Cease fire! Do not shoot! Do not shoot… you are firing across the river, my daughter is there! Do not…’

Glorfindel swore under his breath. The twins paled, horrified at the thought they’d almost shot at their sister. Along the rest of the line of archers, bows were lowered, mutters broke out and turned into cheers. Although none of the arrows had hit their mark, the dragons had been driven off.  
Glorfindel abandoned his position, running along the bank to get a clearer view of the Mirkwood camp. Two things struck him. Firstly, to his relief, there were no fallen elves in sight; none of the Imladris arrows had hit anyone.

Secondly, and more worryingly, it was true. The dragons had been driven off.

Straight towards Thranduil’s encampment.


	99. Dragonbreath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the dragons begin their attack...

Having stripped their home range of easy prey, it had become natural for the dragons to fly further afield in search of food. They had been busy playing in the sky all morning, and for a long time they didn’t realise how far south they had travelled from the shelter of their mountains. But the bright skies and the warm sun had drawn them out and down along the line of the river as the morning passed and the sun grew past its zenith. Discovering the encampments a few hours later, they became interested, watching the moving figures, trying to decide which side of the river to play with first, which of the many targets was most appealing.

A cluster of meat-animals were gathered together at the hub of one of the camps. There was more movement there, too, and experience had taught the three siblings that the more movement there was, the more food there was likely to be. On the other side of the river, the camp there was much less lively, and the meat-animals resembled the two-legged sort that the dragons had come to think of as bad meat, used as they were to orc-flesh. Only occasionally had they found one here and there which was not as bitter, whose blood was red and not black, but when there were other meat-animals available, and unless they were feeling playful, the dragons left the bipeds alone.

Daedor made a choice, and drew his breath into his belly, preparing to ignite his fires as he folded his wings and dropped from the sky. Angrisla followed, unwilling to let Daedor lead, and Calenoril danced around them in the air.

They zoomed lower, to be met by a sudden and unexpected flurry of sharp points rising through the air. Although none of the dragons were actually injured as the arrows bounced off their hides, it was enough of a shock, after weeks of avoiding arrows, to make them rethink, retreat, rise into the air and to turn away from the wave of annoying sharp sticks.

*

King Thranduil stared at the arrows scattered across the Mirkwood side of the riverbank. He stood up in his saddle to look over the mounds of the pavilions on the eyot towards the far bank where the archers of Imladris were gathered. He took in a breath and although his face did not seem to change, suddenly there was a new sternness there, glints of steel in his eyes.

‘Iauron, Arwen… I feel for you both. Arveldir, Erestor! Take note: The wedding is off. I will not ally my kingdom with a potential kinslayer who would dare launch a volley at a camp in which his own daughter is an honoured guest.’

In the lull after the king ceased speaking, Govon looked up. He blinked, making sure of what he saw, and then tried to keep his voice calm.

‘My king, I do not think Elrond was actually shooting at us…’

He drew their attention to the air above their heads.

Red, grey, black. Three dragons, circling high to avoid the arrows of Imladris, now heading away from the nasty points and down towards the Mirkwood camp at a rate of knots.

‘Commander Govon, you have prepared for this moment, I understand?’ Thranduil prompted, his habitual bored tone not wavering.

‘Indeed, my king. First, a warning.’ He lifted his voice. ‘Beware the grey dragon; he is a cold-drake and his breath is deadly. Court Guard, to your duties!’

Thiriston flinched. The three shapes converging on the camp made him eager to get moving, half-dragging Tharmeduil with him. 

‘Canadion, come! Bring the others. We do not have much time to get them to shelter.’

‘Hador, Tegolon, provide cover for the non-combatants,’ Govon said. ‘My king, should you be presenting yourself as quite such a target?’

‘What do you suggest, Govon?’

The commander nocked a long arrow to his new bow, sighting along it, standing protectively in front of the king.

‘You would not like to assist with the non-combatants, I suppose?’ 

‘Not in the slightest. Why are you not guarding my youngest son?’

Bregon and Esgaron were yelling orders of their own now, shaking their heads as if unable to believe what they were saying. The guards scattered through the camp, seeking more open ground. There was little cover other than the tents and pavilions, and while that was all very well for an individual archer, there were too many trailing ropes and obstacles for a large troop to move in safety. 

‘Because Tinuon has both Legolas and Iauron under his care until Hador and Tegolon return.'

‘I see. This is some strange and new interpretation of ‘under his care’, then, as I see Legolas is on his own near your shared quarters…’

Govon’s head whipped round to stare in the direction of the prince’s tent. Sure enough, Legolas was sheltering in the lee of their billet, his grey shirt merging with the soft shades of the canvas, his bow raised, an arrow nocked. 

The black dragon swooped down and Legolas shot, the arrow sure and straight and catching the dragon in the flank. It hissed, and swung off. Govon released his own arrow which glanced of the scaled tail. He shook his head, nocked another arrow, and watched the skies as he answered the king.

‘It was decided that the Honour Guard would provide a distraction, luring the dragons into range of our bows and to give the non-combatants time to get to cover. Key archers then target the dragons… but, my king, none of our plans included you on the battlefield!’

The black dragon had skittered away, the grey cold-drake watching and now this one began to cruise lower. A volley from Esgaron’s warriors startled it, the arrows clattering against its hide.

‘So they are young, but on the point of turning from dragonets into dragons,’ Thranduil murmured. ‘Inexperienced, but less vulnerable than one could have hoped. Guard my son well, Commander.’

He nudged Nelleron with his heels, and the elk leapt away.

*

Thiriston concentrated all his energies on the task in hand; getting the prince to safety. As long as he kept his mind on that, all would be well. At the other side of the group, Canadion was doing his best to encourage everyone to hasten. 

‘Where are we going?’ Erestor asked.

‘Beneath the bridge, between the piers. They are stone, and there is enough of a beach so that we can keep out of the water,’ Canadion told him. ‘My lord, it is the only cover.’

‘And are we to hide there like cowards?’

Thiriston’s head lifted at the word. ‘No, lord. Simply to shelter so that we are not in the way of the archers and the king has no need to worry about us. We are to keep the horses calm.’

Arveldir took Erestor’s arm, encouraging him to hasten. ‘My friend, I know you are no courageous. Our warriors here would rather be in the battle; I have seen them fight. But we all have our orders. It is our duty to keep you, and our other guests, from harm.’

They reached the bank and began the scramble down it. Nestoril joined in the conversation.

‘You are a fair shot I hear, Lord Erestor, as am I. We all of us practiced with the guard for many hours before we left home, and it is hard to leave the fighting to others. But we can best help them by keeping out of their way.’

Erestor sighed, but allowed himself to be persuaded under the bridge with the rest. Once there, Nestoril took charge of the prince, settling him against one of the piers with his notebook and drawing sticks.

‘Are you well, Tharmeduil?’ Her voice was solicitous. ‘You look tired.’

‘I’ll be all right. I just need to close my eyes for a few minutes.’

Canadion unslung his bow and tilted his head towards Thiriston. ‘We should keep watch.’ 

‘True enough.’ Thiriston retrieved the axe from its stays at his back, holding it left-handed as he followed his fëa-mate through the little cluster of elves and past the horses to look out from the other side of the bridge, peering up the bank. ‘It’s an honourable task Govon’s given us.’

‘Truly.’ The bodies of the horses between them and the eyes of the other elves, Canadion slid his arm around Thiriston’s waist and rested his head against his shoulder for a moment. ‘You could not draw a bow, not with the injury to your hand.’

‘I would have hit that villain just as hard, even had I known it would spoil my fist.’

Canadion smiled. This was just the sort of light, trifling conversation to distract Thiriston from the threat of dragons.

‘And the entertaining thing is, I hear he did not realise it was my honour you were defending; he thinks you and Legolas…’

‘No? I doubt that will please our commander!’

‘I would pick my moment before telling him, certainly. For…’

Canadion broke off; a yell went up from the camp, a cry, too many shouts and screams. Thiriston’s eyes widened and he stared and stopped breathing.

‘What is happening?’ Arwen’s voice called.

‘Do not worry!’ Canadion made himself sing out. ‘It is only to be expected, my lady. All is well.’

Thiriston met his eyes, shaking his head as more shouts rose up. Plainly, all was not well.

*

Hador and Tegolon were back, Tegolon gone to watch over Iauron and Hador trying to catch up with the king. Thranduil had ridden off on his elk, leaving Govon muttering imprecations under his breath as he headed to the tent Legolas was using for cover. His fëa-mate grinned swiftly.

‘Did Adar tell you off for guarding him?’

‘Instead of you? Indeed.’

‘There is no danger here. Well…’ he ducked pointlessly as the shadow of the red dragon darkened over them both. ‘Not as much, anyway. Look, I am fine. Go and help with my father. I have cover, they can’t really see me against the tents; I blend in.’

‘Melleth…’

Legolas inhaled heavily. 

‘Commander,’ he said. ‘I am worried about the king who, on Nelleron, is almost as big a target as are the dragons.’

Use of his rank made Govon stiffen for an instant. He opened his mouth to protest, but stopped. Legolas was right; they could not behave as fëa-mates at the moment, not and do their jobs properly. He had grown so used to being permitted to combine duty and love that he had almost forgotten it was a privilege granted only by the king’s generosity.

‘Forgive me, my prince.’ Govon found a smile for his fëa-mate, his melleth, even if he couldn’t say it aloud at the moment. ‘I forgot myself. As you command.’

‘Just be safe, Govon. And go.’

*

The dragons had been circling, wary of the arrows, hungry enough to try the occasional foray down. The black one, wounded already by a stinging arrow that even now stuck out from its flank, was more cautious than the others. When it did drop down, it did so flaming, cutting a swathe of heat across the plain behind the camp. The grass withered and elves threw themselves out of the way desperately, for the attack had been swift, and more than one elf rolled and screamed until friends smothered the flames licking through their garments.

The king rode towards the site of the attack, but the black dragon had gone, followed by a volley of arrows, roaring as three more pierced the sable hide. Thranduil could see Iauron and Tegolon, laughing, half afraid, at the narrow escape they had had, saw Govon racing towards them with a warning escaping his mouth.

The long grey wyrm darkened the sky, belly barrelling as he sucked in a huge breath, ready to exhale.

‘Beware the wyrm!’ Thranduil stood in his saddle and cupped his hands around his mouth, ‘ware the cold-drake!’

Tegolon heard, saw the great grey head looming, and pushed Iauron from him. ‘Do not breathe, my prince! Do not breathe…’

Iauron staggered but Govon caught him. ‘My prince, do not…’

But the prince gasped in a breath as Govon felt the air warm around him. The commander turned away, trying to escape the toxic fumes that he could feel scratching at his face. He could see the prince’s eyes began to glaze, but as he tried to hold his breath, Iauron reached out and clamped his hand over the commander’s nose and mouth, pinching painfully and cutting off his air supply. Everything began to spot and darken as Govon tried to struggle free, but Iauron deliberately pushed him down, still holding his hand in place, covering him with his own body and the last thing either of them saw before losing consciousness was the silhouette of Nelleron’s antlers bearing down above them.

*

Thranduil witnessed all. 

He did not think he would ever move again. But all he could do was look at the fallen and hear their elegies begin to run through his head.  
Tegolon, on his back after pushing Iauron out of the way, eyes milked over, too still. Dead, saving his prince. 

No.

Govon, pinned face-down in the dust, unmoving. Commander, beloved fëa-mate to Legolas.

No.

Iauron, frozen in place. For once thinking of someone else, trying to help another. 

No. Why choose now to stop being selfish? No. No.

Oh, sweet Eru, no! 

*

Angrisla had pulled away after delivering the breath, waiting, watching for signs of life. Seeing none, he lowered his head towards the bodies, inhaling the scent of flesh. Daedor and Calenoril would want some, but he had no wish to share. There were other of these creatures around, too, shouting and hurling their points, but Daedor’s flame was keeping them busy. If Calenoril came, he would share, but hunger was building in him, overriding his natural caution. He dipped his head, opened his jaws and allowed his wicked forked tongue out to lick at the uppermost form.

‘No.’

Thranduil didn’t realise he’d spoken aloud, but hearing his own voice freed him and he drew his sword. It was foolhardy to attack, but he would not permit the desecration of the bodies, not while he was alive.

The wyrm tilted its head to stare with evil yellow eyes. It looked as if it was smirking as it drew breath…

Thranduil dug his heels into Nelleron’s sides and the elk bellowed, lowered his head, and charged.


	100. Grey, Red, Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the attack continues...

Thranduil steeled himself for the impact. When it came, it was ferocious. 

The elk’s antlers smashed into the side of the wyrm’s head. Angrisla tried to break away, but the points of the antlers speared him, framed him and his head was trapped in the encompassing spread of Nelleron’s head-set. He hissed, but his snout was caged, hampered, and he could not expel his deadly breath. He struggled, throwing his head back, trying to break free. Nelleron’s front feet left the ground, all his weight on his powerful hindquarters and Thranduil rose in the saddle to prevent being thrown. The elk tossed his head, and the motion made the long ties of his decorations fly, the shrilling bells whirling like bolas to wrap around and around the wyrm’s snout, tying the two creatures more tightly together.

Angrisla tried to flap his wings, but there was too much weight pulling him down at the front. He leapt back, the elk leaping with him, charging harder into his head.

Thranduil stared into the wicked yellow eye of the dragon and pulled back his arm. His sword lanced forward, straight and strong, bursting the eyeball, putting out the yellow light, and piercing through into the brain. The wyrm convulsed, pulling Nelleron with him, and the king struggled to keep his seat. But the entire weight of the cold-drake’s head and neck was now dragging on Nelleron’s antlers, and the elk bowed his head, bellowing in discomfort. The king drew out his sword and began slicing at the dragon’s serpentine neck, trying to decapitate the creature and relieve at least some of the weight.

The neck was slender, the hide tough, but the sword was sharp, cleaving through the layers of scale and skin and muscle and bone, blood slicking out. It seemed Thranduil would never be done, but once the vertebrae were separated, the rest of the muscle parted easily, and Nelleron dragged free of the stinking carcass, tipping his head to the side and panting.

Thranduil dismounted and went to Nelleron’s antlers. The wyrm’s head was still trapped, wrapped in crocheted strands.

‘Well done, brave heart! Let me help you.’

The king began unwinding the tangle of ties, loathe to bring a knife anywhere near Nelleron’s head to cut them free unless he must. It was a small task, and he made himself focus on it. Beyond the immediacy of this service, all was falling apart and he could not bear to think of it yet, could not bring himself to consider the pain waiting with so much loss and grief still ahead.

He gasped in his breath as he tasted again the anguish of seeing those three fallen elves and tried not to think how many more would be lost that day. He was the king; it was his job to think of such things. But not yet. He could not begin to face it, to feel it yet.

The tangles were unwound. The wyrm’s head was stuck fast, its face still smirking at the triumph of the destruction it had brought.   
Very well. If he had to cut the thing to pieces in order to remove it, he would.

* 

High above, where she had been keeping out of the way of the points and allowing her siblings to take the risks and hunt for her, Calenoril had seen Angrisla close with the strange double creature. She watched how he was trapped, how they fought.

And she saw Angrisla die.

Not since her sister’s murder had Calenoril felt such rage and grief. It had been Angrisla and Calenoril, Calenoril and Angrisla, with Daedor watching, for so long that the red dragon could not believe it would not be so again. But Angrisla was dead, and the double creature had cut his head off, his pretty head with its bright, bad eye. She screamed her rage and arrowed herself towards the body of the wyrm.

*

Thiriston paced. Three steps along, three back, there was room for no more, aware the others were watching him, some anxious, some irritated. Only Canadion smiled softly and dared speak to him.

‘What is it, melleth? You’re scaring the horses!’

‘I can’t stay here! I feel… trapped, trammelled… it’s like being an elfling again, stuck in the crack between two rocks and told to sit quiet and wait for Naneth…’

Canadion rose to his feet in one liquid movement, placing his hands on Thiriston’s arm.

‘No-one is telling you to sit quiet now.’ He ducked around the horses, came to stand in front of the prince. ‘Highness, you have Lord Erestor and Healer Nestoril’s bows to protect this place. Do you need us, also?’

‘No. No, I do not…’ Tharmeduil stared into the darkness of his imagination and stirred suddenly. ‘In fact, you are almost late! Hurry, Ada needs you. Both of you!’

Canadion rejoined his fëa-mate and readied his bow. Thiriston swallowed; now given the choice between shelter and facing the dragons, his fears reawakened.

But his fëa-mate looked over his shoulder at him, that loving, teasing look Thiriston knew was only his, and he would follow after the penneth anywhere, and he pushed through the fear.

The huge red dragon was about to land.

And yet the dragon was not so big as fear had made it seem, Thiriston considered. Not flaming, either; a series of snarls and squeals, almost as if the creature was talking as it descended… he moved to the side, seeing beyond the dragon to where the king, swords drawn, was standing defensively in front of his elk…

Thiriston shook his head. Why was the king not fleeing? 

Thranduil saw him, the slightest inclination of his head acknowledging the warrior’s presence, and took a step backwards.

The movement was enough to break the red dragon’s tirade, and its sides swelled as it inhaled deeply to its internal furnaces.

*

Thranduil had been busy trying to release Nelleron from his burden when the air changed. Turning slowly, he had seen the scarlet fire-drake descending, heard the rage and fury in its sibilant speech.

A dragon that did not flame you the moment it was in reach? Young, inexperienced, vulnerable in unsuspected ways… since when did dragons care for each other? For that was how it seemed, that the red dragon was grieving.

Grieving?

Just for a moment, for a heartbeat, Thranduil saw ahead…the necessities of visiting Tegolon’s widow, telling Legolas that Govon was dead, explaining to Arwen that Iauron would never...

The red dragon was distraught.

It had no right. 

Thranduil drew his second sword, crossed the two blades in front of him, the one still slick with ichor and blood. Better to die attempting to slay this thing than have his heart break while he broke the news of so much loss…

He watched dispassionately, disassociated from the fury before him, noticing absently that Thiriston had appeared to one side of the fire-drake and Canadion was with him also. Thiriston gave a shake of his head as if guessing the king’s intention, but the king took a step back.

It was enough to provoke the fire-drake into taking the breath that would ignite its furnace.

Thranduil lifted his chin to inspect the dragon, readying his swords.

*

The black dragon had discovered a game; it would select a few warriors and huff a dribble of fire at them, enough to make them flee. It would chase after, strafing them with flame until a volley of arrows flew up, causing the fire-drake to break off and twist up into the air away from them. It would hover, watching while they recovered, and then would launch another attack. Esgaron was desperately trying to play the game to most effect, trying to control how many warriors ran, to where, and having more warriors ready to help when the inevitable flame came. But his shouts were getting increasingly desperate, his ammunition running short, the number of guards able to keep up with the demands of the game diminishing.

Legolas moved through the camp on his belly, keeping low and slow, edging towards Bregon’s position; the commander had managed to get a cluster of the honour guard and some of the wounded back amongst the tents, hiding them at least a little from the dragon’s attentions.

Bregon saw him coming and edged across.

‘We’re holding it, my prince, but for how long… Esgaron’s guards are in trouble and I can do nothing…’

‘It’ll be our turn soon enough,’ Legolas said, not knowing how including himself with Bregon lifted the warrior’s resolve. ‘Forgive the question – have you seen Govon?’

‘I cannot say I have.’ Bregon clamped his mouth shut on the remark that he had, by now, seen almost everyone else. It would not help.   
‘He was meant to be guarding my father…’ Legolas had a clear shot at the black, raised himself, and fired. The arrow found its mark, burying itself into the fire-drake’s belly, causing its side to deflate. The dragon shrieked and wheeled away and Bregon nodded grim satisfaction.

‘Ai, right through into the furnace! That will slow his flame a little. I last saw the king… no, he is gone…’

‘I see him, look, the cold-drake is dead… What is Adar doing? He’ll be killed!’ 

Legolas broke cover, dashing towards his father, skirting the body of the cold-drake. His rapid approach attracted the attention of the red dragon, torn now between two targets.

‘Adar, what are you doing?’ 

‘Get back, Legolas. Whilst you can.’

The dragon drew its attention back to the king. Thranduil swung his swords and advanced even as the fire-drake began to flame. With a yell, Legolas loosed an arrow just as Thiriston swung his axe severing the tip of the dragon’s tail, causing it to shriek in anguish and flail its head so that the prince’s arrow flew wide. Fire flared over the king’s head and he jumped forward to sweep his swords beneath the dragon’s neck, severing its carotid and leaping clear as it flailed and gouted blood. But in its death-throes, the head swung again, the mouth still flaming, and the king was engulfed. Thiriston dashed out, swinging his axe to finish off the creature while Canadion broke cover to throw himself on top of the king, smothering the flames. Legolas rushed to help.

‘Get Nestoril,’ Thiriston ordered, and his fëa-mate scrambled up and hurried down the bank.

*

‘Father?’

Thranduil heard his son’s voice and grasped at his hand. The flames were out, at least, but it was impossible to know the exact extent of his injuries. His left side appeared to have taken the brunt of the attack, his hair singed and shorn, and his face felt ruined. As yet, he was numb, shock setting in, and he realised he had but a moment before the pain started, before he couldn’t think beyond it.

‘…so sorry, ‘las, ai, my son, my sons…’

‘What is it, Adar?’

‘I… I saw them fall. Govon, he… at least they did not burn...’

‘What…? No, Adar, no, it cannot… you cannot, he…’

Thranduil’s hand became a claw clutching as the pain arrived.

Nestoril arrived while Legolas was still trying to make sense of Thranduil’s words.

‘Come, my prince, let me do my job… oh, you are hurt, too! Healer Feril will tend to you, now, come, let me help your father!’

He staggered to his feet, finding hands helping him; Thiriston, unexpectedly quiet and gentle.

‘Let the healer work. Come.’ Thiriston’s voice turned away. ‘Help him, Canadion, watch his arm, though.’

‘Cousin, just a little further…’

‘Get him moving; the black beast is on its way over…’

*

Elrohir glanced at his twin. ‘Can’t do this, Elladan. Can you?’

‘What, just watch them burning? No, it’s too awful. Glorfindel, please, we have to help…’

Glorfindel sighed. Of all the heartrending sights he’d witnessed, watching the black dragon chasing over the plain toying with the Mirkwood warriors had to be one of the worst in this life. It reminded him too much of the flames of Gondolin.

‘I am in command of the archers; I cannot go…’

‘No, but you could order us to.’

‘We will be careful; but it is our sister.’

‘Our friend.’

‘Do not we owe them something?’

‘Go. Be careful and do not crowd each other. Take orders from whoever tells you do something.’

The twins nodded and hurried across the bridge. Lindir moved closer towards the seneschal.

‘The eyot is neutral territory. We would have a clearer shot from there.’

‘With these archers helping?’ Glorfindel’s lip curled. He thought for a moment and then turned to address his troops. ‘Stand down. Retreat to the back of the camp, protect the horses.’ He shook his head at Lindir. ‘You do not have to come.’

‘No, but I wish to.’

Elladan and Elrohir were already out of sight between the pavilions; Glorfindel and Lindir hastened after them.

‘We will not get in their way; we will simply stay on the eyot,’ Glorfindel said.

‘Agreed.’

Even from the banks of the eyot, it was clear that the Mirkwood camp was in trouble. The bodies of two of the three dragons could be seen, mounds of dead flesh, but more worryingly, the bodies of elves could be seen strewn and still across the plain. Those elves who were still able could be seen trying to reach their fallen, but the black dragon was dropping down and preventing them, flaming and scattering them.

‘Is that… is that their king, near the bank?’ Lindir asked.

‘It is… this is a sad day for Mirkwood. Ah, he stirs; he lives, at least, and someone with him.’

They saw the twins, then, advanced across the bridge and kneeling behind the body of the red dragon as the black fire-drake twisted in the air again. They raised their bows.

‘Prepare your shot, Lindir…’ Glorfindel said, nocking an arrow.

‘I’m ready.’

The dragon hung in the air. For a moment it was perfectly still, the ideal target, and the four Imladris elves loosed their shots at the same moment. The power of the bows and their proximity to the target coupled with the unison of their volley hurtled the arrows into the dragon, hitting throat, eye, neck and wing, none a killing blow but all painful, debilitating. Seeing the dragon falter and scream rallied the Mirkwood archers, and those who still had ammunition fired into the beast. More arrows ripped through the wing, hit the belly and the dragon lost altitude, skimming the ground and turning back towards the mountains to the north. It breathed in, seemingly trying to flame.

‘Something is amiss; it has no fire!’ Lindir said. ‘They are winning!’

‘It is still dangerous.’

An elf armed with an axe dashed out from beneath the bridge. He hurtled towards the fallen dragon across the battlefield, attacking with fervour and fury and little thought. The fire-drake flailed, turning its head towards its attacker who dropped the axe and drew two long knives, burying them into the dragon’s hide and using them to walk up the beast until he could stab and stab again into the fire-drake’s flesh.

‘That’s Legolas!’ Glorfindel realised. ‘What is he thinking?’

A second, much larger and broader elf dashed out from beneath the bridge and over the open ground, caught up the axe, and joined the attack. It seemed the same question occurred to him for no sooner had he buried the axe in the dragon’s skull and seen it jump and shudder into death and its wings collapse out across the ground than he rounded on the prince and began shouting at him, pushing at his shoulder and the prince shouting back.

Glorfindel and Lindir exchanged glances.

‘What should we do?’

‘I do not think there is anything we can do. Wait for Elladan and Elrohir and return to our camp. It’s not for us to offer Elrond’s help and, indeed, I do not think it would be welcome.’

*

The third dragon was dead, it should be a moment for rejoicing. Instead:

‘Legolas, what are you playing at? You belong with the healers, not out here putting yourself at risk!’

‘It is dead, is it not? Leave me be, Thiriston, I am sorry I took your axe without consent, but leave me alone! I must… I must find him…’

‘That isn’t your job, Legolas!’ Thiriston’s fury abated as he heard the pain in his prince’s voice. ‘Come. Let us find him and bring him home to you. You have to let the healer look to you now.’

‘I cannot… we cannot leave him… any of them out here.’

‘We will not.’ 

*

Glorfindel and Lindir didn’t have to wait long before the sons of Elrond came back across the bridge towards them.

‘We’ve seen Arwen, she’s sheltering under the bridge. And Erestor and Feril are fine.’ Elrohir offered.

‘Is your sister well?’

Elrohir shrugged.

‘We didn’t show ourselves,’ Elladan supplied. 

‘But we saw the king is hurt,’ Elrohir said, sighing. ‘It’s a mess.’

‘What next, Glorfindel?’ Lindir asked.

‘We go back, we talk to Elrond, we try to find a way to let Mirkwood accept our aid without feeling they’ve lost honour by doing so.’ He sighed. ‘I do not think it will be easy.’


	101. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril attends the king.

Nestoril closed her eyes and tried to find that perfect point of calm in her fëa, the one that was always there, however deeply hidden, waiting for moments like this when she needed to find her inner strength. 

Because you had to be strong-minded to do a job like this.

People often didn’t realise; they thought care of the sick and injured was the perfect employment for females, being such nurturing, caring creatures. And, yes, Nestoril was tender-hearted, she loved those in her care and rejoiced to see them thrive.

But then there were moments like this, when she knelt before a ravaged, once-lovely face and freshly-ruined body and did not know how she was going to put all those pieces together again, how restore the damage.

He had been so beautiful, her king, so perfect in feature and form…

Enough. He was her king and she had a duty of service to him.

Nestoril prepared pads of caul silk from her battle pack while she made herself look at him and wondered if she could be just the surgeon and medic without being Nestoril the healer, as Thranduil was able to divorce the father from the king.

No. She didn’t have that strength. And she would lose too much of herself, the healer, if she tried.

Nestoril spread salve on the pad of caul silk.

So. The right side of his face was intact. The smooth, wise forehead was as clear as ever and the elegant nose was undamaged. His lips and chin had escaped. But the left side of his face, eye and cheek and jaw were a devastation of scorched, raw flesh and his hair, his lovely silvered hair…

These were not the king’s only injuries. His coat had burned and his body beneath, shoulder, arm, hip. But the extent of the damage there would only properly be seen once his garments had been cut away, and that was best done when he was unconscious and moved off the battlefield.

As she lifted the dressing to place it over Thranduil’s face, his right hand groped and clutched her wrist.

‘Wait. Hear me,’ he managed to say.

‘What is it, Thranduil?’

‘Iauron…’

‘I have not seen him yet, I am afraid.’

‘Nestoril… I saw. I saw him fall, and Tegolon and…’

‘Hush, my king, do not distress yourself! We will seek them at once.’

‘And Govon. But… no need… no call to hurry.’

Nestoril froze. Impossible, it had to be, not Iauron, not… not.

No. These words could simply be distorted by the pain, he could not be implying they were dead, she would not believe…

‘All will be done, my king,’ she made herself say. ‘Let me help you now. There are others injured and I will not go to them before I tend you,’ she added, knowing it would make him co-operate so that she could move on to the next elf who needed her. ‘There is a dressing which I am putting in place first… there… it will help, I assure you, and now I will give you a potion to help ease the discomfort…’

Nestoril raised Thranduil’s head and poured a few drops of liquid from a vial between his lips. She saw him swallow, knew the movement would have hurt him, and so while she waited for the drugs to take effect she talked to him, things she knew he would want to know.

‘Prince Tharmeduil is safe and well. He has had another seizure, but it is minimal and now he sleeps.’

How alarmed Lord Erestor had been when Tharmeduil had grabbed his hand and begun babbling at him, something about speaking too soon and grinning, still grinning and that poor elk has a fine trophy… Nestoril set the thought aside and continued. She would not lie, hurt though the king was, it was not her way, but she softened the truth when she had to. 

‘Prince Legolas has taken an injury to the arm; I do not think it serious as he was ignoring it completely…’

Had that been a suggestion of a smile from the king?

‘Thiriston and Canadion are both well, although the pennenth is a little singed where he smothered your flames. I understand it was Thiriston slew the black dragon after many of our warriors had pierced it with arrows… I can see Commanders Esgaron and Bregon walking amongst the tents, so they at least are safe…’

The king’s head grew heavy on her arm and she saw his right eye glaze as the drugs took him into unconsciousness. Nestoril sighed, lowered the king’s head with care and then sat back on her heels, covering her face with her hands, hiding from the dreadful scene all around her.

‘Healer?’

She wiped her eyes, hearing Arveldir’s voice, and turned towards him with the wreck of a smile on her face. Erestor was a few steps behind, and it was his presence that made her shy of the wetness on her cheeks.

‘It is the smoke, it is… my eyes sting…’

‘Of course. Forgive me, but Legolas refuses to let Feril touch his injury.’ Arveldir knelt at her side, looking down at Thranduil. ‘How is our king?’  
‘Sorely hurt, but I think he will not die. I must make arrangements for the care of…’ 

Arveldir pressed his hand on her shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

‘I have brought Lord Erestor away. Since Tharmeduil spoke to him of the king’s elk, we will seek Nelleron.’ He shrugged. ‘I do not know what else to do at present.’

‘If you are supporting Tharmeduil’s vision, then that is very useful.’

Nestoril got to her feet and dusted herself down. She nodded to the two advisors and headed down the bank to the underside of the bridge where an argument seemed to be taking place between her friend Feril and Legolas.

‘But I must remove this to attend your injury…’

‘Then do not trouble. There are others in more need. This is nothing, I will not have it touched…’

Nestoril drew on her reserves and spoke.

‘There is much to do. Feril, I am sure you will find more grateful recipients of your gifts on the field, if you would not mind? Would someone please attend the king? He is sleeping, but I do not like to think of him alone… Thiriston, my thanks. Now, I do not think it is good to treat any injuries here, not with our horses present. They are dear creatures, but they are not hygienic! Legolas, come with me, please.’

‘Nestoril…’

‘Please,’ she repeated, extending her hand to him. ‘Arwen, my lady, will you sit with Tharmeduil? If he wakes, he may ask you to help him sort out his visions….’ Who did that leave…? Ah, yes. ‘Canadion, may I leave you to protect Arwen and Tharmeduil? I know the dragons are all dead, but…’

‘Of course, Healer.’

‘Legolas? My prince?’

He shook his head, not refusing, simply bewildered, so she came to him and took his uninjured arm, leading him away and up the bank, taking him onto the bridge itself and making sure his view was not of the destruction of the Mirkwood encampment.

‘Come, sit; it will be easier for me to attend you.’

‘I do not want you to…’

‘I know. Now, hear me a moment. While you are injured, until I have dressed your wound, there is nothing for you to do. But… I have put your father into a healer’s sleep, Tharmeduil is unconscious and Iauron is… missing, and so we lack leadership. You have until your injury is dressed to gather yourself together and prepare to take charge of us. I know, it is awful, but there is only you.’

Legolas looked at her with so much pain in his eyes that she couldn’t hold his gaze. He extended his arm.

‘It burned, Nestoril,’ he said. ‘The armband Govon made me. And he is… Ada said Govon…’

Starting to understand, Nestoril found her scissors and began to gently cut away the prince’s shirt, taking great care that only the fabric of his clothing was caught in her blades.

‘Govon said, it will wear, but I will make a new one for you every year.’ The pitch of his voice began to rise. ‘And now he cannot, and this one is burned…’

‘Do not give up hope yet. There.’ She laid the seam of the sleeve open, folding it carefully away from the prince’s burns. Somewhere in the middle of the bloody and blackened flesh she could see the tracery of a plaited band, and on the underside of the prince’s arm she found that not all of the band had been destroyed. Carefully easing the edge of her flat-bladed knife between it and the skin, she was able to free what survived, although the prince hissed in new pain as she pulled the fragments away.

‘There. It is done.’ Quickly wrapping the remains of the armband into a piece of dressing, she patted it to get off as much of the blood as possible… she should be binding the wound, slathering salve on caul silk, but she knew that to Legolas, this had priority. Folding the small section of plaited material into a fresh piece of linen, she handed it to the prince. ‘You see, it is not all gone, not all is lost.’

Legolas took it from her and folded it into his hand, clenching his fist tightly and struggling with tears. He managed a nod of thanks.

If she was too kind, he would break, Nestoril knew, and so she turned away from his grief and back to her work.

‘And so. Salve and caul silk… it is more important to cover the wound than to clean it at present… and I can provide pain relief, but it will make you sleep, too... do you remember the flasks of water from the Enchanted River? I have purified and distilled that water and from it made a draught that brings immediate ease.’ She sighed. ‘I hope I have enough…’

‘I will not ask for it, Healer. Are we done?’

‘Almost.’ She fastened the bindings on the dressing and supported his arm across his body in a sling. ‘There.’

‘And do you consider me well enough to be in charge until my father recovers or Iauron is found?’

Nestoril swallowed. No. She could not bear to tell him his father thought Iauron dead, too.

‘I do indeed, my prince.’

Legolas swallowed.

‘I will try not to let you down.’ He got to his feet and turned to look at the aftermath of the fight. ‘We cannot make camp here, not with these dragon carcasses in the way. I suggest we remove to the eyot. There should be enough space in our pavilion to care for the injured and provide a place for you to do your work in relative calm.’

‘That will be infinitely preferable to treating my patients here.’

‘Good. The hale can pitch tents outside and there is space for a cooking fire, too. ’ He raised his hand, hailing a known face across the camp. ‘Tinuon! What news?’

The Court Guard’s second-in-command looked up at the hail. His face relaxed into something like relief and he hastened over, all but breaking into a run as he passed the corpse of the red dragon. He was tired and dirty and his hair was scorched and withered, but he was almost unharmed.

‘My prince! We were worried, we have seen nothing of… is that our king? Is… is he fallen?’

‘He is in a healing sleep,’ Legolas assured him hastily. ‘What news?’

‘None of good. Hador is with Commander Bregon – he has gathered such of the injured as he can together.’

‘And you, Tinuon? Are you well enough for orders?’

‘Of course! Have you word of Commander Govon, then?’

Legolas was too still and too silent for a moment.

‘I would like you to take over as acting commander until we learn what has become of him.’

‘Oh, Varda, no…!’

‘Nothing is known. The warriors need purpose, orders to prevent them from falling into despair. We are maimed and injured and we have losses. But we have won. We destroyed three dragons today. We have not failed, but it may feel that way for a time. Come, help me now. Assist Nestoril to create an infirmary in the pavilion in the eyot, see what you can do to get a temporary camp set up there, also. Pass the word on to the other commanders that you act in… in my name while the king and my brothers are… indisposed.’

‘Yes, my prince. I will attend to it at once. Healer – what do you need?’


	102. Elk, With Trophy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nelleron is found, still with the head of the grey cold-drake lodged in his antlers.

Arveldir didn’t really know why he had felt the urge to escape from under the bridge. Perhaps it was because it felt wrong to be sheltering now the dragons were dead. Perhaps because he wanted to get Erestor out from the dim, dark space into the late afternoon – early evening, really - light.

For, impossibly, the dragons were dead. Their bodies made huge, contorted mounds on the plain and around the edges of the camp. Elves were moving, dazed, bewildered, towards the tents where it seemed Commander Bregon was trying to gather them together in a vain attempt to restore some sort of order. Knowing that if he were seen, he would be called and questioned and he really did not feel he could bear it right now, he skirted the tents, using the bodies of the dragons as cover while he looked for Nelleron. 

Erestor kept close.

‘Where could it be?’ he muttered. ‘It is an elk, it is huge, how can it be so hard to spot? Unless it is hiding from the warriors?’ 

‘As I am hiding from them?’ Arveldir sighed. ‘I have no orders to give them, no advice and only bad news… easier not to disturb them.’

Erestor reached out to put a hand on Arveldir’s arm.

‘My friend, that was not what I meant. But for myself, I feel… unfit for the company of warriors. An elk is perhaps less accusatory.’

‘Yes, they are simpler creatures with their habits and their own loyalties. This may be why the king spends so much time with his elk… Ah. I know where we might find the animal. Follow me.’

He led the way around the outskirts of the encampment until he approached the large pavilion which had been used as stabling for the horses and, indeed, for Nelleron.

‘I do not understand why your prince chose me as his confidant,’ Erestor said. ‘Nor did I understand half of what he was saying.’

‘It is how his visions take him, I understand. But you have a very gentle way about you, Erestor, I am not surprised he chose you.’

‘Do I so? At home – that is, in my former home, I was thought to be rather acerbic.’

‘Ah, but we have lived with Thranduil’s wit and wisdoms and are used to a degree of acid almost as our daily portion.’ Arveldir smiled sadly. ‘So, you see ahead? That is where I hope we may find the elk…’

A sound, strangely mournful, drifted across to them from the direction of the stabling, and Arveldir began to hurry. 

‘It sounds like Nelleron, but as if he is very tired… I hope he is not injured, the king will be quite distraught… do not think my concern disproportionate, but…’

‘There is too much to grasp. It is easier to think about a smaller worry than about the entirety of all that has happened here. I have known this for myself, Arveldir. And perhaps that is why your prince told me to help.’

Nelleron was behind the pavilion, his head lowered to the ground. He saw Arveldir and gave his little mournful call again.

‘What has happened to his antlers?’ Erestor gasped.

‘It would appear a dragon has happened to them… that is the head of the grey wyrm, is it not?’

‘Indeed… there is some tale here, I can see!’ Erestor followed his friend towards the elk. 

Arveldir dropped onto the ground beside Nelleron’s head, talking to him softly, fumbling in his belt pouch for something.

‘Dried blackberries; he is very fond of them. And, dear heart, how are we to untangle you from this most imposing trophy?’

The huge head seemed well and truly wedged and after a moment’s tentative examination, Arveldir exhaled heavily. 

‘This will not be easy… but unless we get this thing free, Nelleron will weaken, and flies will come and it will become very unpleasant! Perhaps… I will fetch water for him, it will make him comfortable at least. Will you stay with him?’

‘I will.’

While Arveldir was gone, Erestor unfastened the saddle from the elk’s back and removed it. Nelleron seemed to appreciate the action, and folded himself down onto the ground once he was free of it.

‘You are a most impressive creature, and courageous, I think. What happened, did you charge the dragon and then did your rider kill it?’ He stroked the elk’s neck. ‘How may we free you? It seems as if your fine crochet-work will be ruined; all the blood… but I am sure Arwen will be happy to make you a new one. Although whether she will enjoy crochet quite as much when her father isn’t around to shudder at the sight of her with wool and hook…’

Arveldir came back with a wooden bucket of water which he set down for Nelleron.

‘I see you have discovered how easy he is to talk to,’ he said as the elk lumbered to his feet and began to drink.

‘Indeed. I have been wondering how we can help him; the antlers appear to have speared the head of the dragon and secured it. We might cut some of the flesh away. It would be unpleasant, but it might work.’

‘The antlers have stopped growing for the season now; they are actually dead bone, and in theory, Nelleron could lose them without harm. But it seems extreme…’

‘Could they be pruned, at least? Just the ends, to free him?’

‘I am not sure the king would approve. Well, he has done drinking. Shall we see what we might try?’

Erestor walked around to the front of the elk and looked at the problem from there.

‘The ends of his antlers curving in, have surrounded the muzzle and dug into the neck behind the head. Presumably the force of the initial impact caused the antlers to flex at the ends… the neck edge is too firmly embedded, but something might be done with the snout…’

‘A bone-saw, working on the midsection and sawing upwards, away from Nelleron’s head…’

Erestor shook his head and removed his belt, threading it between the points of the antlers and fastening it around the snout of the skull.

‘Now, Arveldir, if you can brace the antler from behind while I pull here, we might be able to dislodge…’

Erestor pulled and Arveldir pulled and Nelleron bellowed and the font of the wyrm’s head gradually slid free from its cage. Another couple of tugs and, with the elk cooperating by digging in his heels and trying to back away from the pressure, the dragon head came released, Erestor narrowly avoiding it as it fell.

‘Do you know,’ he said in conversational tones, ‘I am not entirely sure I want that belt back now.’

Arveldir began to laugh and Erestor joined in, and the dead dragon smirked despite the belt around its muzzle, as if it, too, shared the joke.

*

A small pavilion had been found and erected on the eyot to serve as a command centre for Legolas. The prince answered questions, gave orders, passed out reassurance and then sat, hunched beneath the weight of pain, misery and loss, until someone else approached and he steeled himself and pushed the anguish away while he dealt with the next thing.

He was exhausted, beyond exhausted, and with every moment that passed with no news of Govon, his heart sank further and such good news as there was seemed only to effect other people.

Nestoril came to see him.

‘My prince, the infirmary is established. We have separated off an area for the king and for Prince Tharmeduil, who is still unconscious. They are starting to bear the wounded from the field.’

‘Have you all you need, Healer?’

‘For now. We have plenty of caul silk and salves and I have a good supply of the narcoleptic for those who are severely injured. More assistance is what I mostly need… I am grateful I have Feril, still.’

‘Some of our warriors will have field training; they can dress wounds at least. Arwen might be able to help.’

‘Indeed, she already has offered.’

‘Good. Is there any news about my father?’

‘Yes. He… his left shoulder, arm, and hip were burned. Indeed, it seems he was lucky to have been sideways on to the flames, for it could have been much worse, bad though it is. I have cleaned and dressed the wounds and he is still sleeping. I do not intend him to wake for several hours yet.’

‘He would have spoken to all our injured warriors after the battle; that’s my duty now. I won’t get in your way.’

‘Perhaps better to wait until all have been attended to.’

‘Canadion – he lay over my father to smother the flames… how is he?’

‘Fortunate. He is scorched only, nothing serious and will not lose his good looks… do you know, he had the cheek to tell me he’d been longing to get his arms around our king for months, and was quite disappointed not to be able to enjoy the moment!’

‘Did he so? I hope Thiriston did not hear?’

‘Indeed, he was there, and it made him laugh. Whatever those two see in each other may be hidden from us, but they seem content. I will return to my work now.’

‘Nestoril – do not forget yourself in all this. Don’t make yourself ill.’

*

Tinuon came to him.

‘Commanders Bregon and Esgaron have given me half a dozen of their least-injured to help and we’re bringing supplies across and trying to get a small camp set up.’

‘Good. We can’t do anything about the dragons today, but they will attract scavengers… the last thing we want is a warg attack.’

‘Ai, I had not thought of that! Any more cheerful thoughts, my prince?’

‘We will need to bring the horses out from under the bridge. And seek Nelleron, if you have a moment, my father will want to know…’

‘He is found, my prince. Arveldir and Erestor brought him across; we have taken the liberty of housing him in the Imladris pavilion… apparently, the head of the grey wyrm was lodged in his antlers.’

*

Arveldir brought food and water when he presented himself to Legolas’ attention.

‘I am not hungry. But thank you.’

‘Neither am I. But Erestor has made me eat, reminding me that others rely on my abilities at the moment.’

Legolas drank and Arveldir nodded. 

‘And… there is a deputation from Imladris.’


	103. A New Search

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas meets the deputation from Imladris and insists on looking for the rest of the missing elves.

‘No.’ The prince shook his head. ‘Whatever Elrond says, whatever he wants, no. I will not… I have no more time for him today.’

‘It is not Elrond. It is Glorfindel. You may not know, but towards the end of the battle, he and Lindir and the sons of Elrond shot at the black dragon and helped bring it down…’

‘Yes. I saw that, I know they helped. I will thank them tomorrow. I will write a letter of thanks to those who helped. Tomorrow.’ 

The advisor waited.

‘Arveldir, I’ve had too much already today.’

‘I understand, my prince. But…’

From outside the pavilion, someone cleared his throat.

‘Who is it?’ Legolas asked, his voice barely louder than a sigh.

‘Glorfindel. Forgive the interruption.’ The golden-haired elf appeared at the entrance to the pavilion but didn’t enter. 

‘The eyot is neutral ground,’ Legolas said. He shook his head, an unvoiced apology for his lack of welcome. ‘You helped us today. Many more lives would have been lost had you not done so.’

‘Many more…? You have losses?’

‘Two, that we know of.’ Maedon had been carried in, barely identifiable, an hour ago and Harnor, one of Esgaron’s warriors with him, almost as badly burned. ‘More are still missing.’

‘Let us help.’

Legolas said nothing, and Glorfindel went on.

‘Not ‘Imladris’, not Elrond; I know things are difficult between our two houses. We did not ask Elrond’s permission to come, nor did we announce our intention. We simply came out of friendship. Elladan and Elrohir and Lindir are with me.’

‘My prince?’ Arveldir spoke softly. ‘Many of our warriors are injured. Those who are not are exhausted…’

‘Very well. As friends, then, thank you. We will need a watch on the bridge tonight – the dragon carcasses may attract wargs.’

‘Indeed. I think that can be arranged.’

‘And Healer Nestoril will need all the help she can; I know you are a skilled healer.’

‘If there is anything more?’

‘I… later, perhaps. If Elladan and Elrohir want to see Arwen, she’s helping Nestoril.’

Glorfindel nodded, his eyes crinkling with sympathy and he left. 

Legolas turned to Arveldir with a heavy sigh.

‘If I promise to eat, will you make sure no-one bothers me for a short while? I… I cannot…’

‘I will deal with any matters arising in the next hour, my prince. Try to rest a little.’

*

He ate the food, knowing his body needed it even though it was tasteless, and chewing and swallowing a mechanical operation. He drank more water and he made sure he knew the names of all the warriors who had accompanied them from Mirkwood.

Finally, as the sun was dipping west, he collected himself, folded the remnant of his armband into his inner pocket, and headed out of the pavilion.

Arveldir was outside and handed him a small piece of paper.

‘An update on the warriors, my prince. And Healer Nestoril says she has completed her first pass round the injured and when you have a moment, she will be awaiting you in the king’s chamber.

‘Thank you, Arveldir. I think it’s your turn to rest now.’

‘Perhaps later. We have achieved much, but more remains to be done.’

Even so, considerable changes had taken place on the eyot in the last few hours. A row of tents filled the space between the two pavilions, leaving a narrow path on either side. Beyond, a makeshift cooking area had been arranged. 

The most extreme alterations were to the Mirkwood pavilion. A space at the far end had been sectioned off with fabric cannibalised from one of the pavilions and in the main area bedrolls were laid out, each with its occupant. A separate corner had been arranged with camp chairs and other seats for the walking wounded and as Legolas entered, a murmur of voices from this corner greeted him. He tried to put a smile on his face, worrying lest it was inappropriate, but decided these survivors had something to smile about, even if he could not feel it yet. He moved amongst them, touching arms, shoulders, nodding.

‘My prince, what news of… of our comrades?’

‘Almost all are accounted for now. I am on my way to visit the king, but I’ll return to talk to you presently.’

They reluctantly let him go and he made his way behind the curtain.

Somehow, Nestoril had managed to construct a raised bed for the king. He lay on his back, the left side of his face covered with caul silk, large portions of his left shoulder and arm similarly swathed, stained with red from the injuries beneath. He had been washed clean of the names of his warriors and where he was not covered, his skin gleamed pale with a sheen of perspiration.

On a bedroll next to his father, Tharmeduil was lying on his side. He seemed asleep.

‘Legolas,’ Nestoril greeted him. ‘You look fraught.’

He shook his head. ‘Arveldir’s been helping, it’s not so bad. Tell me how they are?’ 

‘Your brother has just passed into sleep, now. Your father… He has a slight fever but he will live, I am certain, but oh, I am sorry, I think the sight in his eye is lost… and I am not sure how much permanent damage has been done to his face; there are so many delicate structures, so many muscles and nerves and…’

‘Nestoril.’

Legolas’ voice made her break off abruptly.

‘Healer, I am sure you are doing your utmost. You always have and you always do. My family could not be in better hands. What of the warriors?’

‘Several severe injuries; I am worried two may not survive the night. Lord Glorfindel has been with them; he has great power beyond my abilities. I did not think your father would like to be treated by an elf of Imladris…’

Legolas smiled. ‘Probably not. But he would not want any other healer than you in any case. And the rest of our injured?’

‘Many have minor burns – they tell of the black dragon chasing them as a cat will play with a mouse – and so they are exhausted, worn out from the distress and fear as much as the exertion. Rumours abound as to what has become of… of those who are still missing. They need cheering.’

‘It’s what my father does so well.’ Legolas inhaled, as if he could draw in courage with the breath. ‘He’d speak to every one of them – and he will in a few days, I do not doubt it. But for now, there is just me.’

It took him almost an hour to go to every bedroll and talk to the warriors, following every greeting with the words, ‘my father would bid me…’ or ‘the king requests…’ so that they felt Thranduil was thanking them for their sacrifices as well as he, and then, the less-injured wanted to talk, to report, to deconstruct the horror of the afternoon until he felt if he heard another enquiry about Iauron or Govon he thought he would snap.

Eventually he escaped, only to have to go through it once more with the uninjured clustered around the cook fire. Arwen was there, too, and her brothers. Glorfindel and Lindir sat talking to Erestor. 

‘No, my father is in no danger, but he has been injured… there are but six of us unaccounted for… as soon as there is word, we will pass it on…’

He returned to his command pavilion and found someone had laid a bedroll out for him. While he was grateful for the thought, he wasn’t going to be sleeping for a while yet, not with six elves missing.

Why had he sent Govon to support his father? If they’d only stayed together… and…

He buried his face in his hands. With every passing minute the feeling had grown on him, the dread that, if there was still no news, and no news, then what of good could there possibly be? Gradually, as the afternoon and evening had passed, any hope Legolas might have had left had altered, transmuted to the point where the dread certainty of his fëa-mate’s death was an unvoiced truth, and just finding Govon’s body was all he dared hope for now. 

He couldn’t face it, yet, couldn’t bear it yet. The only thing he knew for sure was that Govon was alone in the night with the threat of wargs and other carrion beasts on the prowl and Legolas had to find him before they did. And not just Govon – there were others missing, too, his own brother amongst them.

But as he turned to leave the pavilion, Arveldir arrived, Erestor with him.

‘My prince, we are… what are you doing?’

‘I’m going to look for Iauron and… and Govon…’

‘I came to report, Legolas. It’s getting dark. Esgaron has called off the search; the warriors are bone-weary and heartsick, and there could be wargs soon…’

‘That’s why I have to go. I don’t expect our warriors to keep searching, not after the day they have endured. But I am hardly hurt, and I cannot rest without knowing…’

‘You are our prince; we need you here…’

Legolas paused for a moment, trying to phrase his reply.

‘Arveldir, your advice and assistance today has been invaluable. But I have done everything that has been required of me this afternoon; I have spoken to our warriors and I have organised our camp. I have been pleasant and grateful and given comfort when all I want is to bury my head and weep. And now – now, when all is done, you tell me I cannot? Arveldir, I will.’

‘Legolas, you can’t take the risk…’

It was too much. 

‘You cannot know – you will never know, I hope, how awful… I will not leave him out in the dark alone. He is lost, and to be alone and lost in the night, it is terrible! I will not let that happen to my Govon. Would you? Would you leave Erestor, if he was lost? Do as you will, but do not tell me I may not seek him!’

‘My friend…’ Erestor spoke softly and took a step forward to put a consoling arm around Legolas’ shoulders while the prince struggled for composure. ‘Arveldir, it is too much like what happened when he left us in the night; I will help; it will do my fëa good to help seek the lost.’

‘I will see if I can find other help.’

They assembled at the bridge ten minutes later, Canadion and Thiriston, Elrohir and Elladan, Lindir and Glorfindel. Nestoril provided field kits; emergency dressings, water bottles and lanterns and had given strict instructions as to who was well enough to participate and who was to remain on the eyot.

Esgaron came to report on the results of his own search.

‘We have already covered much of the field,’ he said. ‘But it will not hurt to look again. The black dragon scattered my company far and wide. You should travel in pairs and watch for wargs – although there has been little sign of them lately, the dead beasts will attract any in the region, so be ready with your weapons… very well. An hour out and an hour back. No more, or Nestoril will come after you herself.’

‘I am grateful for all you have done, Esgaron; you are needed here, now, to guard the eyot and command our warriors,’ Legolas said. ‘Thank you.’

Arveldir, preparing to partner Erestor, found to his surprise that he had already agreed to work with Legolas.

‘For the shame I feel at having allowed your prince to leave Imladris unattended. Perhaps we need someone to coordinate us, though. To pass on if – when we find someone.’

‘Then I will do that.’ 

Each pair chose a direction to search in and all set off. 

Legolas and Erestor began searching a strip of land to the south of the camp, running from the riverbank back through the open land beyond.

‘And we are here again,’ Legolas said. ‘Here are spent arrows from our target practice this morning… this is where you and Arwen came ashore.’

‘It does not seem as if it can be so recent; the day has lasted forever.’

They quartered and re-quartered the ground, making sure it was clear, watching the lanterns of other search pairs bobbing across the darkness.

‘No-one here,’ Erestor said. ‘On to the next section.’

Presently, a shout went up. All stopped searching, and within moments, Arveldir approached. ‘Celeguel is found. She is alive and conscious.’ He breathed a huge sigh of relief. ‘She does not look badly burned.’

The news sustained them while the search continued. Tiredness catching up with him, Legolas forced himself to concentrate as they found the headless body of the grey cold-drake in their path.

It was already beginning to smell and the ground around the neck of the creature was sludged with its blood.

‘I spoke to Govon in the camp,’ Legolas said. ‘I – Adar sent him to guard me, I sent him back to Adar…’

‘And given that the head of the grey wyrm was found lodged in Nelleron’s antlers, the evidence suggests your father killed it.’

‘So Govon might be here! What if he is beneath it?’ Legolas circled the drake, but there was no sign of anyone trapped under its body.  
‘But see, the ground is disturbed ahead of it; Nelleron charged it, or it tried to retreat…’

They followed the scoring of the ground, looking for further signs, but there was nothing. The tracks ran out and they had not found Govon.

Another shout, another discovery; Erthor, another of Esgaron’s warriors had been found, but he was more seriously injured, Arveldir reported.

‘Glorfindel does not think he would have survived the night out here. It is well you made us keep searching, my prince.’

‘There is no blame to Esgaron… they were all so tired and had searched so long already.’

‘Our time is nearly up, but I will send word back, if you request it, that we will continue. After all, you are in charge. And we have found two…’

A swinging lantern across the camp, not far from the carcass of the black dragon, and someone yelling, no – screaming, more voices taking up the call, and something in the urgency of the shouts made them turn and run towards the latest discovery.

Lindir met them part way.

‘Three!’ he panted, grasping Legolas by his good arm and gasping out the word. ‘There are three, together. One I do not know, the others, the prince… and Commander Govon.’

‘And? How are they?’ Arveldir asked, but Legolas was running again, running towards the lanterns and the now-hushed searchers who had gathered, running into the night.


	104. Remorse and Reparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elrond faces the facts and Nestoril is in for a bit of a surprise...

After the first unplanned release of arrows, Elrond had wasted no time in establishing a perimeter of archers supported by his knights and issued strict instructions only to fire at dragons and not under any circumstances towards the Mirkwood camp again. 

Once certain his orders would be carried out, and after an unpromising exchange of views with his sons, Elrond had retired to his pavilion to keep out of the way and wait for news. 

But the fighting had finished hours ago and still Glorfindel had not come back to report.

Finally, Elrond stuck his head out of the pavilion and hailed the nearest knight.

‘What news of the day?’

‘Lord Elrond, no injuries to our people. The dragons are all slain, two by the king’s own hand, so it seems. It would appear Mirkwood has suffered grievously, however. Our sentries report seeing several borne from the field as if lifeless. We have withdrawn all our personnel from the eyot as Mirkwood is using it as an emergency camp.’

‘I suppose that is reasonable. Send a messenger to have Glorfindel seek me.’

‘My lord, Glorfindel is not to be found, either in our camp or on the eyot.’

‘What?’

‘We have been seeking him for the night orders. In his absence, we looked to Elladan and Elrohir, but they have not been seen since they returned from a foray across the river to attack the last dragon.’

‘They took part in a foray?’

‘And returned.’ The knight nodded. ‘They spoke together, Glorfindel and Lindir and your sons, my lord, and then walked off together also.’

‘When was this?’

‘Some small time after the fighting ended. Perhaps an hour or more ago.’

Left alone, Elrond fretted.

Glorfindel and Lindir? Worse than that, his sons, too? Just walked away with no word?

Elrond felt abandoned. It was as if his entire family, as if everyone he held dear, had walked out on him.

And the worst of it was, without them here, with no-one to talk to , to argue with about his behaviour, with no need to create a defence for himself, he no longer could defend himself, and in the silence of his pavilion, the only one left accusing him was himself.

Outside, darkness was falling at last, hiding the horrors of the day, masking off some of the reasons for his guilt.

Perhaps he should not have ridden out to meet the king in full armour. After the incident of the arrows, accidental though the volley had been, hindsight might make it look it worse than it was... and certainly, he would not have wished to drive the dragons towards the Mirkwood camp even if his daughter and friend hadn’t been there at the time…

But how to come back from this, how to apologise, and properly sound sincere, and restore some semblance of harmony...?

It was all Arwen’s fault for not waiting to hear his side of things, for just dashing off like that. Or Erestor’s, for not keeping his voice down and for letting Arwen overhear their discussion. Or Thranduil’s, for insulting him, or Legolas, for summoning a guard to have Elrond escorted from the camp, or…

Or his own fault.

The thought dropped into his heart, silencing everything else going through his mind.

All of it. Everything. His fault, his very own.

Elrond sighed and sat down as the full weight of what he had done, what he had lost, and what he still risked losing came to bear on him.

He had loved his wife, and she had left him, and he had been alone with their three children. The twins had been easier, admittedly, they didn’t need as much support as Arwen had, and then every time to look at his daughter and see the echo of Celebrian there in her eyes, her ghost in Arwen’s smile… he had not meant to push her away, but somehow, it had happened. Perhaps from the start, perhaps later, after Legolas had left Imladris and Elrond had begun to imagine accusation there, Celebrian’s disapproval. And why would she not have disapproved? Some couples, when separated by the Sundering Seas, agreed their marriages over and each party free to love again. But not they. At the time, Elrond had not foreseen a time when he would be attracted to anyone ever again, and it would have been doubly wounding to Celebrian to have been asked to release him when she sailed. So, regrettably, unfortunately, Arwen had been right; Elrond had been unfaithful to his wife.

He really had behaved very badly, not just today or a few days ago, but long, long before that and how to make it good now, how to properly apologise and atone, not for the sake of being forgiven and salvaging something from the mess, but for the sake of making those he’d let down feel better, for the sake of their future ease… it was impossible to know where to start…

He clambered to his feet and sought amongst his belongings for parchment, writing implements… normally, he would have had Erestor here to advise him, or failing him, Lindir wrote a fair hand and a good way with difficult words. But now, bereft of both of them, he would have to write for himself and from his heart.

But no matter how many times he drafted and redrafted, he could not get beyond an expression of deep regret that his archers had fired ahead of his order and towards the Mirkwood camp, that it had not been his intention to give the impression of hostility and that it was deeply shameful to him that the dragons had then been driven across the river… there was too much to apologise for, and yet he knew this was not the time, here was not the place to try to make amends for the wrongs of all of his past mistakes. If he could simply get them to accept his apologies for the mistakes of the day, that would have to do.

Now that he had made up his mind to it, he was desperate to make amends, to atone. But he did not think he would get anything like a good reception, and would Thranduil want his help, even in such an hour of need? On the contrary, Elrond had a fair suspicion that Thranduil would want his aid less than ever, simply because his need was so great.

But there had to be something he could do…

Not chase after his sons and Glorfindel, for one thing. Let them have a little freedom to act independently. Time enough tomorrow to seek them.

Thranduil’s elves would probably need food and basic equipment. Healing assistance… well, they had Feril already, and Glorfindel. But that was where Elrond knew he could be really useful. 

He had never thought of himself as a great healer, not really. He had always thought of it as a gift, something which came through him and which he channelled, perhaps, focussed and directed to best effect. So to be able to bring this gift to bear on those elves who needed it would help him to some degree make amends for driving the dragons onto them.

For this, however, he did not expect to be thanked. He may well be seen as an interloper, his help unwanted. Yet it was all he could do, of himself…

Elrond thought for a few moments. Perhaps there would be a way, as long as he was not discovered. It would be highly embarrassing, to say the least.

*

Nestoril looked up.

Tornir, one of the more seriously injured elves, was moaning. He had been one of those for whom she most feared, although he had grown calm under Glorfindel’s care and passed into a healing sleep. Now, sadly, he had woken to pain again and it would be another hour before she could safely administer more of her painkilling, sleep-inducing distillation and in the meantime his discomfort would only grow. His cries would only distress his neighbours, and although she felt guilty at the thought, since Tornir couldn’t help being in pain, she did have the care of others to consider. Perhaps, once he was sleeping, she could move him, set up another area, a small pavilion outside for the very seriously injured. Yet that would only make the seriously ill aware that there was something more seriously wrong with them than with the other injured, it might frighten them. 

It was no use; she could not leave him crying like that, even if all she could do was hold his hand and give him fortitude.  
But just as she was about to rise from her station beside the king, Tornir’s moans ceased.

More curious than worried, she slipped out of the king’s curtained-off chamber and looked out along the pavilion towards Tornir’s pallet.

Feril was kneeling at the bedroll and had her hand laid on Tornir’s head. Nestoril went towards her friend quietly, so she would not disturb any of the other injured.

‘Feril, my thanks, but are you not meant to be resting? That is…’

Nestoril broke off. The person in Feril’s green healer’s habit was not her friend Feril. It was her friend’s lord, Elrond. 

‘Peace, Healer,’ he said quietly. ‘I can explain…’

‘I am sure that will prove most entertaining,’ Nestoril said in a crisp whisper. The reality, though, was that poor Tornir was no longer moaning but was sleeping with every appearance of peace. ‘And I have to say, Lord Elrond, that this particular shade of green is not at all becoming!’

‘I simply want to help. I borrowed Feril’s habit because I was unsure of my reception. The eyot is neutral ground, but I recognise that there may be some resistance to my presence… Healer, I am not doing this to be thanked, I want no recognition…’

‘Nor to be recognised, either, I see.’ Nestoril sighed. There were so many injured in her care… ‘Very well. I will not report your presence. But be discreet. There are search teams out and I expect them to be back soon…’

‘Are there many lost, still?’

‘Six, I understand. Our crown prince amongst them.’

In her heart, Nestoril had given up hope for the missing elves. She hadn’t even spread bedrolls for them, feeling sure they would be borne straight to where the bodies of Harnor and Maedon were currently laid. 

Voices outside, and she hurried to see what was going on. From the entrance to the pavilion, she saw Feril supporting Celeguel towards the infirmary, other elves hurrying to help. 

‘Lindir escorted her in, he has gone back,’ Feril said. ‘He thinks they have found someone else, also!’

‘Oh, that is wonderful news! Celeguel, my dear, come, sit down…’ She took Celeguel’s arm and supported her into the infirmary, noticing that Elrond was nowhere to be seen. ‘There, do not cry, you are safe now…’ She looked up with a smile into Feril’s face, hope blossoming, for where there was one survivor, and talk of another, there could be more. ‘Feril, will you seek and spread five or six bedrolls? And prepare to be busy for a little while.’


	105. Just Like Old Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas finds out what has happened to Tegolon, Iauron and Govon...

Legolas channelled his overwrought emotions into running with new energy. To feel hope after so much despair was unexpected, frightening; it was almost as difficult to face as his grief had been, but he ran towards the clustered lanterns as if his life depended on it.

Canadion intercepted him, his fair face a mingling of good and bad news as he put out his hands to steady Legolas’ shoulders.

‘My prince – cousin, if I may… our comrade Tegolon is dead.’

Legolas gasped in a breath at the news and steeled himself, but Canadion seemed unwilling or unable to say more. The prince nodded and went to where Thiriston was kneeling at Tegolon’s side; every cell of his body, every part of him yearned to go straight to Govon, but he had a duty here, and he would not put his own wants first lest it dishonour his fëa-mate.

‘He is unmarked; he is simply dead,’ Thiriston added softly. ‘The breath of the dragon…’

‘At least we found him before the scavengers did.’

Legolas took Tegolon’s cold hand in his and leaned over to press his lips to the cold forehead.

‘In the name of Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, we thank you for your service and your courage, Tegolon.’

The ritual done, he sat back.

‘Iauron is found, also?’

‘We moved Tegolon away,’ Canadion began gently, ‘but the prince and… they are entangled, somehow and… it seemed wrong to touch them…’

It almost broke the prince’s heart. Face-down in the dirt, dark hair spread like spilled liquid honey, Govon was trapped beneath Iauron’s body, whose arm was somehow beneath his head. Iauron’s face was turned to one side, his visible eye closed.

He could not leave them like this, twined together and so he reached out with his good hand to stroke Iauron’s light hair back to see if there was a way to separate the two bodies. His fingers brushed his brother’s face and Legolas flinched back with a gasp.

‘Legolas…?’ Elladan asked.

‘Glorfindel… you know about healing…’

‘What is it, Legolas? What is wrong?’

‘Tegolon is dead. Tegolon is cold.’ He stared up at the uncomprehending faces around him. ‘So why is Iauron not cold if he is also dead…?’

‘Oh, sweet Eru!’ Glorfindel began to move, the others reached, tugged, and Iauron’s arm disentangled easily from around Govon, for where there was no death, there was no rigor, and the prince was pulled free. ‘The warrior – Tegolon – being dead, I did not like to touch your brother without permission… let me see, Elrohir, stand a little aside…’

Legolas stared as Glorfindel arranged his brother on the ground and began an examination. His eyes never moved from Iauron’s body, his gaze didn’t falter, but his hand moved away the hair at Govon’s neck and he felt warm skin, warm, living skin! and as his fingers explored, he found a pulse, and it was too much hope, so he said nothing and just allowed the tears to spill down his face, washing away some of the pain, while he waited for Glorfindel to finish and the others to remember he was there.

Eventually, Glorfindel looked up. His eyes smiled, but his mouth was grave.

‘He is, indeed, alive. But he is unconscious. I do not quite know how to wake him here… perhaps it would be better to get him back to the infirmary. I will bear him.’

‘That is wonderful news, it is better than we could have hoped for,’ Legolas heard himself say. ‘My father believed him dead – he saw all three fall…’

‘All three…?’ Glorfindel slapped a hand to his forehead. ‘Ai! Forgive me; in my haste, I almost forgot the third warrior…’

‘His skin is warm to touch and he has a pulse. It seems steady, but I am no expert.’ Legolas held himself in iron control. ‘His name is Govon and he is Commander of the Court Guard and… more than that.’

‘Let me see… Help me turn him…’

Legolas slid his sound arm beneath Govon’s shoulders and eased him onto his back, cradling him against his own body for a moment as he laid him down. Glorfindel knelt, checked breathing, pulse, raised Govon’s eyelids each in turn.

‘Look at this; there is bruising around his nose and mouth, as if a hand were pressed there…’

‘When you moved my brother, his hand was beneath Govon’s face.’

‘He may have been trying to stop our commander from breathing so much of the cold-drake’s poison,’ Thiriston said. 

‘His breathing is more even than that of your brother’s, Legolas, and his colour is better.’ Glorfindel said. ‘I will come back for him soon, but I will feel happier once Prince Iauron is under proper care.’

‘I will stay here with Govon.’ As Legolas said the words, it was as if hearing them made it real, and he smiled, finally. ‘It will be just like old times.’

‘You can’t stay out here alone, Legolas,’ Glorfindel said.

‘But I’m not alone; Govon is here.’

‘We’ll stay,’ Elladan said.

‘Be happy to,’ Elrohir added.

‘We are under Govon’s command,’ Thiriston said. ‘Canadion and I will wait with our prince.’

‘Erestor and Arveldir are still on the field with Lindir, somewhere,’ Legolas pointed out. ‘And Mithanar is still unaccounted for.’

‘I know Mithanar from my last command,’ Canadion said.

‘Do you so?’ Thiriston demanded, suddenly alert. ‘And just how well do you know him?’

‘Come with me, and if we find him, I will introduce you, melleth.’

‘So you will have us for company after all,’ Elladan said as the two Mirkwood warriors walked off towards the hinterlands, bickering gently.

‘I wish we had some beer to help the time pass,’ Elrohir added.

‘I need to go.’ Glorfindel lifted Iauron easily into his arms. ‘I’ll send word you’re here.’

Legolas nodded, changing position so that Govon’s head was in his lap and he could stroke his hair, oblivious to the looks this drew from the twins as they sat down on the ground next to him.

‘We wanted to say…’ Elrohir began. ‘We found out… a little… about when you visited Imladris… why you left so suddenly…’  
‘That’s long ago, now.’

‘Yes… but not for us, it isn’t,’ Elladan pointed out.

It made Legolas smile.

‘And there you have the heart of the matter. Your father made a mistake a few nights ago – he came to see me, I am still not sure exactly what he wanted… had he not, it would have been forgot, as I had almost forgotten it. But he did not, and so all the past came up… and now my father knows, and you, and Arwen, and it is still raw and shocking and hurtful, and everyone is angry on my behalf, and on their own, and I had to go through the entire history for my fëa-mate before he would believe I hadn’t been actively abused…’

‘You have a fëa-mate?’

Legolas gestured towards the unconscious figure in his lap. ‘Elladan, you are not usually so slow on the uptake, I seem to remember?’

‘You are very lucky,’ Elrohir said, casting admiring eyes over Govon.

‘I think the warrior is the lucky one, myself,’ Elladan murmured.

‘Well, I think I am the luckiest. Especially now, when an hour ago, I thought he was dead, and my only hope was that I could find his body and bring him home to honour him. To find him alive is…’ he shook his head. ‘We only exchanged our vows shortly before leaving to come here. We did not want to wait, because I felt it disrespectful to his fëa to keep him waiting until after Iauron and Arwen’s arrangements were made… but to make a big event of it would have been unkind towards Arwen. So we intended not to make it known… instead of which, it seems everyone is finding out, one or two at a time…’

‘Does he make you happy?’

‘Yes. That is, we make each other happy, Elladan, which is better.’

‘How did you meet, then?’

‘Like this, in a way. I was on patrol, the commander gave me a job to keep me out of his hair and out of danger, and I ended up on a flet caring for three spider-sick warriors… Tegolon, who is now dead, Hador, and Govon, their captain. Govon was the most ill. I was a long time on the flet and walking home with them, and you can learn a lot about each other in ten or eleven days. We spent a lot of time, once they were well enough to talk, discussing what we wanted first when we got home. Tegolon and Hador, they just wanted to be with their wives and elflings, I wished for some decent, fresh food. Govon just wanted to sit on the greensward with a friend or two and some good beer.’

Govon stirred suddenly, sighing and trying to turn onto his side, murmuring softly, and Legolas held his breath until his fëa-mate settled once more.

‘When we got home, he sent me a hamper of all the food I’d mentioned, as thanks for my care of him and his command. I wheedled some good beer out of the kitchens, and sought him out on the greensward. And so it began, and I was never happier, until tonight.’  
After that, it was almost an anti-climax when Canadion and Thiriston returned, bearing between them the missing Mithanar, tired and delirious, almost bald and somewhat burned, but most certainly alive.

‘Someone should find Arveldir,’ Legolas said. 

‘We’ll go,’ Elladan said.

‘My prince, we should get this fellow back to Nestoril…’

‘Go, all of you. Govon and I will be fine.’

He was glad of the quiet. What he wanted most, what he’d wanted ever since he’d found Govon, had felt the warmth of his skin, was just to be alone with him, to savour the knowledge that his fëa-mate was alive.

So he stroked sat and looked and wondered and only a few moments later, the fine mouth lifted into a smile and the eyes opened, the inner eyelids sliding back.

‘…strangest dream, Tegolon and Iauron were arguing and there was a huge, shining elf who was no elf, and he was dark and light at the same time and… What’s going on? Were my eyes closed? Why were my eyes closed? What about the dragons, I remember dragons…’  
‘Hush, melleth-nin. The dragons are dead. It’s all over.’

‘Then… what are we doing here?’

Legolas dipped his head and kissed Govon’s forehead.

‘Feeling grateful.’

‘Feeling thirsty, myself… my face hurts… not my nose again? What that it, did I break my nose again? What this time?’

Legolas laughed. ‘I have water, can you sit up?’

‘I feel strange…’ Govon tried to move, Legolas helping him raise himself. ‘Melleth? What happened to your arm?’

‘I was caught in a little dragon-fire, nothing serious… here is water, drink slowly…’

‘Oh, I know about drink slowly…’ Govon sipped at the offered flask. ‘Legolas, I think Tegolon is dead.’

‘Why is that, melleth?’ Legolas asked, knowing the body of the warrior was out of Govon’s line of sight and respectfully covered in any case.

‘What happened was… I remember now… I was on my way to the king when I saw the grey dragon coming in. Tegolon and Iauron were in its flight line, so I tried to shout a warning… as I got near, the king took up the shout. Tegolon drew breath in shock, I think, pushed at Iauron who got me in some kind of death grip so I couldn’t breathe and he knocked me down and I thought I saw Nelleron, of all the things to remember and that’s the last I know. Other than that strange dream… Ai, Valar, I feel ill! It’s almost like old times, isn’t it?’

‘Except we’re not in a flet,’ Legolas pointed out.

‘And no Hador.’

‘And poor Tegolon…’

‘And… melleth, I can’t….’ And before he could turn away from Legolas, Govon heaved and was explosively ill across his fëa-mate’s lap.  
In spite of it all, Legolas was in time to catch Govon’s hair and pull it out of the way. He grinned, and once his beloved had stopped retching, handed him more water.

‘Yes, my love. It’s just like old times,’ he said.


	106. The Not-so-Fair Gaelbainil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tharmeduil wakes to find a strange healer in his room...

It took Tharmeduil a few moments to realise quite where he was when he woke up. Where, and when, and why. The visions that had led to his seizure – something about Nelleron and his father – now had the muted, hazy sense that he recognised as showing the events had passed and nothing more remained to be done about them.

Actually, he felt quite a lot better, he realised, as he stretched and tried to sit himself up…

…And froze.

He was in some sort of canvas-walled room, his father on a raised pallet beside him, himself on a bedroll on grass, sweet-smelling from being crushed by his body.

None of that was particularly worrying, but in the far corner, looking at him with some alarm, was someone who could only be Feril’s ugly sister…

He blinked a few times, making sure he was seeing and not having another vision. Garbed in pale green as was Feril’s usual costume, but too tall and with a rangy, unfeminine figure even in the healer’s habit, the strong lines of the face and the grey eyes…

Tharmeduil almost laughed out loud, recognising the healer. He slid his eyes towards his father, listening for some hint, some clue as to whether or not the king was still sleeping. He was fairly certain his Adar was awake, he had a memory that he was going to tell Nestoril… so it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to let on that Elrond was in the room. Not even the fact that the Lord of Imladris was actually in a dress would mollify the king if he felt Elrond had trespassed while he slept.

‘Let me see… you must be the mysterious Gaelbainil we’ve heard so much about… either that or you’re Feril’s spinster aunt…’ 

Tharmeduil managed to get to his feet with only a slight lurch… he’d hoped for a full recovery again, but his left foot and lower leg was numb, and that was not good, it was one of the things he knew he had to look out for. There were noises outside of the canvas-walled chamber… he recognised Nestoril’s voice, startled and joyous, another he couldn’t immediately place… was it the Imladris elf Glorfindel? 

Suddenly Elrond crossed the gap between them and brought his mouth close to Tharmeduil’s ear to whisper.

‘I mean no harm – your healer knows I am here, but I do not want to be seen!’

‘I’m not surprised!’ Tharmeduil couldn’t prevent a grin, even though only half his face moved. ‘Well… wish I had my books, I can’t quite remember everything… I wish Govon were here… so does Legolas… why? What’s happened to Govon, do you know?’

Elrond shook his head. ‘I’m not sure I’d know him.’

‘Oh, you would. He’d be the one trying very hard not to ruin your face for you… it really went against the grain with him that Thiriston got to do it last time… well. Maybe his time will come. Ai, Valar! I think what happens is this. Adar’s out cold… or so we’re meant to believe. Last I knew, Iauron was missing, so that means I’m in charge… so if you want to help, I think we’re not in a position to refuse. But better not touch my father, or my brothers. And don’t get in the way.’ Tharmeduil grinned unevenly again. ‘And keep the frock on and wear the head-rail well forward over your face. I think we’ll just refer to you as Gaelbainil, shall we?’

‘Thank you, Prince Tharmeduil,’ Elrond said with a bow as the voices on the other side of the canvas divider grew nearer. He glanced around and knelt to lift the bottom of the canvas up, crawling out under it just before the screening parted and Nestoril came in. 

She looked buoyant, clasping her hands together at her breast. ‘Oh, my prince! What are you doing up? Do you feel well? We have news, wonderful news! Your brother is found! He has just been brought in, he is alive. And… and Govon, too, is alive and Legolas is reunited with him! He is coming soon, but…’

She burst into tears, covering her face with one hand and fanning herself with the other as Tharmeduil stepped forward to fold her in a hug and swing her off her feet. He laughed, and planted a great, smacking kiss on her cheek before releasing her.

‘Yes, it is wonderful news… especially as I didn’t know anyone thought they were lost!’ He went to stand at the foot of his father’s bed, and his voice softened. ‘Now, tell me, how is the old charlatan?’

‘The…? That is no way to talk about your father!’

‘And yet you knew who I meant! He’s awake, you know. It’s just… the darkness is on him again. He’ll find it harder to shake this time, but he will. Eventually.’

‘He is, as you see, injured and has a slight fever.’ Nestoril was cautious with her words; if Thranduil was awake, she didn’t want him to hear anything negative. ‘I am sure he will recover quickly.’

The prince shook his head slowly and leaned forward to whisper in her ear. 

‘I am not. He will take his time, my Adar, and then be cross he’s missed all the excitement.’ Moving back to a proper distance, Tharmeduil smiled. ‘So, can I get out of here? I’m guessing you’ll need the bed for Iauron. And… I met the new healer, earlier…’

Nestoril paled. ‘You know about…’

‘About the not-quite-so-fair Gaelbainil? Yes. She was… sheltering. Shy little thing, isn’t she? I told… her… she could help, but not to come near our family. Ada wouldn’t like it and, anyway, there’s nothing he – she – could do that you or Glorfindel couldn’t.’

‘But, Tharmeduil – your ‘Gaelbainil’… is very skilled and wise in lore…’

‘I’ve seen it, Ness. And if I could lay my hands on my notebooks, I could show you… But you’re about to be busy.’

‘Walk through with me. We have many injured… but only a few who are seriously ill…’

Tharmeduil’s eyes widened as he lurched his way through the infirmary. Nestoril talked brightly and gratefully of so many who would recover, of how much help she had, when all he could see was elves with burns to hands and heads, elves whose hair was scorched and crisped and ragged, elves whose eyes were too full of dragons. But, of course, how else was Nestoril supposed to speak of them as she walked past them? 

Towards the far end of the pavilion, Iauron had been laid on a bedroll and both Glorfindel and Feril were with him. Nestoril smiled and patted Tharmeduil on the arm. 

‘If you want to stay, there are chairs for our walking wounded, until I have attended them and released them to the camp outside – we have moved to the eyot for better care of our injured – I must attend the newly-brought in.’

He nodded and took a seat, finding himself next to Celeguel who was huddled in a blanket for comfort, rather than warmth, and shaking slightly.

‘Rough day?’ he asked, and she smiled on the edge of tears and nodded.

‘If you want to talk about it…?’

He sat and listened and nodded as she told of the horrors of being chased by the black dragon, of seeing others chased and caught, of falling and hurting her leg so that she couldn’t walk, never mind run, and being lost in the dark, cold night and the relief of being found and brought back.

‘And they say the king…’

‘I’ve just been with him; don’t you worry about Adar, it takes more than a bit of flame to lay him low! He’ll be a little while healing, but he’ll be fine.’ He looked around at the others clustering together in the chairs. ‘What of the rest of you? Same sort of thing?’

There wasn’t much he could do, but he could do this, sit and listen and hear their stories, and so he was there when Thiriston and Canadion brought Mithanar in. Thiriston was growling, and the injured Mithanar was muttering and babbling.

‘Now, that looks sore,’ Celeguel said, looking at Mithanar’s scorching.

‘It’ll grow back, in time,’ one of the little cluster said.

Tharmeduil looked at Mithanar and doubted it, but he said nothing.

Glorfindel came to him.

‘May I talk to you outside, your highness?’

He nodded and said goodnight to the warriors around and about, and lumbered his way out of the pavilion. Glorfindel seemed to know where he was going, which was good, because Tharmeduil was a bit lost.

‘Last thing I remember, I was under the bridge and I had a sudden vision of my adar’s elk charging a dragon… then I woke up on the ground next to my father’s bed…’

‘There is a command centre, where I gained your brother Legolas’ permission to help,’ Glorfindel said. ‘It is not far. I wanted to talk to you about your older brother…’

The command centre had chairs and a bedroll; Tharmeduil folded himself into a chair and gestured Glorfindel to the other.

‘It isn’t looking good, is it? Or, at least, not this side of the darkness…’

Glorfindel frowned to himself, thinking, not understanding Tharmeduil’s reference.

‘We found three together, a warrior, Tegolon, who was dead, Prince Iauron, and the commander, Govon. Iauron is unresponsive. He lives, he breathes, but lightly, his heart beats, slowly. He does not seem to hear or to feel or to see. His fëa walks where I cannot make him hear me… it may be that time will bring him back. Or it may take him further away, I cannot predict…’

Tharmeduil gave his new, half-faced grin. ‘I can, though. But not at the moment… it’s all on the other side of the dark.’

‘He is alive, when he was thought to be dead, and he is in no pain, at least. As for Govon… who seems to be more important than I realised, he seemed to me to be less distant. His breathing was more even, his pulse stronger, and he was beginning to show signs of waking shortly. I left him with Legolas and the twins. I… Legolas has been leading while your father and you were indisposed and Iauron missing. But you are in charge now.’

‘I suppose I am, for the moment.’

‘And so I ask – will you let us continue to help you? Your warriors will need to eat, and your supplies mostly scattered on the plain. And we – our archers fired ahead of orders and so we feel responsible for the dragons…’

‘The dragons were always coming, Glorfindel. I’ve been having visions about them for months.’

‘And yet you didn’t think to warn us?’

Tharmeduil shrugged. ‘They were coming for us, not for you. I had enough difficulty convincing our lot of the danger, never mind Imladris! Yes, thank you, we will let you help us.’

‘Good. I will head back over to our camp presently and see what supplies I can gather for your wounded. I will also seek Elrond…’

Glorfindel felt a moment’s qualms, recalling how, earlier in the day, he had announced to the twins and to Lindir that they should speak to Elrond and ask permission to help Mirkwood… but Elrohir had argued the case strongly against bothering his father, lest he say no or, worse, say yes and then try to take all the credit, and Elladan had backed him up. But now, it seemed, he would have to face his lord.

‘I’m not sure you’ll find him, myself,’ Tharmeduil said, and Glorfindel wondered at the ease with which the prince made such statements, as if he had a store of knowledge nobody else shared. ‘And they’re all starting to feel pretty leaderless over there – watch you don’t get waylaid.’


	107. Close Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the last of the search party returns to the eyot.

Legolas settled his good arm around his fëa-mate and ignored the spreading chill on his lap. He had clean clothes, somewhere; in the grand scheme of things, he was really quite grateful for the discomfort as it meant he had an armful of Govon leaning against him.

‘How are you feeling now, melleth?’ he asked presently.

‘Foolish. A fine leader I am!’ Govon replied, and there was a bitterness in his voice that surprised them both. ‘I have time to shout out one warning, and then I spend the rest of the battle unconscious while my command…’

‘You’ve already said what happened to poor Tegolon – you couldn’t have saved him. And the rest are fine. They are tired, but only Canadion is even a little burned, and that was by his own choice, for he smothered the flames on my father’s clothing. You would have been proud of Thiriston, melleth – he overcame his great fear of dragons to give the killing blow to the one that had caused the most harm.’

‘Yet I do not feel I deserve to lead them. Not now.’

‘Well, you are plainly not well and need some time to recover from the poison anyway. Besides, Tinuon is acting commander for the moment.’  
‘You couldn’t have chosen better.’ 

Govon sighed, and Legolas pulled him closer. 

‘This will pass, Govon. I remember when you woke from the spider-venom, one of the things you kept saying then was that it was your fault; it is probably just a side-effect of the poison.’

‘What else happened today? Tell me all.’

‘My ‘all’ is a little sketchy… but from the reports I had and what I had seen for myself, I would say that, all told, we were very fortunate…’

*

Legolas had just about finished an account of the day when Lindir arrived back, the twins with him, their lanterns held high. The minstrel smiled as he saw Govon begin to shift away, Legolas retain his hold on him.

‘We are come to say, if it is not inappropriate for us to do so, we will bear your fallen friend from the field and lie him in honour with his comrades,’ Lindir said. ‘I understand – that is, I know the Silvan tradition is other from our own and we have no wish to offend…’

‘Lindir, it would be a kindness,’ Legolas said. ‘To have his body safe from scavengers and back amongst his friends, in that our traditions are the same.’

‘I am – was his commander,’ Govon said. ‘He was brave and true and he laughed easily. I would carry him myself, if I could…’

‘Oh, no! You are far too ill,’ Legolas protested. ‘But once Tegolon is taken to shelter, we should try to move.’

While Legolas helped Govon to his feet, Elladan and Elrohir arranged Tegolon on a makeshift stretcher to bear him from the field.

‘There is a place set aside on the eyot for our fallen,’ Legolas said. ‘Anyone will show you where. We will follow shortly; I need something from my tent, if it still stands.’

‘It will not wait for daylight?’ Lindir asked. Seeing Legolas shake his head, he gave an uneasy smile. ‘Erestor and Arveldir are about the camp. They are… busy with personal matters…’

‘I see.’ Legolas found himself trying to hide a grin. ‘I wouldn’t wish to interrupt two such earnest advisors… our thanks for your help, Lindir, Elladan, Elrohir. I will see you back at the eyot.’

*

‘Hey, fair elf, what are you thinking about?’ Govon asked as Legolas supported him and they set off across the plain towards the abandoned encampment. His legs kept trying to buckle under him, and he felt suddenly exhausted.

‘I am thinking, I need to change my clothing and that I want you to myself for a little while yet, friend captain. As soon as we get back to the temporary camp, Nestoril or Feril will swoop on you and bear you away to the infirmary, or Tinuon will want to report to you, or someone will demand a report from you…’

‘Are you going to let me out of your sight ever again?’

‘It is not likely. I… I sent you away. You called me ‘melleth’ and I called you Commander, and I sent you to my father. I should have kept you close.’

‘And then what? I would not have shouted the warning, more could have fallen – more could have died, including your father… you cannot blame yourself…’

‘I did. But… perhaps you are right. The fortunes of battle… still, I had lost hope of seeing you again, this side of the seas.’

They had reached the encampment. Some of the tents had been touched by the flames of the black dragon, but many still stood, undamaged, and Legolas and Govon’s was amongst these. It was also not far from Arveldir’s tent, and a lamp swinging outside suggested it was occupied.

Govon leaned against the supporting tent post while Legolas foraged inside and changed into fresh clothes. ‘If you can manage, would you bring my pack, melleth?’ he asked.

‘Of course.’ Legolas came out and dropped Govon’s pack at his feet. ‘Sorry, melleth – working one-handed at the moment…’  
‘I should be helping, but I do not feel very steady…’

‘Then you could help me greatly by sorting out my lacings… I cannot tie one-handed… Now, one more thing and I am done.’ The prince returned to the tent, emerging with more clean clothes and the bedrolls clamped under his good arm, his fist closed around something small.

‘I have two good arms to carry with, at least,’ Govon said. ‘Give me those.’

They were a few moments trying to work out how to carry everything and yet Legolas still have his arm free to support Govon while his beloved tried to mask his increasing tiredness. Finally, Legolas stopped. 

‘This is foolish of me. I do not need all this, and you are weary and we should just go.’

‘I am sure we can manage. Our own bedding… one gets used to it, even if it is standard issue.’

*

Erestor heard the voices first. Or, at least, he was first to acknowledge hearing them and starting to move. He carefully disentangled himself from Arveldir’s embrace, profoundly grateful for having had the fleeting opportunity to find some sanctuary from the horrors of the day in an hour’s tenderness.

‘You hear them too?’ Arveldir sighed, and also began to move, but not before taking a moment to press his lips against Erestor’s glossy hair. 

‘I suppose it is best that we bestir ourselves.’ He reached for his clothing and passed Erestor’s across, too, hastily tidying himself.

Erestor was ready first, getting to his feet with a smile at his friend and exiting the tent to see Commander Govon and Prince Legolas struggling with an assortment of burdens.

‘Your highness? May I help, at all?’ he said, crossing to join them. ‘Commander, it is good to see you on your feet; we were quite worried.’

‘Thank you.’ Legolas allowed Erestor to take Govon’s pack and the bedrolls from him. ‘My friend needs help and I am hampered by the sling, as you see.’

‘Indeed. Arveldir is just collecting something himself. Shall we walk back together, if you do not mind the company?’

‘It’s probably safer to stay together,’ Govon said. ‘We’re the last on the field.’

Arveldir came out, trying to look as if he really had been engaged in collecting spare clothes, but even in the dark and by lamp-light, Legolas could see the flush to his face.

‘Arveldir, thank you for helping with the search,’ he said. ‘I’ll be glad to get back to the eyot. At least it’s not far.’

Not far, but it felt like miles. Eventually, however, just as Legolas was beginning to fear Govon would collapse and need carrying by somebody with two good arms, they reached the bridge and Tinuon came to meet them.

‘Commander, it is such a relief to see you… your highness, Prince Tharmeduil is recovered and has taken charge of the camp – I hope this is well?’

‘It is fine, Tinuon.’ In fact, it was a huge relief not to have to be responsible for everyone. ‘I’ll speak with him once I’ve delivered Govon to the infirmary.’

Tinuon nodded and came to Govon’s other side to prop him up and help him into the pavilion.

Nestoril glanced up from where she was attending Mithanar and smiled.

‘Find an empty bedroll, and I will be with you presently,’ she said. ‘It is good to see you, Govon. We were quite concerned.’

‘If I hear that once more…’ Govon muttered.

‘What, melleth? You will realise how much you are valued, and not just by me?’

The commander managed a smile as he lowered himself to the ground. 

‘Have we a billet for when I get out of here?’ he asked. ‘Really, all I want is to sleep…’

‘Someone laid out a bed for me in the command tent,’ Legolas said. ‘I had not expected to make use of it tonight, though. But rest, I think Nestoril will be a little while yet.’

Govon sighed and lay back, his hand clutching his fëa-mate’s. 

It was some time before Nestoril was able to leave Mithanar in Feril’s care and come to Govon’s side.

‘I am sorry you have had to wait,’ she said. ‘He is already asleep?’

‘I do not mind,’ Legolas said. ‘After this day, I am just pleased to be able to sit with him again. Nestoril? Why are you looking concerned?’

‘I do not know this poison breath. But Lord Glorfindel remembers similar, from the First Age. He… Iauron is very deeply unconscious, and I would not want Govon to sleep so fast… he needs the rest, but we should wake him every hour at least. Now, I understand your brother Tharmeduil is in the command tent, so why do you not go to speak to him while I make arrangements for somewhere a little more private for you to both rest tonight?’ She saw Legolas hesitate and patted his good arm. ‘Leave him with me for five minutes, let me make sure all is well with him.’

*

It was considerably more than five minutes before Legolas was able to make his way back to the infirmary. He had been relieved to see Tharmeduil awake, but concerned that he wasn’t fully recovered.

‘I won’t, now, Legolas,’ he’d said with a wry half-faced smile. ‘I’m going to be halt and slow and lopsided until after the darkness. But that’s how it is. And there’s more to come… tomorrow will be a hard day and… Ah, Adar…!’

‘What is it, Tharmeduil? What do you see?’

Tharmeduil closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘It is just Father being himself. It’ll work out for the best, I’m sure… Now, go. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

After leaving the command tent, Legolas had been accosted by several of the guard in turn offering their best wishes for Govon, and finally by Arwen.

‘I know your brother is in charge now, but I wanted to ask you… do you think it would be all right for me to send for some of my handmaids?’  
‘You could, but what help would they be?’

‘Oh, they generally sit around and chat to me and do whatever I’m doing. I ride, they ride, I crochet, they crochet… and if I help do those tasks the healers need doing but which they don’t actually, need to do, so will they… and one of the ladies is very good at cutting hair.’  
‘Cutting hair? Why would you want them to do that? Why would anyone want to have that done?’

She scowled at him as if it was obvious.

‘All these warriors of yours whose hair has burned! They need a proper trim to take off the damage and let them feel they can put it behind them, start recovering again.’

‘Well, very well… but make sure they ask first.’

Finally, he was back in the infirmary to find no sign of Govon or Nestoril. He looked around in panic, and then Nestoril appeared at the curtain separating the king’s chamber from the rest of the pavilion. She smiled reassurance and beckoned, and he hurried towards her.

‘We have rigged a chamber for the pair of you in here, near to your father and Iauron,’ she said. ‘Be aware that there is some suggestion your father is awake, but not communicating with us just yet…’

‘And Govon?’

‘I am sure he will be fine. But keep checking on him every hour or so. If you are worried, come and get me or one of the other healers.’  
Govon was propped on one elbow, looking towards the curtain when Legolas went in. A second curtain had been rigged to give them some privacy to both themselves, and the king and Iauron.

‘They brought my pack, and these are our own beds, melleth,’ he said. ‘Nestoril woke me up to feed me some soup, so don’t lie too close, will you? Just in case.’

‘Not too close,’ Legolas agreed, spreading out his own bedding an arm’s width away from Govon’s. ‘But close enough.’


	108. The Other Side of the Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril attends Thranduil and Arwen is helpful.

Thranduil, resting somewhere between reverie and consciousness in that narrow place on the other side of the pain, listened calmly while Nestoril talked around and at and to him. Some of what she said penetrated. Some of it made him feel guilty for hiding here, behind the walls of injury, when it was his duty to be awake and aware and to hear all the sad stories, even if he could do nothing about them. But a part of him said: Not yet. He could not bear it yet.

‘And so, my king, your sons are well… that is, Iauron is sleeping. Tharmeduil has recovered almost entirely from his last seizure, and is in charge while you are… resting. And Legolas is happy, for Govon was found, and is well again, and they are reunited. So you see, Govon and Iauron are not dead…’

_…not dead…_

‘But, Thranduil, I have some bad news. While all our warriors have been found and brought home, Maedon, Harnor and Tegolon were found dead on the battle field, and we lost two more during the night: Tornir and Mithanar. They were both badly burned, but were free from pain at the last… Lindir, the minstrel, has offered to sing their honour before we put them to their pyre later today…’

_…three dead, five dead… how could it be no more had fallen?_

‘I need to change your dressings now. It will hurt, but not for long…’

Secure beyond the pain, he felt the discomfort of dressings peeled away from burned and bleeding flesh, felt the cold of the air against the uncovered injuries. It was almost enough to make him cry out, but so much of his pain was the anguish of loss, that the physical discomfort was easy enough to ignore.

‘…yes, this caul silk is amazing! The burns on your hip are already healing, although it was there you were the least burned… your arm and shoulder look… oh, I am sorry! That must have hurt! Improved, these are improved, too. I will leave them to the air for just a few moments and then I will attend to the dressing on your face… And your son is here, my king! Legolas, did you wish to talk to your father?’

Unseen by Thranduil, Nestoril beckoned the prince forward. He shook his head, trying to back away, trying to indicate he was needed beyond the curtain, but the healer grabbed him by the good hand and began to haul him towards the bed.

‘Adar?’ he began cautiously, seeing he was not going to escape. ‘I hope you are feeling better today… I… you know, you were wrong, but I was never more glad of it. Govon is fine… and Iauron is here and… we are starting the clear-up today…’

Nestoril nodded encouragement and took advantage of having the prince captive to begin to unfasten the sling and dressing on his inured arm.

‘Yes, why do you not tell your father how that is progressing?’

‘Very well. Just under half of our warriors are fit for duty after a night’s rest – we are only letting them work an hour or so at a time, with long rests between, for while they are not badly injured, they are heart-sick. More will be better by tomorrow. During the night, the carrion beasts came in and overran the camp – we removed to the eyot for safety, and a good thing we did… well, there is considerably less dragon to shift but it is in far worse condition. Tharmeduil and I are currently being besieged by suggestions how to cope with the remaining remains… in the meantime, we are salvaging what more we can from the camp. Oh, Nestoril…!’ Legolas protested as she removed the dressings from his arm and exposed the burn to the air. ‘Our good healer has decided to prod at my arm while I’m talking to you…’

‘It is all part of the service, my prince! It will take but a trice…’

‘Will you leave the sling off today? It’s a nuisance, and I need both hands to steady Govon…’

‘Is he still unsteady? Then he should not be up!’

‘No, I just want an excuse to put my arms round him in public. He’s in the command tent with Tharmeduil, helping organise things. Am I done? Are you done?’

‘Yes, I am done! Let me wash my hands and… there. Now, Thranduil, I am going to uncover your face…’ Nestoril looked a warning at Legolas as she removed the pad of caul silk from the king’s face. ‘There!’

Legolas shook his head in horror as he saw the damage revealed. However was Nestoril going to heal that? His father’s throat convulsed, and he realised, however much the king was disassociated from reality, Thranduil was feeling the pain, and the prince reached quickly to take hold of his hand.

‘So, Adar, you will like to know, if none have thought to tell you, Nelleron is fine. Our good advisor and his guest Erestor freed him of his burden of dragon-head, and although his crocheted decorations have suffered, he does not seem any the worse for wear… Arwen has offered to make a replacement, but I suggested that just the bells on crocheted strings would be enough…’

Nestoril glanced encouragement as she worked, her nimble fingers moving swiftly to clean the wound and re-dress the king’s face.

‘…and, the two advisors seem to have decided they are responsible for the elk while you are unable to visit him. I believe Lord Erestor will take us up on our offer to return with us to Mirkwood. We will need to think about when we will can leave, but it will be at least a few days – it is a long walk home, Adar, and Tharmeduil and I will be very glad when you are well enough to give us the benefit of your wisdom…’

The king grabbed at Legolas’ hand as Nestoril reapplied salve and caul silk to his face.

‘Easy, Adar… it will be done, soon, I am sure…’ He saw the healer nod and step away. ‘Yes, she has finished… Father? You will be able to attend the rituals for the fallen later today? Tharmeduil and I will be there, and we have both spoken to all the wounded and also thanked the dead, but we are not you; two princes do not equal a king…’

‘I will see later if the king is well enough to be awoken,’ Nestoril said, raising her eyebrows in gentle disapproval. ‘I am sure Govon will be wondering where you are, and even if he is not missing you, there will be work for you to do…’

‘I am going, Nestoril,’ Legolas said. ‘Come and talk to me later, if you have a moment?’

He headed back towards the command tent, noting as he did so that Arwen had installed herself and some of her handmaids in what was still, technically at least, the Imladris pavilion. There was a fire pit working outside, heating water, and she had a little cluster of hair-scorched elves in various stages of being shampooed and trimmed back to neatness.

Seeing Legolas, she called his name and made her way towards him.

‘Do you see how many want our services?’ she began cheerfully. ‘What my ladies are doing is trying to take out all the damaged hair, but keep the length. It does not look very traditional, but it is tidier, and their hair will grow back the better for the trimming.’

Legolas looked around the pavilion. He saw Celeguel, a broad slash of red across her cheek and forehead where she had burned, but she was smiling and talking to the elleth who was chopping out the burned sections of her hair. 

‘I know it may not seem like much of a contribution,’ Arwen continued, ‘but there is something about having one’s hair attended to, it is somehow very calming and soothing…’

An elf in a nearby chair was receiving attention. He turned to say something to the elleth with the scissors who listened and nodded, and Legolas recognised Canadion as the one being tidied. There was little hair left at the side of Canadion’s face, but the elleth did something with the way she put in the plaits so that she effectively disguised the lack of strands, weaving the remnants in with the longer hair that survived behind his ear. A proper braid the other side, and the two woven together at the back of his head, and with a flourish the elleth removed the cloth from around Canadion’s neck and handed him a looking-glass.

Canadion nodded and smiled and got up from the chair.

‘My prince!’ he said. ‘We need to start up a new company when we get home – the Dragon Guard. We could adopt this way of braiding as our emblem! What do you think?’

‘I think Thiriston will approve. You look happier today.’

‘Yes; this is a thoughtful service. Well, now I can think about work again. Until later, cousin.’

*

Commander Esgaron was in the command tent talking to Govon and Tharmeduil when Legolas got there.

‘What news, Commander?’

‘Imladris continues to give with both hands and while our backs are turned so we have no chance to thank them – or to refuse. Their cooks are at our fires, and bring their own supplies with them. Feed for our horses appeared mysteriously overnight… our warriors find it heartening. I do not suppose… and I do not like to ask… what chance is there, of healing the rift between the two houses?’

Legolas frowned as he took his chair next to Govon.

‘I think it is no longer a rift between two houses; I think it is between our two leaders, now. But while the king is indisposed, nothing can be done. As for me, I am content to let things pass into peace.’

Govon gave him an incredulous glance, but Tharmeduil was nodding.

‘For the sake of our warriors, we must do what is best for them, and we cannot afford to refuse help now. No doubt once Adar is awake, he will make his feelings quite clear on the matter, but for now we should deal with Imladris as with allies, but bearing in mind our king and their lord have their differences.’

‘Thank you for making it clear,’ Esgaron replied, although it was anything but plain to him what was going on. ‘Has a decision been made yet, concerning the carcasses?’

‘We are still in debate,’ Tharmeduil said, and there was a wariness in his tone that make Legolas think his brother felt he had spent too long talking about the dead dragons already. ‘It’s pretty much been decided that burning them isn’t possible, not today. Not until we have sent our honoured dead on their way.’

Legolas nodded; it would seem wrong to have smoke from the dragons mingling with the pyres of their fallen.

‘Whatever came for them last night may well be back tonight,’ Legolas said. ‘I think our warriors are still tired and heart-sick. We should concentrate on reclaiming all the supplies we can today from our encampment.’

‘Very well. Are there any other orders?’

‘That will do for the present, Commander.’

Once Esgaron had left, Tharmeduil got to his feet and stretched. 

‘Do you feel up to a walk, Govon?’ he asked. ‘I’d like my notebooks back, but it seems too trivial to ask our warriors to look for them. You’ll stay here, Legolas, won’t you?’

‘Yes, of course. If you see Glorfindel on your travels, I’d like to talk to him.’

‘We’ll pass it on,’ Tharmeduil promised, lurching towards the opening of the tent. ‘Govon, can I have your arm, just until I get moving? I need to find a stick!’


	109. Before the Rites Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which preparations are made for the funeral rites of the fallen, and Tharmeduil goes looking for his notebooks

It was after lunch before Legolas saw Glorfindel approaching the tent and the prince was, for the moment, alone.

‘You said you wanted to see me, your highness?’

‘Just call me Legolas,’ he said, uncomfortable with the title from one such as Glorfindel. ‘Yes. There are a few things… will you sit?’

‘How can I help?’

‘You already have helped, my lord… I know Nestoril finds it difficult to talk about the pain of those in her care…’

‘Yes. It is never easy. The third healer… you know of the third healer?’

‘I have heard rumour, although I have yet to be treated to the sight of Elrond in a dress… my brother refers to this healer as ‘Gaelbainil’… what of… her?’  
‘This one was with Mithanar at the end and so he felt no pain but was eased gently into the waiting arms of Mandos. There was nothing to be done, not even if he had been brought in sooner. But with his loss, and with the death of Tornir, I am confident of no more deaths to come. All your warriors will live.’

‘But will they recover?’

‘A good question. Yes, for the most part. Some will wake screaming from time to time, but we all do that, after all…’

Legolas didn’t think he’d ever woken screaming himself… he looked at Glorfindel with new understanding as the great warrior continued.

‘There are injuries to the body, and injuries to the fëa, and where the fëa is wounded, then the body will be slow to heal and will perhaps scar. So it is well to nurture their hearts as well as their visible burns.’

The prince thought of Celeguel, with the bright red burns streaking her face. He thought of Govon’s long-ago received scars on him and shoulder, and wondered that there had been none to nurture him so that he kept the marks of his battles.

‘It is with this kind of healing that your Nestoril excels,’ Glorfindel went on. ‘It is true, she does not have the power to summon a fëa back from the brink, or to enhance healing beyond its usual pace, but she cares for all she tends and this is reflected in how cleanly they heal.’

‘Yes. She has had the care of my family for as long as I can remember. What knowledge, my lord, do you have of the dragon breath? It is unknown amongst us, save that one of my guard knew of it and so warned us ahead of the battle.’

‘I know that it is well that wyrm was killed quickly; you cannot see the breath of a cold-drake, so you have no warning as you do with a fire-drake. It kills swiftly and it is unusual for any to survive. Those that have, generally do so because they only breathe a little of the poisoned air, such as your Govon.’

‘What of my brother?’

Glorfindel took a slow breath, preparing to convert his thoughts to words.

‘He is beyond my reach. It is possible he is beyond the reach of any, this side of the seas. Yet when Mandos came to claim Mithanar and Tornir, it seemed his purpose was filled.’

‘You… your pardon, but you saw… Mandos..?’

Glorfindel bright, old eyes didn’t waver.

‘Yes. I have seen Namo, who is called Mandos, many times, in this life and in the spaces between my lives. We are… old friends, perhaps. Now, it may be that Iauron’s time is simply not yet. Or it may be that there is hope for him, still. But my advice, and that of your own healer, were you to press her, would be to send him to the Havens and take ship. In Valinor, there will be one to help him.’

‘That is pretty much what I feared. I do not think my father will like it.’

Glorfindel shrugged.

‘I can only advise and suggest, Legolas. But if it were my son, or my brother, it is what I would do.’

‘Thank you. And…’ Legolas sighed, staring out at the bright day beyond, his mind ranging to the plain and the carcasses there. ‘And do you have any experience of disposing of dead dragons, my lord?’

Glorfindel laughed. 

‘No, I cannot say that I have!’ he replied. ‘But it may be that I can find someone who does. With your agreement, I will go back to my own side of the river and speak to Lord Elrond. He may be able to help there.’

‘My thanks, Glorfindel. You prove yourself truly our friend.’

‘In that, you honour me. I will return.’

* 

The early afternoon passed swiftly. Lindir came, wanting to talk about the fallen so he could properly sing them to their rest, wanting to ask about the rites. Of them all, Legolas had known Tegolon the best, but knew enough about each of the dead to answer Lindir’s questions.

‘So, I will be ready. Sunset, it begins?’

‘Yes, and my thanks again.’

By mid-afternoon, no word had come from Govon or Tharmeduil and Legolas was starting to worry. He got up to stretch his legs, walking around outside the command tent but staying near enough, should anyone need him.

Across the bridge to the ruin of the camp he could see the domes of the bodies of the fallen dragons and make out the work teams, picking their way through and around, gathering salvageable items together and bringing them to the bridge, but of his brother and his fëa-mate there was no sign.  
Well, Bregon would be checking in with him soon; perhaps he could ask the commander to take charge while he had a quick scout around for them, just in case.

It wasn’t long before he saw Commander Bregon walking towards him. The commander waved, and Legolas waited for him outside the tent.

‘How are your warriors getting on today, Bregon?’

‘Some are doing better than others, but all are coping. We have almost cleared the former encampment. I asked Triwathon to wait with Govon and the prince until he was fit enough to come back.’

‘Thank you , Commander. Can you take over here for me while I see how they’re getting on?’

‘Yes, my prince. I will be glad of a moment’s peace.’

*

What had happened to Govon and Tharmeduil? Was it Tharmeduil having another fit? Or had Govon been taken ill again, some recurrence of the poison? He hurried over the bridge, trying not to look as if he was panicking, and made his way towards the ruins of the camp; it was only once he had rounded the remains of the red dragon that he could see them, three figures, two seated, one prone. It was with some relief he saw that Govon was sitting up and seemed to be talking softly to the other seated elf.

‘Prince Legolas!’ Triwathon jumped to his feet. ‘Commander Bregon asked me to wait…’

‘Yes, Triwathon, our thanks. Commander Govon?’

‘My prince…’ Govon’s mouth lifted in a fractional smile. ‘We were seeking your brother’s records and notebooks. Once recovered, the prince wished to go over one or two things… this has led to a slight recurrence of his headache and so we are resting…’

‘That’s fine. Triwathon, the work here is done for now. If you wish to return to the new camp, Bregon is at the command centre. And once more, our thanks.’

Legolas passed Govon a flask of water.

‘And what really happened?’ he asked once his fëa-mate had drunk and passed the flask back.

‘Tharmeduil wanted me to go through some details with him. He became quite distraught about ‘all the sad stories,’ I think it was, and he went into the heart of his vision and it took him away. I wiped up the blood, as you see, and I think he’ll wake soon. He was talking about your father.’

‘Well, let’s see if he’ll stir. Tharmeduil? Brother, are you waking yet?’ Legolas trickled a little of the water across Tharmeduil’s face. ‘Come, we can’t stay here.’

The sleeping prince’s eyes flew open with a gasp and a shudder of his body.

‘It is time, yet? Is it done yet? Govon, we need to… you must…’

‘Tharmeduil?’ Legolas spoke his name calmly, hoping to divert his brother’s attention. But all that happened was that he focussed on Legolas instead.

‘’Oh, good… listen, we have to do this and it will seem wrong, Govon told me and I know, it does, it seems cruel, but Adar… he has to attend the rites this evening, he has to be aware of them, even if we have to prop him up against a tent-pole… if we don’t, it’ll just eat him up from inside and… and change him too much, Govon has the pictures…’

‘Come on.’ Legolas hauled Tharmeduil into a sitting position with his good arm. ‘Can you walk?’

‘Frankly, I doubt you can call it a walk any more… but we have to hurry, they’ll be coming soon…’

‘Don’t ask,’ Govon said softly. ‘Let me help.’

Between them, Legolas and Govon got Tharmeduil to his feet. He swayed and staggered and but for the two of them, would have fallen back down until Govon found and passed him a tall stave to steady him. 

‘That’s better. Govon, have you got everything?’

The commander picked up a bag filled of rolled pages and notebooks and slung it over his shoulder.

*

They made their way, staggering and weaving (‘Like drunkards, only without the singing,’ Tharmeduil said) back to the camp, taking great care across the bridge.

‘It’s getting late. We need to go straight to Adar. All of us, you have to help, Legolas. We’ve got to wake him and we’re going to have to gang up on him.’

‘It seems… unkind,’ Legolas protested.

‘I said that, too, melleth,’ Govon answered. ‘And your brother spent twenty minutes proving why it was necessary and then went into a fit. I regretted asking.’

‘We have to do it,’ Tharmeduil insisted. ‘And we have to get a move on – he’s going to wake up hungry, angry and hurting and we have to sort all that out before the rites begin.’


	110. All the Sad Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tharmeduil, Legolas and Govon unite in an attempt to wake the king from his trance...

Thranduil drifted.

The sounds were hazy, but the pain was hazier, and he was beyond both discomfort and noise in the twilight of his almost-reverie. He was not entirely comfortable there; his conscience prickled him and an unformed, unforming memory – it took considerable effort to keep the memory unformed – kept trying to nag him, but as soon as the images started to fall into place – elves falling, Tegolon, Iauron, Govon, one, two, three… and the sick sense of loss began to curdle around his fëa, he fled it… Not even the comforting words spoken by Nestoril really penetrated, really made sense… how could Iauron be alive when Thranduil had seen his fall? How could Legolas say his father was wrong when Thranduil had seen the grief growing all around the field?  
He would weep, if he were any more awake, and in a king, that would be unpardonable.

Yet he had wept, on the field, focussing on untangling the ties on Nelleron’s antlers, trying to free the elk from the burden of the head of the grey cold-drake. His vision had blurred and he had fumbled and not noticed the descent of the red dragon until it had begun screeching at him…

Thranduil tried to turn away from the memory, but as soon as he did, the noises outside began to encroach, the pain tried to slide nearer to him and then, too clear to hide from, loud in his right ear, the voice of his son, his poor, troubled, visionary son…

_‘Adar, it’s time to stop this…’_

*

‘Adar, it’s time to stop this. We know you’re awake really. Come, your people need you.’ Tharmeduil took his father’s hand, feeling the heat of his strong fingers. ‘The rites are today. Our fallen are being sung to Mandos, today, and you have to be there, you have to see them, you have to say their names…’

Tharmeduil shook his head, leaning back in the chair Govon had found for him and set at the king’s bedside.

‘I’d swear he’s awake, but it’s like… like a house with the door open but nobody’s home…’

_Thranduil heard words, a clear, loud voice, his son, wanting him to what? Why? Why should he wake when there was all that pain to pass through first to get there? A cool, soothing touch on his hand. It anchored him, tied him to the real world beyond the waiting agonies, and then… Rites for the fallen… so many burned, burned… what had Nestoril said? Five lost?_

‘Let me try?’ Govon said, coming to stand near Thranduil’s head. ‘My king, your warriors await your orders. What does our king desire?’  
But that… that was Govon’s voice… requesting orders for the warriors…

It looked as if Thranduil’s lips parted, shaped a word. It looked as if his throat moved, as if he swallowed. 

Legolas nodded at his fëa-mate. 

‘Yes, melleth! Adar, I told you, you were wrong about Govon – he’s alive. And so is Iauron, and…’

‘And you have to wake up,’ Tharmeduil took over again. ‘And, while you’re thinking about it, we’re going to stay with you and tell you all the sad stories. You need to know what’s been happening.’

‘Adar’s probably thirsty. Govon, have you the water flask? Thank you, melleth-nin…’

_‘Govon?’_

_He didn’t voice the words; after all, Govon would hear, if he were dead, would he not? And yet Legolas’ voice… that word, ‘melleth’, said with so much affection… so if Legolas was saying ‘melleth’, then perhaps Govon was alive…_

_Sudden, cool water drops on his lips, moistening them, soft and pleasant and he licked his lips with care to take the water. More followed, a slow, steady trickle, and the voices began again…_

‘My king,’ Govon said. ‘There is grievous news. We have five to send to their pyres. The first to fall was Tegolon. He was my friend, he had been my lieutenant. We served together many times. One the occasion when the spiders fled through the forest and attacked, and we were bitten, our comrade Hador slipped and his foot became wedged. Rather than seek safety, Tegolon stayed to help his friend. And on the field, he pushed Prince Iauron out of the way, breathing in the poison himself but sparing Iauron the worst of it, and so Iauron was able to cover my mouth and save me. But Tegolon is dead. He has a wife and elflings, and he will be missed.’

_The trickle of water had stopped. His face hurt. His face burned and sang and screamed and he tried to disregard it, to concentrate on Govon’s voice now; it was the only distraction…_

‘We think the next to fall was Maedon. Maedon, who lost a long strip of skin in that same spider attack, who was worried he would not be fit enough for his place in the Court Guard. Did you know, at one time he did not want to be in the guard at all? But he was good with a bow, and he was honoured to serve, even so. The black dragon chased our warriors across the field, they told me, toying with them. This is how Maedon fell.’ 

Govon paused, looking up, his eyes shining with tears and Legolas went to stand with him, putting his arm around his shoulders.

‘Harnor, too, was burned by the fire-drake. His fëa-mate is also a guard, but his company serves the palace complex. He will understand, although he will grieve.’

‘These all died on the field, Adar,’ Legolas said. ‘Two more died of their wounds overnight, but they were pain-free, at the last, and did not die in fear.’

‘Mithanar, and Tornir. I did not know them well,’ Govon said. ‘But Mithanar was a career-soldier; it was all he ever wanted to do and he loved his position. He was unbonded. Tornir’s father was an archer in the elite guard, a fine shot and his son honoured him. And these are our honoured dead. Who will say their names with honour and reverence, my king, if you do not?’

‘And there are many who are injured, and some who will scar,’ Legolas took up the account. ‘The fear of the dragon is so deep in them, that their fëar are scarred with the burning, and they will forever carry the marks, unless they are freed of the distress while their bodies still are healing. Celeguel, who strove so hard to be well in time to come with us, she has a red stripe across her face.’

He broke off to sigh and look at his father. Somehow, he felt his words were reaching him, but the king gave no indication that he was any more awake.

‘Adar, my far-cousin Canadion, who smothered the flames when you were engulfed. He acted thoughtlessly, as so many of his acts appear to be thoughtless, and he joked afterwards, and he claims to have been only lightly singed. But he was fair before, and he fears now he will no longer be enough for his lover. He is worried his youthfulness will be lost in scarring, and that will only remind Thiriston of his own past hurts, and it will drive them apart.’

‘As for Thiriston himself,’ Govon continued. ‘You have much cause to be grateful to him. For when the black dragon was finally grounded, Legolas rushed out. Thinking I was dead – yes, I know you did not tell me, pe-channas-nin, but I have talked to others today and had the story several times over… so, Legolas rushed the dragon and Thiriston, seeing this, went after him and while Legolas was walking his knives through the fire-drakes’ flesh, Thiriston buried his axe in the beast’s head and killed it. But in so doing, it has awoken his own demons, and now he is afraid Canadion will not stay with him, that from being a strong protector he will be revealed as fearful, and damaged, and old…’

‘There are many others who suffer, who will wake in the night screaming and afraid of the dark and of fire,’ Legolas said. ‘Tharmeduil and I have talked with the warriors and listened, and tried to help, and showed that we honour their sacrifices, but we are not you. We are not their king, Adar, they need you to tell them you are honoured by their gifts of pain, and seeing your pain, father, that will help them, too. But you have to wake and see them. They need you.’

‘It doesn’t stop here, Ada,’ Tharmeduil looked down at his father’s face, impassive beneath the hemispherical shield of caul silk. ‘Iauron is alive, but he may not wake, and we need you to decide what to do. Arwen has been weeping, when nobody’s watching, because she really does like him. And Nelleron is lonely, although Erestor and Arveldir are comforting him, I think he misses you. There are more, so many more sad stories, Ada, but do you know what the saddest of all is? It is that you are lying here, hiding, when so many of your people need you. You’re a worry to us, a worry to Nestoril, and a worry to everyone. So you need to come away from wherever you are and open your eyes and begin to see and feel and hear again. Too many people need you, Ada!’

The king didn’t move, didn’t show any signs of stirring. Tharmeduil shook his head.

‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘There isn’t any more. I don’t know what else I can say.’

‘I have a thought… Govon, can we undo one of these panels? We need to open a space in the walls…’

‘We can, but why would we…? Oh, to let some fresh air in? I suppose…’

‘To let something else in. Come, help me with this. Tharmeduil, will you stay? Keep trying to make him hear you; we will not be long.’

Tharmeduil turned his attention back to his father while Govon and Legolas unfastened and spread wide one of the panels in the side of the pavilion. He was vaguely aware they had gone, but was too focussed on his father to wonder.

‘It’s not going to go well, Adar,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen it. Iauron is gone into the darkness, and I am heading after him, and if you don’t wake, what will Legolas do? In one of my books, I’ve seen Govon looking at him as if they’re worlds apart from each other, and I think that’s saddest of all. There’s so much love there, and so much sacrifice, and I know it doesn’t have to be like that for them…’

He broke off to sigh, and found himself smiling, somehow.

‘Do you remember, Adar? How hardly a week would go by without one or other of us getting the ‘disappointed’ lecture from you? Well, do you know something?’ He leaned forward to bring his mouth close to Thranduil’s ear. ‘If you do not wake up, and get up, and attend the rites for our fallen, then not only I, and Legolas will be disappointed in our father, but the entire company of the guard will be very disappointed in their king…’

For a moment he held his breath, thinking it might work, the ultimate threat Thranduil had held over his sons’ heads for so long being turned back on him… but no.

He covered his eyes with his hands, trying to work out what he was meant to do now when a soft, light sound startled him.

Bells.

Why bells?

And Govon appeared at the open entrance to the pavilion, holding it wider, and Legolas backed into the king’s sick room, tugging a lead rope, and pulling Nelleron into the pavilion. He looked at Tharmeduil’s incredulous face and grinned ruefully as the elk dipped its head to whiffle at Thranduil’s hair.

‘It was the only thing we could think of,’ he said. ‘Shall we leave them alone together for a little while?’


	111. Elk Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril discovers the king has an unscheduled visitor...

Having sent Feril off to get some rest, Nestoril moved down the row of bedrolls, checking their inhabitants as she went and trying to hide her growing disquiet, unable to shake the worry that nagged constantly at her. For although the two cauls of healing silk gifted to Imladris had been returned for Mirkwood’s use, the fact was that even with these added to the store, Nestoril could foresee the likelihood of running short of the healing silk far sooner than she’d expected. Mithanar and Tornir, now dead, had required most of a caul between them, and while Nestoril did not for a moment begrudge them the chance of healing and the relief from pain the caul silk brought, still, that was a caul she no longer had in store.

Of the seven cauls she had started with, a scant five remained, and while, in theory, she would need less of the silk each day as wounds healed, for serious injuries such as those borne by the king and several of the guard, applications would be required for weeks, and she knew the day would come when she might have to choose between dressing the king’s shoulder, or a warrior’s face…

Still, caul silk was not the only treatment; it was simply the most effective.

Nestoril paused to chat with one of Bregon’s honour-guard. While Esagaron’s command had suffered the most from the flames of the black dragon, many of Bregon’s warriors, too, had been burned.

‘You are looking better!’ she said encouragingly. ‘If you feel well enough, you can be up and around, soon.’

‘May I attend the rites? Tornir was my friend…’

‘I will have them bring your clothes, and we will attend together,’ she said, smiling and moving on.

In fact, she was very pleased with the rates of recovery. Several would be well enough to leave her care today, many would be able to pay their respects to the fallen and then return to her care for the night. On the whole, those in her care...

Her train of thought was abruptly interrupted by a most inexplicable, unexpected sound; a low bellow, edged with the tinkle of bells.

Hurrying down the pavilion, she pushed through the curtain to the king’s chamber and stared in astonishment.

Thranduil was half-upright in his bed, supporting himself on Nelleron’s antlers, the uninjured side of his face pressed against the elk’s cheek. A slick of perspiration coated his face, his body where the covers had slid down, and he appeared to be smiling.

All Nestoril’s worry and concern and came to a head and exploded out of her at the sight of the king.

‘And what is that creature doing in here, your majesty? Elk are most unhygienic and not fitted for the sick room!’

‘Ah, Nestoril, good.’ The king’s voice was precise, clipped, less languid than was usual, as if speaking were painful. ‘I will wash, eat and dress. I will require assistance, but I intend to attend the rites for the fallen later today. Will you see to it for me?’

‘As my king requires, but the elk…’

‘Do not seek to interfere with Nelleron’s presence. Will you send for one or other of my sons?’

*

Thranduil managed to wait until Nestoril had left before gasping out his pain against the elk’s neck. It had taken all the steel of his courage to make himself come back to the now, and only the mute simplicity of Nelleron’s solid presence had enabled him to claw his way past the pain, following the irritating sound of jangling bells, to true consciousness. He was already regretting it, but the tales he had heard from his sons and from Govon had galvanized him, shamed him, and Tharmeduil’s final denouncement of disappointment in his father’s behaviour was stinging and smarting almost as much as was his injured face.

His face… 

He did not, had not ever considered himself particularly vain. Most elves were fair of face, it was how Eru had made them – and while Thranduil recognised and accepted that many thought him particularly beautiful, he valued the fact more for how he could use their admiration for the benefit of his kingdom than for personal satisfaction.

But he could feel that something terrible had happened, and he needed to know exactly, precisely what the damage was. Well, he would have to ask someone for a mirror.

Tharmeduil, Legolas and Govon arrived together, and if Tharmeduil looked a little guilty, he hid it well.

‘Good to see you awake, Ada,’ he said as Govon stepped forward to take Nelleron’s halter and Legolas prepared to help his father to sit more comfortably.

‘And you, also, Tharmeduil. But do not ever talk to me of disappointment, not after what I have had to endure from three such fine sons…’

It was said lightly, and Tharmeduil grinned with the side of his face that still could move as the king went on. 

‘Govon – you may leave my elk alone. I am aware that Nestoril considers him unhygienic, but you may tell her that his therapeutic value far outweighs any other consideration at this time. And really, the poor creature has been most ill-served… I see he has lost most of his decoration… I suppose I will get used to the bells in time, since Nelleron seems to like them so well. And now I require a looking-glass, if one of you would?’

‘That’s going to mean taking off the dressing, and Ness isn’t going to like that!’ Tharmeduil said. ‘I’ve got some pictures, though.’

‘Very well; you may show me those and the looking-glass will keep until my dressing is changed. Meanwhile, Legolas, you can find some clothing for me. And, Govon, I am very glad you are not dead and I require you to find a washing kit of some kind.’

‘We could always ask Arwen’s handmaids to come and help,’ Tharmeduil murmured.

‘Maybe not,’ Legolas said, hiding a grin. ‘Adar, it’s good to see you awake. You know, I didn’t realise how hard your job was until I had to do it for a few hours.’  
‘How touching to see that you were so worried for me,’ Thranduil said, a hint of his usual acid in his tone. ‘Now, go. And bespeak me some food from somewhere, if we still have a kitchen…’ 

Once the two had gone, the king turned to his remaining son. 

‘Now, Tharmeduil, let me see these pictures.’

‘I knew you’d want them; I have them here.’ 

Tharmeduil spread out a couple of pieces of parchment for his father to look at. The king stared, touched a finger to the drawing.

‘Did you have to use such vivid shades, ion-nin?’

‘That’s what you look like, when Nestoril changes your dressing tonight.’

‘And you left the eye white because you did not have the correct tones of blue?’

‘No, Ada… because the inner eyelid got damaged and…’ Tharmeduil shrugged. ‘You’ll manage perfectly well. I know, I’ve seen it.’

‘Yes… you will understand why I am not entirely reassured. And you are certain this is the extent of my facial injury?’

‘Fairly certain. I expect that’s pretty much how it feels, though, isn’t it?’

‘Rather more sore, in truth.’

‘I’ll get Nestoril.’

‘If you would.’

*

On the way to fulfil Thranduil’s requests, Legolas found himself hailed from the Imladris side of the bridge where Glorfindel was approaching. Govon touched his arm.

‘Take your time,’ he said. ‘I’ll speak to Arveldir about your father’s requests.’

‘Thank you, melleth.’

Glorfindel smiled as he approached.

‘I believe we have found a solution to the problem of carcass disposal, your highness; a message has been carried down the river to certain interested parties, but it would be as well to warn your guard not to shoot at anything on the far side of the river tonight or they may cause injury. And many in our encampment have expressed a wish to pay their respects to your honoured dead tonight.’

‘Thank you.’ Legolas looked across the eyot. A long spit of land to the south had been set aside for the rites and those of the company who were fit enough had been helping in the construction of the pyre. ‘I’m aware it’s not the custom of the Noldor to burn their dead. But to the Silvan elves, who have never seen Valinor, who are unsure if the promise holds for they who have never set foot on the western shores, it has become the tradition. More important, however, is the speaking of the names of the dead. The wood-elves hold that it is important not to name the dead except at specific memorial celebrations, lest the fëar be distressed by the calls of their old lives. So this is the last opportunity for many to speak the names of their friends.’

‘I will make this known amongst my people,’ Glorfindel said. ‘We will come to the bridge later.’

*

Eating was difficult, painful and humiliating, Thranduil found, and he was somewhat relieved that only Nestoril was present to witness his frustration. Her calm presence prevented his hurricane temper from unleashing wildly, and he mastered his anger with difficulty. The healer neither told him his temper was flaring because he was tired and in pain, nor assured him it would pass. Instead, she simply suggested he try to eat more with the right side of his mouth, and slowly, and to make sure he swilled his mouth with copious amounts of water. 

‘Besides, it is important that you drink, too,’ she said. ‘I am happy to leave you, if you would prefer?’

‘No.’ Thranduil sighed. ‘Stay. I have been enough alone. Tell me, how is my son? How is Iauron?’

It was the question Nestoril had been dreading ever since the king had woken. 

‘He is alive, and in no pain, and he does not seem to be getting any worse. But we cannot wake him, and his mind wanders far from us. We cannot reach him.’

‘We must take him home.’

‘We cannot go anywhere at the moment, Thranduil. There are too many who would be unable to ride, let alone march home.’

‘Well, talk to me. Tell me of other matters; distract me while I eat. I am sure there is much I ought to know.’

Nestoril thought for a moment and began, her account wandering back and forth from injured warriors doing well, to the friendship between Erestor and Arveldir, to finally settle on the assistance received from Imladris.

‘…and before you tell me you do not like it, let me say that offers of help came from Glorfindel and not from his lord. It was not easy for your sons to accept assistance, but it was the right decision. It is tacitly accepted that Lord Elrond and King Thranduil are currently at variance, but that Imladris and Mirkwood are not opposed to each other.’

‘I will speak to Arveldir presently.’

‘Yes. Presently. But there will not be time before the rites, my king. Once you have finished eating…’

‘I have done. I lack the patience.’

‘Then I will change your dressings before Legolas comes back.’

‘Do you have a looking glass, Nestoril?’

She cast him an amused glance while she washed her hands and prepared her dressings kit. ‘You are not permitted a looking-glass, my king.’

‘Tharmeduil showed me his drawings.’

‘And therefore you do not need a looking-glass, either.’

She began with the burns on his hip, arm and shoulder, replacing the dressings and making sure the bandaging over the dressings was thick and secure to protect him from the chafing of his robes against his skin before turning her attention to his face, trying to make sure that her own expression didn’t change as she uncovered his injury.

It really wasn’t pleasant to look upon. Having seen Tharmeduil’s drawings, Nestoril had to admit they were accurate, but perhaps didn’t properly convey the intensity and degree of damage. Even so, the injury was beginning to heal, although it was too soon to say quite how fully the king’s face would recover. She worked quickly and deftly, not apologising for any discomfort for it would only have annoyed Thranduil had she done so, making the dressing as small and neat and tidy as she could, grateful that caul silk had its own adhesive properties to hold it close to his skin.

‘And that is done. I have a draught which will ease the pain – it will not entirely stop it, I am afraid, but it will help and tonight I can give you something stronger.’

She got to her feet and cleared away the evidence of her work, relieved to have finished.

‘Is it so bad, Nestoril, that you cannot meet my gaze when you dress my injury?’

‘I do not like seeing you so marred, Thranduil,’ she said. ‘Now, I will be back presently to help you prepare for the rites. And someone must take Nelleron back to his stable; he cannot stay here by himself while we are all saying our goodbyes!’


	112. Smoke and Ash and Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil attends the Rites for the Fallen...

Looking back, Thranduil mused, it had taken more than three weeks to lead his people to the eyot from their woodland home.

Now, as the king stood unsteadily behind the curtain separating his chamber from the infirmary proper, it seemed every bit as far from here to the exit as the journey from Mirkwood to the Langflood. Someone – probably Govon, he thought – had found him a spear to use as a staff, and had made sure Tharmeduil and Legolas had them too, so that it looked more that they bore them for show than for need.

They flanked him now, his two sons, and Govon took up position behind, as a guard should. Thranduil nodded to Nestoril.

‘My thanks, Healer. You may continue.’

Nestoril quirked an eyebrow at Tharmeduil as she pulled back the canvas, catching a glimpse of his semi-smile… where it not for the reason why he could only smile with half his face, she would have found it quite captivating, she thought. And, really, Tharmeduil’s father should not be up. Never mind that Thranduil had been resting for an entire day, he was injured and the pain relief she had given him really would not see him through the evening…

Thranduil knew he could not stride, as was his wont. Instead, he settled for a stately progress, pausing to greet the injured on either side and therefore making the slowness of his walk appear deliberate, considerate, even.

Every step woke the pain in his hip and shoulder. Each greeting caused the delicate, damaged nerves in his face to flare and gibber in agony. But he was the king. This was just another of his duties.

It was a very long way indeed to the end of the infirmary.

And when he got there, and looked outside, it was twice the distance to the pavilion near the bridge where the bodies had been laid and thence on towards the mounds of the pyres.

Perhaps because the inside of the infirmary had been lit by gentle lights and the outside world was falling to dusk, perhaps because his left eye was covered with a dressing, whatever the reason, it took Thranduil a moment, when he stepped outside, to fully recognise what he was seeing. All the guard who were able to stand were waiting for him, and as he appeared, all bent their knee to him. As Thranduil looked in wonder at his sons, looking for some sign of recognition, they, too, knelt, Govon following suit, Nestoril and Feril folding down into deep curtsies and he found himself struggling to maintain his calm expression.

Normally he would wave his subjects back to their feet, but today it did not seem appropriate.

‘Please rise,’ he said.

As the assembled warriors rose to their feet, as his sons stood at his side and Govon and Nestoril at his back, he realised the way was perhaps not quite so far as he had first imagined.

The support of his sons buoyed him up. The respect of his warriors strengthened him.

Lord Arveldir was waiting outside the pavilion of the fallen and bowed as the small procession approached, holding back the entrance so that the king and his sons could enter.

The five fallen had been dressed and arranged on their biers so that their king and their comrades could approach and say their names and Thranduil led the way: Tegolon, Maedon, Harnor, Mithanar, Tornir. He spoke to each as if they could still hear him, as if it mattered, thanking them for their service, honouring their sacrifice. He touched each head in benediction and farewell, and moved on to wait for his sons.

Legolas paused beside Tegolon’s bier, remembering how he had nursed him through his sickness, how they had woven flet dreams and then sat drinking beer on the greensward. He remembered meeting Tegolon’s wife and resolved to be the one to bring the news to her; he’d had at least a taste of what such loss felt like.

Nestoril was last of the little group to speak to the fallen, and she kissed each one and apologised for not being able to save them, turning away, her feeling of failure showing in tears and Tharmeduil dragged her against his side for a moment in a fierce hug before they turned to follow the king from the pavilion. She wiped her eyes, and gave him a grateful look.

Outside, Thranduil had come to a halt facing the Imladris side of the river, staring at the bridge. There assembled was the entire company of Imladris, the knights and the cooks together, and seeing the king, all made obeisance. 

Ahead of the rest, with his head bowed, Lord Elrond sank to his knees.

‘Your majesty,’ he began quietly, but his voice carried clearly through the still evening air so that everyone could hear. ‘Imladris most humbly beseeches pardon for that pre-emptive action which turned the dragons against the Royal House of Mirkwood and its valiant fallen. We beg permission to join with you in honouring your warriors and we beg forgiveness.’ He looked up, his eyes too distressed to settle on either Thranduil or Legolas but moving from king to prince. ‘I beg forgiveness.’

Thranduil tilted his head fractionally, lifted his hand to indicate they should rise, and nodded permission, glancing to Arveldir to take over. The advisor stepped forward and bowed to Elrond as the assembled Mirkwood elves got to their feet.

‘His gracious majesty King Thranduil, most high ruler of Greenwood the Great, acknowledges your request. You may attend the rites for our fallen.’

It was hardly an effusive acceptance of Elrond’s submission, Arveldir knew, but this was too solemn an occasion to allow it to become personal; later, Elrond could approach the king, if he dared, and the king would more graciously accept the apology, perhaps. Or not. One could never quite tell with Thranduil just how long he would hold a grudge, but where his sons were concerned, Arveldir knew, the king had endless patience and a very long memory.

The King and his retinue turned away from the bridge and began making their way towards the pyres; five separate beds of flammable material, one for each fallen warrior. Seats had been prepared, and by the time Thranduil reached them, he stifled his pride along with his pain and had to allow Nestoril and Govon to help him into his chair. His sons took their seats on either side of him and behind, the space slowly filled with the mixed guards of Mirkwood, come from speaking the names of their comrades in farewell.

Legolas sat between Thranduil and Govon, lost in thought. By rights, he should be thinking only of the fallen, of how he knew them and how they had affected his life. But his thoughts kept wandering to the sight of Elrond on his knees, humbly suing for pardon. Of course, the timing and the wording had been such that the king could not have refused the apology without denying Imladris permission to pay their respects to the dead, and that would have dishonoured the fallen, yet Elrond had seemed truly contrite. Well. The Lord of Imladris might have looked at Legolas when he’d asked forgiveness, but it would be Thranduil he had to convince.

A light touch on his shoulder made Legolas turn. Arwen was there, her brothers beside her and Glorfindel and Erestor, too. She gave him a sad sort of smile and settled in her seat.

It was somehow comforting that Elrond’s family and friends had chosen to sit with them. No doubt it wouldn’t last, they would be quickly reconciled with their lord and father, but for now, the show of solidarity was making a difficult evening less painful.

He heard a hastily-repressed gasp from his side, and realised his father was struggling with pain, making the recurrent throb from his own arm seem insignificant.

Eventually, all the warriors had passed by the biers. Everyone from Imladris had stood, and muttered names they had only just learned, not fully realising the significance of what they were doing, but trying anyway, and had been shown towards a place at the back of the Mirkwood assembled to observe the rites.

And from behind the gathered mourners, a voice began to sing.

It was pure and clear in tone, melancholy and sweet, and it sang of the promise of Iluvatar. It sang of forever and of sacrifice and of the hope of reunion. And as the voice sang, it grew nearer, and the fallen were brought, each on their own bier and carried by their comrades and laid on their pyre, and their names were sung and honoured and the singing continued until all were in place and the fires lit, and as the flames crackled and spat, the voice fell silent and the assembled houses of Mirkwood and Imladris watched as Tegolon, Maedon and Harnor, Mithanar and Tornir became smoke and ash and memory.


	113. After the Flames Died Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil speaks with his warriors and prepares to meet with Elrond...

Elrond had found the rites strangely moving. It was different for Noldor, of course; the Silvans were the remnants of those who had not heard the call and had never crossed to Valinor, and so whereas Elrond knew what was to come as a certainty, the Silvans could only hope and as their own traditions had grown, the need to say farewell had become more important, perhaps, to them than to other elves.

The pyres burned swiftly and hungrily and the flames diminished as a huge, glimmering moon graced the skies. Around Elrond, the majority of his household waited for a sign, an indication of what was next, fearing to cause offence by moving too soon, hoping not to show their ignorance by staying too long.

Elrond, too waited. At home, when strangers were amongst them, he had generally sent Lindir or Erestor to tell the guests what was required, and he assumed Thranduil’s household would be run along similar lines. Sure enough, once the pyres had dropped to embers and a stirring had begun in the ranks of Mirkwood ahead, Lord Arveldir presented himself and bowed.

‘The rites for the fallen are ended. His majesty King Thranduil wishes to express his gratitude to Lindir of your household, for singing the names of the dead. And Mirkwood extends its appreciation to Imladris for showing respect to our lost. It is the custom now that we meet and talk, and begin to take comfort after all that has passed. But we no longer use the names of those who have been freed.’

‘I understand, Lord Arveldir. This must cause problems in daily life? There must be times when you long to speak of your lost friends…’

‘Rather, it is better, because we remember how they were important. So I would never dream of naming the consort of the king, but I can say to the princes, your mother, and to my king, she whom you loved, and so we remember what they were to us and to each other as well as who they were to themselves.’

‘And yet your king is Thranduil Oropherion? He uses his dead father’s name as part of his title.’

‘Of course he does,’ Arveldir said with an amused glance that was almost supercilious. ‘However well my king might look in Silvan war paint, he is, of course, Sindar.’

Of course he was. Elrond had a sudden urge to kick himself but tried to recover.

‘On the topic of your king, if he has the time, I would be grateful if he could spare me a few moments later? There are things still unsaid between us…’  
‘His majesty has agreed to make himself available to you later; his people attend him first.’

‘My thanks, Lord Arveldir. I don’t suppose you’ve seen my advisor anywhere around, have you?’

‘Your…? Ah, you mean Erestor. I’ll tell him you were asking after him, Lord Elrond. Excuse me; I fear I am wanted again.’

*

Arveldir escaped Elrond’s company as quickly as he could and wove through the throng, heading towards where he had left Erestor in conversation with Lindir. The minstrel had been the recipient of much praise and gratitude, and had found both the thanks, and the solemnity of the experience, a little overwhelming. Now as Arveldir approached, he found Arwen had taken Erestor’s place at Lindir’s side, and she smiled and nodded towards the eastern side of the eyot.

‘He wanted to watch the eagles arriving,’ she said, which made no sense to Arveldir, but he pretended it did, and went off in the direction indicated.  
Erestor was sitting in the lee of the bank where he could easily be overlooked, unless you were seeking him. But Arveldir found him quickly enough, and came to sit beside him. Erestor shuffled nearer, touching shoulders and hips with his friend.

They sat in stillness for a few moments, looking at the night sky. Small, dark shapes, black against the deep blue, rapidly approaching, wings flapping in distant time. 

‘They have eyries high in the Misty Mountains,’ Erestor said. ‘The eagles. Imladris has an understanding with them, and so when Glorfindel spoke of the need for some way to remove the carcasses, one of the household rode to seek them out and tell of the carrion available. Eagles are noble creatures, but their table manners leave something to be desired… I understand there may also be bears, later.’

‘Bears?’ Arveldir queried.

‘Or something that resembles bears.’ Erestor smiled. ‘There are skin-changers, too, between the mountains and the western bank of the river. Not many, now, and we see them growing fewer with sorrow, for they are rare and honourable beings.’

‘And they are coming here?’

‘Yes. Word has been passed, I think, that no-one is to shoot at them?’

‘Yes. It is to be hoped Imladris had the message, too?’

Erestor laughed, and rested his head against Arveldir’s shoulder.

‘Elrond was asking for you,’ Arveldir said, loath to spoil the moment but feeling it better to get this out of the way now. ‘Or, rather, he asked if I had seen ‘his advisor’.’

‘Really? But I am no longer his advisor. I am Thranduil’s advisor’s… what exactly am I, Arveldir?’

‘Whatever you wish to be. To me, you are… everything.’

Erestor put his arm round Arveldir’s waist and sighed and smiled at the same time. 

‘Thranduil’s advisor’s everything. It has rather a nice ring to it,’ he said.

In the sky the eagles grew larger, began to swoop and circle in front of the moon. As they closed in on the plain, it became evident that each was huge, wingspans wider than that of the dragons they now came to scavenge from. While the two advisors sat together, watching the skies, one stooped. plummeting with talons outstretched and tore a huge chunk from the nearest carcass, beating its wings to take off into the sky and wheel away. Another dropped down, a third, all ripping off hunks of dragon flesh and bearing them off to the south.

‘By morning the dragons will mostly be bloodstains on the earth, perhaps a few bones,’ Erestor said. ‘Much more easy to manage.’

Arveldir put his arms around Erestor and pressed a kiss against his ebony hair.

‘A majestic spectacle. But…’

‘But we need to return?’

‘Only for a short time.’

‘Yes. Our king will need us.’

‘Our king?’ Arveldir smiled.

‘Our king. But perhaps we need each other, first.’

*

‘My king?’ Govon spoke softly into Thranduil’s right ear. ‘Before we move, some of your warriors would like to approach…’

‘Then why should they not?’ Thranduil said, his voice a ghost of its usual self. ‘It is my custom to speak with all my warriors after a battle.’

‘This I know.’ Govon smiled. ‘We all know.’

They were considerate, on the whole, knowing others wanted to speak to the king, and so tried not to linger as they approached and expressed their delight at seeing him and their regret at his injuries, and he asked after them, knowing every name and every face it belonged to, but what surprised him was when they began thanking him.

‘For you charged the grey cold-drake, and you challenged the red dragon, and killed them both, and saved so many of us,’ they said, only the words changing slightly, the sentiment remaining the same.

Thranduil had patience and graciousness for them all, taking hands, looking into faces with his one uncovered eye, perhaps seeing the more deeply for that, noticing things about some that troubled him, and at the end, although he smiled and spoke reassuringly, he was glad to see Arveldir had returned, Erestor his new shadow with him, and if both looked a little flushed, Thranduil could pretend not to notice.

‘Arveldir, good. Will you please take note I will require the following warriors to present themselves to my notice on the morrow; morning would be best, liaise with Nestoril and consult the persons in question, but their attendance is not negotiable. I will need to see them individually and privately and…’

Thranduil broke off as the pain he had been trying to ignore suddenly clamoured for attention.

‘And you need to stop, now, and return to your chamber, where I can properly medicate you for the pain, my king,’ Nestoril said firmly.

‘Presently. Lord Elrond has an apology to make first. Arveldir, these are the names…’

‘Then Elrond will speak to you in your chamber, my king, once your comfort has been attended to. Govon, your assistance, please?’ Nestoril came to Thranduil’s left and gestured for the commander to go to his other side. ‘I do believe that if we are careful, we can lift the chair, and its king, all the way back…’

‘Nestoril I will walk. Arveldir, concerning tomorrow…’

Talking helped, Thranduil realised as he made his way slowly back towards the infirmary. Pain haunted him, looming up at unexpected moments and he found himself trembling and shaking as he took step after step. Arveldir at his side listened to his requests and made suggestions and found answers as required.

‘How long before we can return home?’ Thranduil asked.

‘We are not yet certain. At least eight of our warriors are not yet ambulatory and several would not even be able to ride at present. While some will be able to do so soon, there are not sufficient horses for all.’

‘Very well. Our supplies?’

‘More than sufficient; our friends from Imladris have helped.’

Thranduil shot him an impatient glance at the use of the word ‘friends’, but did not protest too much.

‘My king, it will be nearer if you enter through the side panel…’ Nestoril suggested.

‘Yes. That reminds me, have someone bring my elk, Arveldir.’

‘Now, Thranduil…’ Nestoril began.

‘Just for a short while, Healer, I assure you,’ the king said, trying not to smile; it hurt too much.

‘I will go,’ Erestor offered. ‘Your majesty, Nelleron will be with you soon.’ 

‘Not too soon,’ Nestoril said. ‘I want time to attend my king without an elk in the room!’

*

‘I don’t know about you, melleth,’ Legolas began as he and Govon followed Thranduil towards the infirmary. ‘But I’m not quite so keen on sleeping just a curtain away from Adar now he’s come back to himself…’

‘In fact, I have managed to acquire a tent which I have had pitched to the north of the infirmary pavilion. It is small, cosy, perhaps, but it will give us privacy should we wish to… talk without disturbing anyone. I’ll collect our bedrolls, take them to our new billet and see you presently.’

So slow was the king’s progress that Govon returned from his task just as the little group arrived at the infirmary. Thranduil dismissed them everyone except Nestoril.

‘Someone can send for Elrond now. Make sure he has to wait before being shown into my presence; Nestoril will wish to fuss around me first, I expect.’

He permitted Nestoril to take his arm and lead him to the chamber and begin examination of his injuries; it would have been wrong to say Thranduil grumbled all the way through her ministrations. In fact, he simply sighed and bore with her attentions stoically.

‘I know that you are in a great deal of discomfort,’ the healer said. ‘The wounds have been disturbed by your moving about so much. But you are recovering swiftly; it is the caul silk, it is very good…’

‘And have you sufficient for everyone, Nestoril?’ he asked.

‘There is plenty,’ she said. ‘Now, I will attend the injury to your face…’

‘A looking-glass?’

‘No.’ She peeled away the caul silk and exposed the wound. ‘Not yet. Perhaps in a day or so. I would like to leave this injury open to the air for a few moments, if you can bear it – not once your elk is here, of course…’

‘But perhaps while Elrond is here? Yes, it will prove a distraction for him. Very well. And you need not stay once he arrives. And I need to be alert so take that medication away; I know it is but a sleeping draught in disguise.’

‘But it is far more than… Oh, as you wish! Here, let me help you…’

She propped him up on pillows and checked on Iauron while they waited for Govon and Legolas to finish keeping Elrond waiting outside. Finally, Thranduil nodded.

‘Very well. Elrond may approach.’


	114. Apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elrond tries to make amends...

For Elrond, waiting outside the infirmary with Legolas and Commander Govon was uncomfortable to say the least. Legolas ignored him, or replied to any attempts at conversation in a polite, distant manner that showed he was truly the son of his father, and there was such an expression of contempt on the Commander’s face from time to time that Elrond was, frankly, frightened, the more so because he had no idea what he could possibly have done to earn Govon’s wrath.

It began to dawn on the Lord of Imladris that the sooner he could get this over with, collect Arwen and his wayward advisor, and return to the Last Homely House, the better.

‘If the king is indisposed, I can return another time?’ he suggested. 

Legolas smiled, a tight, formal smile, and gave a small shrug.

‘We are only waiting for the healer to finish, Elrond,’ he said. ‘And here she is. Nestoril?’

‘My lord, the king will see you now,’ she said, and held the panel wide for Elrond to enter.

Govon watched the Lord of Imladris disappear behind the swathe of canvas and let out a long, slow breath. Nestoril turned back from releasing the canvas in time to catch the end of it, and patted the Commander on the shoulder and almost jumped at the tension in his muscles. At once she began kneading her thumbs into the muscles at either side of his neck, her voice briskly professional.

‘Relax, Govon! My, but you are drawn tighter than the string on a long-distance bow! My prince, what are you thinking? Your warrior needs you! Take him away to your quarters at once!’

‘Nestoril?’ Legolas managed to say.

‘Right now!’ The healer took her hands off Govon’s shoulders and gently pushed him towards Legolas. ‘Go! Put a smile on his face again. Make him purr.’

Govon caught Legolas’ good hand. ‘Come, then, melleth-nin! We should always take the healer’s advice… Let’s see if you can make me purr.’

In truth, Legolas didn’t need much persuading to follow Govon to the new, more private tent which was set up northwards of the infirmary. It really was small, though, and low, so they both had to get down on their knees and crawl inside, although once inside, there was room to sit up without their heads fouling on the canvas above.

‘Snug,’ Legolas said.

Govon brought his face close to his fëa-mate.

‘Intimate,’ he suggested, parting his lips and pulling Legolas towards him. 

The prince sighed against Govon’s mouth and he folded his arms around his beloved, falling into the kiss and revelling in the erotic warmth of the embrace. Hands began working on his clothes, sliding beneath the fastenings to seek his bare skin as the kiss became more urgent, more determined until Legolas pulled away, gasping, to stare into the dark wells of Govon’s eyes made black with need.

His fingers shook as he untied the lacings of Govon’s shirt and tugged it over his head to uncover the strong, sleek torso and run his hands over his shoulders and encircle him once more while Govon buried his face in Legolas’ neck, hiding in his hair while he untied his lover’s leggings, pushing them away before starting to slide off his tunic.

‘What?’ Legolas said, as Govon stopped abruptly.

‘Your arm, melleth. I don’t want to hurt you.’

‘It’s nothing,’ he said, quickly shrugging out of his shirt and stifling the pain as his arm protested. ‘I am fine. Bring your mouth back to me, I need to kiss you again, yesterday, I thought I would never be able to hold you again…’

‘And you spent all night holding my hand but nothing more.’

‘You were ill.’

‘True. I’m not ill now. Help me with this.’

‘This’ was the last remaining item of clothing left on either of their bodies, barring the dressing on Legolas’ arm, and Govon stretched out against the long, lean length of his lover and pulled himself on top of him to wriggle his hips and feel the surged of their bodies and watch as Legolas gasped and pushed back hard against him. And although it was not so very long since they had had the chance to lie in love together, it seemed to Legolas as if months had passed, and Govon’s mouth was hungry and eager and warm against his face and throat.

‘And I thought I was going to make you purr,’ Legolas gasped as Govon smiled into his neck.

‘There’s plenty of time for that, melleth-nin.’ Govon began to lick and suck his way across the line of his beloved’s shoulder towards his arm, sliding his tongue in slow circles towards the dressing on his arm, stopping short. ‘I will have the story of this wound one day. When you’re healed of it.’

‘Yes. Anything you want, melleth…’

‘You. I want you,’ Govon said simply. 

He wandered his hands across Legolas’ body and then lifted himself on one elbow to gaze down as he lightly stroked drifting fingers towards his fëa-mate’s collar bone.

‘There is something missing…’ he began in a slow voice.

Legolas swallowed hard and turned his head away, closing his eyes.

‘I hoped you would not notice, not yet… it was not anything I could prevent, but it burned, Govon, when I did, and it was all I could hold in my mind, that you had said it would wear and you would make another for me, but I thought you were dead and Nestoril pulled the rest of it from my arm but it is blood-stained now and there is so little left…’ 

Suddenly he was sobbing, and Govon looked on in shocked sorrow as his fëa-mate wept, purging himself of all the stress of the last day in an uncontrolled bout of emotion.

Shaking his head, he gathered Legolas in his arms, rocking him gently and stroking his hair, helping his lover weather the storm.

‘Hey, fair elf!’ he said once he felt the worst had passed. ‘I only meant the sandalwood oil…’

Legolas sniffed against Govon’s chest, the last of his tears turning to laughter. 

‘Ai, friend captain…’

‘Merlinith scolded me, did you know? For not taking thought to making you a proper band, but I remember you took me by surprise, and I had but half a day to prepare! Still, it is easily remedied; I will ask one of Arwen’s handmaids to trim a very little of my hair so that I can weave you another tomorrow.’ He shifted position so he could wipe Legolas’ eyes free of tears. ‘While we are almost still on the subject of my death, melleth, tonight’s rites made me think… if it were to happen…’

‘No.’

‘Hush. If it were – and I do not see why it would – please, don’t be afraid to say my name. I can think of nothing in the afterlife that I would rather do, than know you were talking of me. So...’

‘And you say it is I whose mouth does the talking thing when it should be otherwise occupied,’ Legolas said.

‘Well… kiss me again, then. Or find something else for me to do with it…’

But Legolas found something other than talking to do with his own mouth instead and soon, as Nestoril had ordered, Govon was purring, and they both entered reverie with smiles on their faces.

*

All the awkwardness Elrond had been feeling while he waited outside the king’s chamber suddenly roiled up once more… and evaporated as he entered, and his eyes witnessed Thranduil’s ruined face. The healer in him shoved his confused emotions aside and took charge, heading for the bedside.

‘Let me see.’ He reached out to tip Thranduil’s chin and his grey eyes narrowed as he took in the full detail of the injury. ‘A lot of reconstruction is required, but I see no reason why we should not be able to fully restore…’

‘We?’ Thranduil queried, his voice icily dangerous. ‘Nestoril is my healer and requires no assistance.’

Elrond swallowed and stepped back, folding his hands together in front of his body.

‘I forgot myself; I am sorry, it is habit. And… there are other matters for which I need to apologise…’

‘Indeed.’ Thranduil’s tone was dry. 

‘Some time ago… when your son came to visit… that is, we… You must know the tale by now, Thranduil, it’s pointless to repeat and I’m not sure my perspective would tally with what you’ve heard, anyway… I was wrong, and my behaviour perhaps not all it could have been and… but I am sure your son has taken no lasting harm, in fact he seems to hold no grudge?’

Thranduil raised a careful eyebrow.

‘And has it never occurred to you, Elrond, that others than just my son have been distressed as a result of your actions all those years ago? Surely had you considered him, not as an individual but as a representative of the realm of Greenwood the Great, a royal prince, you would have seen that you risked insulting the entire kingdom of Mirkwood?’

‘My feelings for Legolas were of entirely too personal a nature for me to consider him as anything but an ellon whom I loved at the time…’

‘A strange way you had of showing it, indeed. But Legolas assures me that all this is a fuss over nothing. And since you have long since ceased to matter to him, then perhaps, for the sake of those in my care, I should put aside my righteous indignation and allow your apology to stand.’

‘Good. That is, thank you.’ Elrond paused for a moment as all of Thranduil’s words penetrated. 

‘Ceased to matter to him?’ he repeated, affronted.

Thranduil waved a hand, amused at the chagrin in Elrond’s tone. ‘Other than as the father of his friends, that is. I do hope my son knows his duty well enough to have been courteous to you? And let it be noted Mirkwood is appreciative of the assistance Imladris has proffered in the wake of the dragon attack.’

‘If there is anything more I can do to… make amends? I understand Iauron is ill? Arwen is quite distressed. Of course, since your majesty has seen fit to call off the wedding…’

‘Before he was taken ill, yes. But I had also told them both that if they wished to be bonded in a less formal manner, I would not object; it was the alliance between our two houses that gave me pause, not between the two lovers. But now Iauron is suffering the effects of the same poison Govon survived; my son took more of the cold-drake’s breath and whatever Arwen chooses, I will not hold her to any arrangements made before my son’s indisposition. Feel free to engage your professional interest with Iauron, if you will. I am sure your daughter would be grateful.’

It was phrased as languid permission, as if Elrond had begged for the opportunity to examine Thranduil’s son, but both lord and king knew full well that Thranduil was asking for Elrond’s help.

‘Let me see…’ Elrond knelt at Iauron’s side, checking pulse, breathing, lifting his eyelids, sliding the inner lids away. He placed his fingers on Iauron’s temples and was still for a moment before beginning to mutter words beneath his breath, sending his awareness chasing after the fleeting fëa of the prince. His voice grew fainter, softer, until final it ceased altogether and he sat, still, distant. Finally, he came back to himself with a sigh and sat back. ‘He lives, he is in no pain and in no danger, but his fëa has become disassociated. I cannot bring him back to his body, I do not know how. My advice would be…’

‘Thank you, Lord Elrond. Your apology is accepted and your assistance acknowledged. I feel fatigued now. Please send my healer to me on your way out. And my elk.’

Elrond inclined his head and retreated with as much decorum as possible. Nestoril was waiting outside, loosely holding the lead rope of an elk with bells decorating its antlers. Legolas and Commander Govon were not to be seen.

‘Healer, your king wants you and his elk. And a good night to you. And have you seen my daughter?’

*  
Nestoril smiled. ‘Arwen? I think she was near the cooking fires, my lord.’

Arwen was, indeed, at the campfires, chatting easily with some of the warriors, her brothers and Lindir nearby, Glorfindel within earshot.

‘Where is Erestor, do you know?’ he asked generally.

‘Oh, they went to bed, I think,’ Glorfindel replied, keeping his tone casual.

Elrond shook his head. ‘They? I do not understand…’

‘Erestor and… ah. Maybe you didn’t know. He has taken a lover, at last. He seems very happy but I don’t think they’ll appreciate being interrupted…’

‘Well, it’s late, I will seek him tomorrow.’ Elrond really did not want to know about his advisor’s private life, not at the moment. ‘Arwen, did you have anything to collect?’

‘I don’t know what you mean?’

‘It’s time to go home. Just to the camp tonight, of course. We will begin preparations to move out tomorrow…’

‘But, Father, I cannot simply leave Iauron and my friends like this! And, besides, I have been invited to return to Mirkwood and…’

‘Go to Mirkwood? Impossible!’

‘Father, we can have this argument now, loudly, in front of all these people…’ Arwen swept her hand around to indicate the warriors of Mirkwood and the folk of Imladris who were in easy earshot, ‘or we can talk about it in the morning. But I’m staying here tonight. I promised Feril.’

Well, at least she had called him ‘father’. It was progress, of sorts.

‘I will talk to you in the morning, then. Isn’t anyone coming back to the camp with me tonight?’

Elrohir grinned and nudged his brother. ‘Say goodnight to Arwen. Let’s walk the old Ada home…’

Ah, well, that was something. At least his sons had not deserted him.

‘Make sure he doesn’t lose his way, you mean?’ Elladan added. ‘And accidentally stumble against any handsome warriors on the way? Good idea.’

Elrond’s eyes narrowed as his sons grinned in pretend innocence, but he ignored them and spoke instead to his seneschal.

‘Glorfindel? Can we expect you tonight, or shall I tell one of the other knights to attend your duties?’

The seneschal cocked an eyebrow at his lord’s implied critcism.

‘I want to make sure our aquiline and ursine allies have finished their work on the dragon carcasses first. I’ll bring Lindir back with me at the same time, Lord Elrond.’

There was something in the way Glorfindel used his title that made Elrond feel slightly ashamed.

‘Well, good. And thank you, Glorfindel.’

Elrond turned to go.

‘One thing more, Elrond – Prince Tharmeduil was asking if Healer Gaelbainil would be assisting in the infirmary for the night watch?’ Glorfindel added.  
The twins sniggered and Arwen smiled faintly.

‘If help is needed, of course… but since all is now well between Thranduil and I, there is no reason why I could not simply…’

‘Oh, no!’ Elrohir linked arms with his father on one side. ‘It would require far too much explaining…’

Ellandan swooped in and took Elrond’s other arm. ‘And besides, one of the warriors was particularly asking after Gaelbainil… I think you have made a hit, there!’

‘Now, do not be silly, Elladan, I…’

The twins laughed, and began marching their father back across the bridge towards the Imladris camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of this chapter is a response to the amazingly lovely HM, who pointed out that we haven't had a waft of sandalwood for a while.


	115. Audience with the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion wakes alone... and Thranduil wakes to an elk in his chamber...

Canadion stirred, turning in to the solid, comforting body of his fëa-mate only to wake with a start as he realised he was alone in the tent in the pale blue gloom.

Used to waking alone from time to time, with different guard schedules, still, this pre-dawn morning he felt lonely, and cold, and he swallowed and his fingers reached up, by themselves, to caress the blisters left by the dragon fire across his face and throat and ear.

It probably won’t scar, Nestoril had said. Not if you take proper care. 

Besides, others were far worse off than him; Thranduil… he’d been close enough, when he’d thrown himself at his burning king, to see, to watch as the flesh had melted off the bones of his beautiful face…

Canadion shuddered, and pulled the bedding around his shoulders. He’s slept naked beneath the blankets, hoping Thiriston would see, hoping to entice him. But it seemed Thiriston had been on duty overnight, although he usually said and he hadn’t…

And, of course, things had been a bit busy, with the dragons and everything and losing their friend in the Court Guard… if Thiriston needed to be by himself a bit, Canadion didn’t want to push him…

But sometimes he thought all he had, the only way he could bind Thiriston to him was with his youth and his body and his face… why else would someone so brave, so wise, so caring want him? And if he scarred, every time Thiriston looked at him, he would see flames and he would see dragons, his one great fearand that would be tantamount to Thiriston keeping a spider as a pet to taunt Canadion with…

But he probably wouldn’t scar. Nestoril had almost promised.

A stir outside, and Thiriston came in. There were ghosts of shadows beneath his eyes, and his strong, interesting face was set in sad lines. He froze when he saw Canadion looking at him.

‘You’re awake.’

Canadion smiled, feeling the kick of delirium in his heart that the sight of his fëa-mate always brought, his previous worries sliding away out of thought for the moment. 

‘I am, and I am cold.’ Canadion allowed his tongue to tip across his lower lip and he looked up at Thiriston, trying to hide his hunger and need.  
He dropped his bedding and lay on his side, facing away from Thiriston so that his burns weren’t visible and presenting his sinuous spine towards his lover.

‘Would you like to warm me?’ he asked.

There was silence for a heartbeat too long, and then Thiriston was removing his clothes and sinking onto his own bedroll beside him and pulling Canadion’s back against his body.

‘I’m sorry I disturbed you. Sleep, if you can.’

The last thing Canadion wanted was sleep; he wanted comfort, reassurance, affection… he tried a little snuggle of his buttocks back against Thiriston’s groin, but although his lover kissed his hair and drew him closer, his loins remained still.

‘Rest, penneth.’ Thiriston’s enfolding arm cradled, cuddled him, his voice was a soothing croon. ‘We both must rest.’

Tears prickled in Canadion’s eyes, and it hurt to swallow, suddenly. But he nodded and brought his own arm over Thiriston’s.

‘If that’s what you want, melleth-nin. Sleep well.’

*

King Thranduil woke to pain, but it was less than when he taken Nestoril’s draught last night and so he attempted to see it in a positive light. Also positive was the fact that Nelleron was still in the chamber with him, lying down and looking very restful. 

But Iauron had been moved from his pallet at the side of Thranduil’s bed, and this worried him for a moment. He tried to sit up in bed, the movement woke Nelleron, and the elk swung his head, causing the bells to tinkle and jangle.

‘And to you also, good morning,’ Thranduil said as the elk rose to his feet and shook himself, causing another shrilling of bells. ‘Come, let me rub your nose… there…’

Distantly, Thranduil heard voices outside.

_‘Bells, I heard them, Arveldir, he is nearby… do you think…?’_

_‘Oh, no…! He cannot have got in to the infirmary, Nestoril would have sent him straight out again…’_

_‘Except if he were in the king’s room…’_

Thranduil found his mouth lifting in a smile.

‘My lords,’ he said. ‘I am indeed in the company of my elk.’

Surprised and utter silence, followed by the hiss of urgent whispers and outside, someone cleared his throat.

‘Your majesty?’

Erestor, of course.

‘Do come in, Erestor.’

The erstwhile chief advisor of Imladris parted the canvas and sidled in.

‘Your majesty, I do hope you have not been inconvenienced… I made sure Nelleron was safely in his stall last night…’

‘Do not concern yourself, Erestor. But perhaps he had better return to his housing before Nestoril comes in… and on the topic of housing…’ the king went on as the advisor took hold of the elk’s lead rope, ‘I wish you to understand that although Imladris and Mirkwood are no longer at odds if you would still like to return with us, we are quite happy to permit it.’

‘I am very grateful.’

‘Yes. I am sure Arveldir will be pleased, too. As you leave with Nelleron, please send my advisor in.’

*

Nestoril arrived so shortly after Arveldir’s departure that Thranduil was sure she had been waiting to see him leave.

‘So, my king, breakfast and then I will examine your injuries once more…’

‘I have much to do this morning, Nestoril.’

‘And so do I. They tell me you want a chair bringing and that you intend talking to people this morning…’

‘Yes. Two chairs would be better. Is that why Iauron has been moved?’

‘Really, it is more to afford both of you a little privacy. And Prince Tharmeduil suggested it.’ 

Nestoril hesitated for a moment. 

‘Concerning your oldest son,’ she went on, ‘I understand that Lord Elrond asked to be permitted to examine him?’

‘He did indeed. He admitted there was nothing he could do. Iauron’s fëa has become disassociated, Elrond says, and he cannot retrieve it.’

‘It is as we feared, then – Lord Glorfindel said much the same. We will need to give thought what to do for the prince… it may be that a little more time is all that he needs, but I begin to feel there is nothing we can do here…’

‘You would suggest…?’

‘That we send him to the havens. In many ways it makes sense; we are already almost halfway there, a small company from the guard could see him over the mountains. I or Feril could attend him to make sure…’

‘No, Nestoril.’

‘But, my king…’

‘I will not separate my guard. I will not send my son away. We will go home – we will all go home, together, and there face whatever we must. I am sure at home you would have more resources at your disposal.’

‘It is true, there are one or two things more I could try, but…’

‘I have every faith in you, Nestoril.’

‘Then you have more than I do in myself.’ She sighed. Sometimes, there was no arguing with the king, and this was obviously a discussion for another time. ‘I will fetch my dressings kit.’

When she returned, she had Govon with her, bringing two chairs and placing them at the bedside. 

‘Thank you, Govon,’ she said as he was leaving. ‘It is good to see the smile back on your face!’

‘Did the commander blush, then?’ Thranduil asked as Nestoril began to uncover his injuries. ‘Did you say something to embarrass him?’

‘You know, these injuries are very much improved today,’ she said, glossing over his question. ‘I’m pleased I brought this…’

Nestoril peeled away the dressing from the king’s face and handed him a small looking-glass. Thranduil tilted his head, looking at the injury; there was a hole all the way through his cheek and he could see several of his own teeth and the side of his tongue, delicate strands of muscle and tendrils of ligaments in varying shades of red and pink and purple and many differing degrees of damage.

‘This is improved?’ he said, repressing a shudder at the sensations speech engendered without the dressing in place, at the disconcerting way in which his damaged face moved.

‘Greatly so. I don’t doubt it is still painful, but regeneration of tissue has begun.’ Nestoril placed a fresh dressing over the wound. ‘There. Now, I do not want you tiring yourself this morning – how many people do you intend speaking with?’

‘Nowhere near as many as I spoke to last night, Healer.’

She raised a pretty eyebrow in an elegant wing as she helped Thranduil into his formal robes of office and arrange himself regally in his chair. The king felt compelled to answer.

‘Simply those whose fëar have been too deeply touched by their experiences. I wish to offer them my personal support.’

‘I see. Well, I will return from time to time to see how you are getting on,’ she said, clearing away her things. ‘And if you need anything… oh, we should have kept one of Nelleron’s bells for you to ring… you had better just call.’

*

Arveldir brought Celeguel first and encouraged her to sit.

‘Be easy,’ he said. ‘Our king simply wishes to continue the conversation you had last night. Come through when you are finished.

‘How are you feeling today?’ the king asked. 

‘I… better, thank you. After last night… to say farewell to my comrades…’

‘You were on the field after the dragons attacked, I understand, well into the night, alone…’

Arveldir removed himself from the chamber, going to wait outside where Nestoril, too, was waiting.

‘What is he doing?’ she asked anxiously, listening hard to the soft voices coming from the king’s chamber.

‘Being our king,’ Arveldir said with a shrug.

A few moments later, the voices ceased, and Celeguel emerged, her hands over her face and her shoulders shaking. Arveldir stared and Nestoril gathered Celeguel into her arms, patting her shoulders. 

‘Come, penneth, what is the matter? Whatever did he say to you?’

Celeguel buried her face against the healer and sobbed.

‘He… he said I was brave and… and courage is always b... b…beautiful and he… he touched… touched my face where I b... burned and…’

‘Hush… there, let me see…’ 

Nestoril eased Celeguel away and brushed back her hair, her eyes widening as she looked at the red stripe on the warrior’s face. It was faded now to the palest of pinks, the skin beneath smoother than previously. The healer looked at Arveldir and shook her head.

‘I do not know what he has done, but this injury is remarkably better than when I last saw it…’

‘I told you,’ Arveldir said, heading towards the entrance to the chamber to fetch the next warrior. ‘He is being our king.’

*

Mid-morning, and Thranduil had seen only three of his specified warriors so far and he was already feeling the strain. His head was aching, and so was his heart. What was it Tharmeduil had said to wake him from his stupor? ‘All the sad stories…’? His son had meant well, but he didn’t know the half of it, so many, so very many sad stories as there were…

‘Thiriston is here, my king.’

‘Thank you, Arveldir. Thiriston, sit; there is no ceremony in the sick room. You prevented my youngest son from risking his neck when he attacked the black dragon and then you killed it yourself.’

‘Only after you had killed the other two, my king.’

‘Even so, I owe you my thanks. Has your sleep been disturbed, at all, Thiriston?’

‘I do not know what you mean, sire?’

‘Mine has, of late. I hear the screams, in the night. My warriors slide from reverie to find themselves back on the field; those who were chased by the black dragon have particular night-terrors. It is how they begin to purge themselves of the horror of the experience. I wondered only if they had disturbed you, also, the screams?’

‘To a point.’ Thiriston’s voice was cautious.

‘I understand that after they wake, they gather at a certain camp fire to bear each other company.’

‘It was the idea of Glorfindel of Imladris. He said it would be a comfort.’

‘This is, perhaps, so,’ Thranduil replied. ‘For those who do not have fëa-mates, at least.’

The warrior’s eyes narrowed. King or no king, he didn’t like the implications of Thranduil’s comments.

‘Canadion is young, and light-hearted, my king. I do not want him damaged by the darkness.’

‘And yet he already has been damaged by it, if he wakes in the night to an empty bedroll beside him. I hope that you have at least not lied to him and claimed duty when it was simply need?’

‘He wouldn’t understand; he would think… he looks to me to be brave, and keep him safe from his fears, and how can I do that if he sees I am afraid?’

‘Do you not see that he is afraid of more than just spiders? Now he is scared that you shun him because he would not understand, because you do not think him capable of meeting you on your level. Thiriston, one of the first things I learned was that people cannot hope to understand certain complexities unless you explain to them. I am certain he would recognise your fear, for he has fears of his own.’

Thranduil closed his eyes for a moment, trying to think through the fog of pain.

‘And, Thiriston, what he fears is that you will leave him.’

‘What? No. That’s not… I would never… but he is so young… and I am so much older.’

‘If he does not mind that, why should you? Or perhaps he does care, but he lives in fear that you will tire of him.’

‘But… my king, he… he is…’

‘Once you have decided what he is, you had better make sure you tell him.’ Thranduil passed a hand across his eyes. ‘Go and do so now before it is too late.’

*

Left alone, the king sighed as the pain blossomed and flourished in his body and in his mind. Their pain was his pain, their scars were his, and none more so than Canadion’s. Canadion, who had come to him after Celeguel had left, who had faltered his way through his terror of scarring, how he was sure Thiriston looked at the red marks of flame and saw only the dragon that had made it, and Thranduil had reached out and placed his hand over the penneth’s injury and had drawn the pain into himself, taking back the injury Canadion had taken for him, and sent him away with as much reassurance as he could.

But he feared it would not be enough.

‘Excuse me, your majesty?’

He opened his eyes and saw Arwen standing by his chair.

‘Yes?’ he asked.

‘I came to see Iauron, I thought… I am sorry if I disturbed you…’

‘They have moved him to behind the curtain, there. You have become very fond of him, have you not? And for this to happen to all your hopes…’  
‘Do not worry about me,’ she said, reaching out to take his hand.

The contact was inappropriate, impulsive, and Arwen would have let go as soon as she realised, but the king’s fingers closed convulsively around hers as he felt a deep wave of grief and sorrow well up from her, spilling out and swamping him, invading all his awareness as he felt the hopelessness of her feelings for Iauron, her disappointment in her father, her longing loneliness for her mother, and everything began to darken as Thranduil started to shake, and shake, and Arwen was calling, shouting for Nestoril, for Feril, for anyone…


	116. Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of Thranduil's attempt and relationship counselling, Canadion makes a decision...

Thiriston left the king’s presence, trying to make some sense of the interview. The king seemed to know far too much for one who had only left his sickbed for a few hours the night before… but then, that was Thranduil, he always knew more than you thought… Perhaps Canadion had said something? But why would Canadion talk to the king and yet not talk to him…?

A very quiet voice suggested perhaps it was because Thiriston had not been there, that Canadion had not dared to ask in case he got the wrong reply.

Although he had intended going for a walk to try to clear his head, suddenly Thiriston found he was hurrying towards his billet…

It was empty.

At least, it was empty of all trace of Canadion; his bedroll, his pack… the little bits of rubbish he would leave lying around until grumbled at to move them, all was gone. It was too neat, too tidy, too final, and Thiriston found the breath heaving and heaving in his chest as panic set in. 

Dizzy with loss, he sat back for a moment, pushing away the anguish as he tried to think through the agony. 

Where had Canadion gone?

No. Where was he planning on going…?

*

After Canadion’s own audience with the king had finished, he had wandered disconsolately around the eyot for a little while. He knew Thranduil had meant well, although he had flinched and shied back when the king had reached out to touch his injuries.

Thranduil’s mouth had compressed impatiently.

‘I am neither going to hurt you or importune you, penneth. Who do you think I am, Elrond?’

‘No, sire. I am…’

‘You are another elf’s elf, this we know. And yet you are afraid you no longer are… you have the notion from somewhere that your face is your fortune,   
and you fear you will have scars and become less fortunate…’

The king leaned back, tugged at the edge of the caul silk pad on his face, watching as Canadion winced as his injury was revealed. He resettled the dressing and shrugged.

‘I expect I will scar, Canadion. But not so badly as if you had not smothered the flames. However, my face is not my fortune… and neither is yours…’

This time when Thranduil had extended his hand towards Canadion’s face, the younger elf permitted the touch of the king’s fingers on his burns.

'That is all I wished to do, penneth; to reclaim your scars for myself. Now, go, and think, and realise that you are far more than you believe yourself to   
be.’

...Whatever that had meant. All Canadion knew was that Thiriston left him in the tent alone at night, Thiriston couldn’t bear to look at him any longer.  
Thiriston no longer desired him.

He felt empty, hollow.

And how could he possibly face the long journey back, seeing his lover each day, knowing he was no longer his lover? He couldn’t, he wouldn’t be able to bear to see Thiriston’s eyes wincing away from him all the time. At home, it might be different, at home, he could hide, perhaps, but not here.  
He went back to the tent they shared and gathered up all his things, all the bits and pieces he left scattered around so Thiriston could grumble about them and he could show he cared by tidying up, packed his kit bag and slunk out with his bedroll under his arm.

Where to go? It was a very long way home, and by himself, he was afraid to chance it. He knew Prince Legolas had made the trip, in winter, all alone, but there were spiders everywhere these days...

Yet what else could he do? He would have to try, and maybe as he was feeling so unhappy anyway, he wouldn’t care about the spiders.

Unwilling to make so huge a decision on the spur of the moment, Canadion stowed his gear under the arch of the Imladris side of the bridge and sat on the bank, staring at the Imladris camp. There was much activity, everyone in motion, shouted orders carrying on the breeze, two figures walking across the bridge towards the eyot.

His gaze lowered, his thoughts drifting and miserable.

‘Hello. You’re Canadion, aren’t you?’

Canadion looked up into two sets of similar grey eyes in a pair of friendly faces. It was the one on the left who had spoken.

‘I’m Elrohir,’ the elf went on. ‘This is Elladan; you probably know us by sight, though I’d guess you know our father rather better... But we haven’t really been introduced…’

Elrohir lowered himself to the ground on one side of Canadion, while Elladan seated himself on the other. Neither crowded in, and Canadion felt comforted rather than threatened by their proximity.

‘I am, indeed, Canadion,’ he replied.

‘I… we… couldn’t help noticing, you look a little, well, glum?’ Elrohir suggested.

‘And that seems a pity, for whenever before we have noticed you, always you were smiling.’

‘Except when you were saving your king, of course. But you seem to have lost your warrior?’

‘Lost my warrior? What do you mean? Has he said something? Have you heard something? I…’

‘No, no, nothing like that…’ Elladan said, his voice soothing. ‘We meant only that he is not with you… it is rare to see you alone…’

Canadion flinched at the sound of that terrible word, alone, and shook his head.

‘I do not know where he is, but I fear…’ He broke off, seeing sympathy in their mirrored eyes. ‘What is life like, in Imladris?’ 

‘It is… mostly, rather dull,’ Elladan said, after a moment’s thought. ‘We have cleared out all the orcs and wargs from their nearby mountain haunts… usually more come down from the north quite regularly, but I think your dragons had been keeping the northern populations down… and no spiders, of course.’

‘But dull. The most fun to be had is when Grandmother Galadriel comes to visit. And then only for the wrong reasons…’

‘Or when Arwen hatches a new scheme to try our father’s patience. Although I don’t think she’ll have the heart for a while.’

‘True.’ Elrohir nodded, and then looked at Canadion. ‘Why do you ask? Were you were thinking of coming home with us? You would be very welcome… and I would gladly support the notion, if you wished it…’

‘But we remember you and Father had a slight misunderstanding…’

‘Or would you bring your warrior with you? Things would not be dull, then…’

Canadion sighed. ‘I do not think he is my warrior any longer. I fear he is another warrior’s warrior…’

‘No? Surely not?’ Elladan said with a glance at Elrohir. ‘You seemed so content.’

‘I would not abandon you,’ Elrohir said softly, bumping his shoulder gently against Canadion’s, ‘if you were mine.’

‘Well, he is not yours!’ A hand the size of a small house clamped around Elrohir’s shoulder and hauled him to his feet. ‘He is mine, and I would thank you to remember it!’

‘Peace, Master Elf!’ Elladan stood up and made placating gestures. ‘We are the sons of Elrond, not Elrond himself. Your friend was sad, and we wished only to comfort him.’

‘Then consider your work here is done.’ 

Thiriston released Elrohir and stepped away, glaring. Elrohir bowed to the big elf, but spoke to Canadion.

‘It would seem your lost warrior is found. May all be well between you both.’

He bowed again, and Elladan joined him to walk away over the bridge back to the Imladris side of the river.

‘What was that?’ Thiriston demanded. ‘And where are your things?’

Canadion tried to smile.

‘That was the sons of Elrond wanting to make amends for the bad manners of Elrond himself, I think. My things are under the bridge.’ 

He scrambled down the bank to retrieve his pack, confused and torn between hope and fear. Thiriston followed him.

‘And where did you plan on going? Imladris? To Elrond?’

‘No, not to Imladris, not to Elrond, not to anyone!’ Canadion kept his back to Thiriston so his beloved didn’t have to look at him. ‘I was going home!’

‘Home? By yourself?’ Thiriston put his hand gently on Canadion’s arm and turned him round. ‘Why would you do that?’

‘Because you cannot bear to look at me any longer. You keep away, at night. I fear you have found someone with more than I have to give, I know I flirt, but I only flirt, it is but a game and I only do it to show that of all those who would play the game with me, I want only you, I come home to you. Thiriston? Thiriston? Is it because you see dragons in my face, now? Is that why you shun me? Or what have I done, how can I undo this? I love you, only you and…’

Thiriston pulled Canadion tightly against his body, rocking him gently and somehow finding the words to at least try to explain.

‘Yes, it hurt to look at you.’ Thiriston sighed and hugged Canadion tighter as the elf in his arms began to weep. ‘I don’t see dragons in your face, it’s pain I see. The pain in your eyes, the fear there… I have tried, penneth, always to keep fear from you and when I see it change your eyes, it burns me as you burned, melleth. It means I failed you. I failed to keep you safe and so why would you stay with me? If I cannot keep your fear away, why would you want me? Especially as you grow so brave without me. You threw yourself at him, to stifle the flames, and you did not have to. I know you admire Thranduil. At night since, I wonder, do you love him, secretly? Is that what moves you, am I as near to him in age as you can find? Do you come to me because you know he will not, would not, while I always, always will and would?’

‘No, it is you, only you,’ Canadion sobbed against his chest. ‘My only fear is I will lose you. When you leave, in the night… I do not ask because… because I know it is not always duty, and if I did, you might tell me…’

‘Yes, I leave in the night.’ Thiriston eased his grip and sat down on the shingle beneath the bridge, tugging Canadion down to sit with him and making himself meet the younger elf’s eyes. ‘There are a group of us, we sit around the camp fire together. Because when we sleep, penneth, we yell and we shout and we relive our fears and we scream, and I cannot bear for you to hear me – you would see how afraid I am, and why would you trust me to protect you when I scream like an elleth and weep like an elfling after? Why would you want me?’

‘You scream, you say? Well, I wake without you, and I weep, and you are not there to see and comfort me and I weep the more. Which is better? Which is worse? If you stay with me, I can hold you, I can comfort you, I can feel I am some use to you… I want you because I love you. Because you see something in me that others do not. Because you have this great deep well of kindness in your fëa and while it doesn’t match what others think you are, still, it is who I know you are. Because you are so strong, and yet are so gentle. I have seen you cradle your sister’s infant elfling, and that babe tug at your hair, and your eye so warm… it is I who cannot fathom why you want me, I have lived in fear of the day I am not longer enough and I thought now, my use has run out…’

‘Enough? You are abundance, love.’ He touched Canadion’s face with gentle thumbs, wiping away the tears. ‘It is the brightness of your fëa; I am a moth to it, helpless thrall to your hope, you dare me to look to a future without fear… Ai, which of us is the more foolish?’

‘That would be you, beloved of my fëa.’

‘What did you say?’

Canadion grinned.

‘Well, I am the silliest of us, so you must be the most foolish. But I love you, I love all that is you, everything that makes you not someone else. And if I lose you, I will fade. I could not bear to be without you.’

‘Then, yes, I am the most foolish and you are silly. And if I were to lose you, there would be no point to anything.’

‘Let me kiss your foolish face, melleth.’

‘Bring me your silly mouth then, penneth. Spread your bedroll and I hope you packed the oil.’

‘…actually, no, I didn’t.’

‘No?’

‘Well, without you, I had no use for it.’ Canadion sighed and leaned back on the bedroll, flaunting lazily. ‘You will just have to be gentle with me. Very gentle.’


	117. Relapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The healers attend the king.

Nestoril heard the shouts from the king’s chamber with a gasp, dropped what she was doing, and ran down the length of the infirmary. 

The sight that met her eyes threatened to rob her of the ability to move. The king had fallen sideways in his chair and Arwen was desperately trying to hold him up, talking to him softly, trying to sound calm and reassuring. The white caul silk dressing on his face was ruby and running with blood, huge flowers of incarnadine spread through his grey silk robes down his shoulder, along his hip.

‘What is wrong?’ Arveldir pushed through from outside. ‘I heard Arwen’s voice…’

‘Help me now,’ Nestoril said, stepping forward. ‘We must move him back onto the bed… Arwen, my dear, let me take him from you… would you seek Feril for me, please, if you are not too…? My lord, can you lift…?’

Arwen waited until Nestoril had taken charge of the king before seeking Feril in the main infirmary.

‘Nestoril needs your help with the king,’ she gasped out, and then left the infirmary altogether, gathering her skirts and hurtling towards the Imladris bridge.

She ran across, looking for, and not at, and so found her progress arrested when a pair of strong arms reached out to hold her.

‘Arwen! You came back, my dear daughter!'

Arwen pushed her father away.

‘I am looking for Glorfindel! Have you seen him?’

‘He is with the other knights near the armoury, but…’

And she was gone again, calling out for the seneschal as she ran.

*

The sound of Arwen shouting for Nestoril, for anyone, spread beyond the infirmary. From where he was sitting in the command tent looking over Commander Esgaron’s written report, Tharmeduil looked up and breathed out in a little huff of a sigh.

He got up from his seat and reached for his staff, making his way awkwardly across the campsite, on the lookout for several specific faces.

‘Govon!’ he called out, seeing Legolas’ fëa-mate in the distance. ‘Commander Govon!’

The commander, who had been staring towards the infirmary at the sound of Arwen’s voice, turned now to the prince and came across to him.

‘How may I help?’ he asked.

‘Do you still have the notebook I gave you?’

‘We salvaged it from the field, yes.’

‘Good. You will need it soon. And have you a minute?’

‘Of course.’

Tharmeduil led the way towards the tent he’d been assigned; it was one of the larger, taller tents that was easier for him to access, damaged as he was.

‘I’m going to be away for a few days,’ he said. ‘If you like, you can claim this tent for you and Legolas… I won’t need it again…’

‘That sounds a little alarming!’ Govon said. ‘May I ask…?’

‘I’m getting to that. You’ll need all the notebooks and papers… in that satchel, there… and some more here… this is the private one, the one I kept from Nestoril… I have to go somewhere with Thiriston and Canadion, we shouldn’t be more than five or six days, but I can’t be sure… don’t worry, the camp will still be here then, although Imladris will be gone… now, where’s the… yes, I need that one, the blue cover… I have to take it with me. Can you ask someone to get our horses ready, mine and the guards? And lembas and water for the trip?’

‘I’ll see to it myself. My prince…?’

‘It’s all right, really. Some of it’s the other side of the dark, though… look after my little brother, won’t you? He’s your fëa-mate first and a prince second, remember it. Don’t get any foolish ideas about sacrifice and duty and the kingdom, do you hear me? Or you might ruin everything.’

‘I wouldn’t wish to do that,’ Govon said, his tone careful. ‘He’s more important to me than the kingdom, you should know that…’

‘I do.’ Tharmeduil smiled sadly. ‘Just remember it. Now, I have to go and see Nestoril, while she has a minute.’

*

Nestoril and Arveldir laid Thranduil on his bed and the healer began removing the king’s robes and exposing the dressings, shaking her head as she did so.

‘How can this have happened?’ Arveldir asked. ‘His wounds had stopped bleeding, I thought…’

‘Almost, indeed… oh, Thranduil. Why do you do these things…?’

There was no answer. The king had, at least, stopped convulsing and his visible eye was closed, his mouth relaxed as if he were smiling a little at some personal, private joke.

‘Nestoril?’ Feril arrived. ‘Arwen said you need… Ai, sweet Eru!’

‘Quite. I will need the dressings… many dressings, and we will need to bind these, too…’

‘At once.’

As Feril left again, Nestoril turned to Arveldir.

‘If you wish to be of help, I expect many people will have heard Arwen’s cry. Please, the last thing I need is a dozen concerned persons crowding in…’

‘I’ll keep watch and be vaguely reassuring. Will that help?’

‘Enormously.’ She shot him a quick smile and gave a sigh of relief as her friend returned. ‘Feril, the shoulder is bleeding most prolifically, we should start there.’

Nestoril stripped away the caul silk from the king’s injury and Feril applied a thick pad, pressing in an attempt to stem the bleeding while Nestoril removed the caul silk from Thranduil’s face and tried to clean away the excess blood before laying another pad over and turning her attention to the bleeding burns on his hip and outer thigh.

‘It is the old magic, isn’t it?’ Feril asked. ‘The Silvan traditions…’

‘He is Sindar, not Silvan –’

‘Which is why he has taken such harm from it. Consider, your king has been amongst Silvans for how many centuries? The mother of his children, she had the gift… he must have seen it, absorbed it over the years… And those he spoke with, how were they? How are they now?’ Feril asked. 

‘One, at least, who was like to scar, she came from his room with much less risk of it…’ Nestoril sighed. ‘It could be… Oh, but it is so like him! and he was healing so well!’

‘The bleeding has slowed significantly; I think we are winning.’

Nestoril hoped so. Certainly, the blood loss had slowed to a sluggish pout within the exposed, raw flesh of the leg injury and she risked taking the pads away to properly look at the wound.

‘This morning, when I checked, the wound was closed and beginning to mesh over; it was unpleasant, but had stopped bleeding and begun healing. As with his shoulder. And his poor face…’ She sighed as she peeled back the pad across the king’s cheek. ‘I will never make him whole again now!’

‘Do not be silly, Nestoril, of course you will!’ Feril said sternly. ‘You will have to use some of the old traditions yourself, and you will have to get him home first, before you can, but you will heal him.’

‘Yes.’ Nestoril gave herself a little mental shake. ‘Yes, of course I will. The wound on the hip has stopped; how is the shoulder?’

‘Also stopped. Salve and caul silk, as usual?’

‘Yes, and then we must bind over, in case the bleeding recommences. And we must make sure he does not touch anyone!’

‘Healer Nestoril?’ The deep, melodic voice of Lord Glorfindel made her look up. ‘Arwen said you had problems?’

‘Oh, indeed! Yes… come and see…’

Quickly she explained what she thought had happened while Glorfindel looked at the king’s reopened injuries.

‘…and while I think he is unconscious,’ Nestoril went on, ‘I cannot be certain that he is unaware of our ministration or whether or not he is in any pain…’

_…Thranduil drifted._

_Aware of a great release of pain somewhere deep inside his heart, he felt a wash of heat surge out of him… the voices of the healers over him, and it was strange, that the bleeding they were so determined to staunch had taken away with it all the agony of his fea, of the fëar of those whose sad, sad stories he had heard that day… it had been unintentional to draw Arwen’s distress from her; she was young enough, strong enough to recover, but she had taken his hand and before he could do anything, his empathy had connected with her and he had found himself awash with all the various troubles weighing on her slim shoulders..._

_It had been his intention, his hope, that he could bear the burdens of his warriors on their behalf by reaching in to the fëar of his damaged subjects, taking out the fear and the anguish and adding it to his own, for he was their king, it was his job…_

_…but there were so many more he had not reached, and now he was on the far side of the pain again, and the healers’ panicked reactions were telling him it would be far more difficult to cross back again this time…_

_The voices of the healers were growing fainter…_

*

‘Ness, I need you a moment.’ Tharmeduil held back the exterior access panel of the canvas, looking in.

‘My prince, in case you had not noticed, I am a little busy!’

‘Not so much, now. And it’s just for a minute. Come out here, get some air, you look slightly wan.’

‘Why not go?’ Glorfindel suggested. ‘I will look into your king for you.’

Reluctantly she stepped away from the bedside and out into the bright day.

‘What is it, my prince?’

‘It’s goodbye, Ness.’

His words drew her eyes to his face. 

‘Goodbye?’

‘Of sorts, at least. I’m off with Thiriston and his friend for a few days. And you’ll see me before I see you.’

‘Does your brother know about this?’ she asked in disapproving tones.

‘Govon does.’ He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. ‘Thank you for everything, Ness.’

‘You make it sound as if you’ll never see me again!’ she said, wondering, concerned.

‘Oh, I will,’ he said with a half-grin. ‘But you’ll see me first. Look after Ada for me.’

And with another semi-smile, he turned and made his slow way across the eyot, and Nestoril watched him go until called back in by Glorfindel.


	118. Arwen and Elrond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elrond finally talks to his daughter... but has he left it too late?

‘Arwen!’ Elrond followed his daughter through the camp as she sought Glorfindel. ‘Arwen, stop!’

He saw as she ran his seneschal to ground, noted how Glorfindel listened and nodded and thought for a moment before nodding again and hurrying off towards where his quarters were already being disassembled. 

Arwen stood for a moment, watching after the golden-headed elf, and Elrond seized the moment.

‘My dearest daughter, can we not talk for a moment? Now that you are here…’

She looked at him, trying to see in his face the remnants of the once-beloved and trusted father she was beginning to miss. 

‘Really, I do not feel like talking.’ With a shake of the head, she set off towards the pavilion which had been set aside for her use. ‘I must get a change of clothes…’

‘Look about you, Arwen. The kitchens are being dismantled, the tents are being packed away. We will be leaving shortly after noon. There is no more time for this…’

Elrond broke off. ‘Silliness’, he’d been about to say, but suddenly he realised that was the core of this. He had been treating Arwen as if all her concerns and thoughts were silly, mere trifles, when to her they were possibly of real importance.

‘…for this uncomfortable situation between us. It is a long ride home, Arwen.’

She stared at him in disbelief.

‘You do not realise, do you? After all that I have tried to tell you, I might just as well have been talking to the king’s elk! I am not coming back with you. I am going to Mirkwood.’

She entered her tent and opened the nearest chest, pretending to be busy.

‘Nonsense!’

‘Perhaps it is nonsensical of me, to expect you to understand. After all, there are many complexities, and it would take a long time to explain… and I am busy,’ Arwen added, and made to move away. 

‘Arwen, stop! Wait… I did not mean… All right. Tell me, why do you insist on going there?’

‘I wish to be with Iauron; had all gone to plan, tomorrow we would have been hand-fasting ourselves and I cannot give him up.’

‘Thranduil said he would not permit…’

‘Thranduil said the wedding – the formal union between Mirkwood and Imladris – was cancelled. He told us that if we still wanted to take vows, he wouldn’t object.’

‘But you are Arwen Undomiel, beloved of your people…’

‘And of Iauron, Crown Prince of Mirkwood. You were not complaining three months ago, Father, when the letters came.’

‘To be honest, I didn’t think he was serious – Iauron, that is. He has – had – a reputation for lightness and I thought he would soon tire of the game he seemed to be playing. In that, I may have misjudged him – and you. But, dear child, his condition is such… it is highly unlikely that he will wake from this stupor, and more probable is it that he will begin to fade… the only hope I can see for him is in the West, but Thranduil would not hear my advice. He is doomed, child, and your future together is doomed, also, unless you can by some chance persuade the king to send his son to the Undying Lands and you yourself go with him…’ 

Elrond trailed off as the import of his words sunk in. 

‘I do not mean to suggest you should take ship,’ he added hastily. ‘Not without me, at least. But for Iauron, there is no hope here.’

‘Hope, it seems to me, is like a hot bath after a long ride; it helps greatly, but one can manage without it.’

‘Not forever, Arwen. Will you not come home with me? With your brothers?’

‘It isn’t just that I want to be with Iauron,’ Arwen said. ‘It is that I do not want to be with you at present.’

‘Arwen! What have I done?’

‘Can it be that you really do not know? Can you be so… so insensitive to all other perspectives than your own? Yes, you are renowned as being very wise and very learned, but it seems to me – to those of us who live with you – that you have a blind spot where your family is concerned. And one minute we are your little elflings who cannot be expected to understand what Ada does but must trust he knows best, and the next we are behaving like spoiled adolescents and are not trying to see how it is for you and we should grow up and be more considerate. But what you fail to see, father, is that we cannot be both. It is perhaps easier for Elladan and Elrohir, since they are older than I, but your attitude to us is far from consistent and there are some things you cannot expect to simply gloss over…’

‘If this is about what happened between myself and Legolas that is nobody’s concern except our own and…’

‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ she said softly. ‘When we heard you’d invited the sons of Thranduil, we were delighted. My brothers thought they would have someone they could practice weapons with, someone who understood what was important to them. I thought that perhaps you were looking for one of them to befriend me, that one at least of the Mirkwood brothers would understand what it was to lose a mother… we didn’t care when only Legolas was able to accept the invitation. We thought you’d done it, gone to the trouble of arranging it all, for us.’

She gave a twisted little smile.

‘And it turned out it was all for you. Just so that you could have someone to impress and befriend and… and…seduce...’

‘But that was not how it was at all!’ Elrond protested. ‘I truly had intended to find a friend for you, for all of you, and if, perhaps, one of Thranduil’s sons appealed to you, Arwen, then I would have been happy. I had no intention, when I made the invitation, when Legolas arrived… How could you think that?’

‘Possibly because of how you behaved.’ Arwen shrugged. ‘But probably because you kept it from us, you hid it as if it were a dirty little secret and made Legolas hide it also, and so, of course, that is how it seemed...’

‘I did not want… I did not think you would understand…’

‘Oh, and once more we are back to the fact that you could not decide if we are elflings or adults! What we did not understand, what I did not, and do not, understand, was how you could do this? How hold up our mother to us in all her gentle saintliness and then betray your marriage vows so? If your love and reverence for her was as undying as you were always claiming, what then did that make your association with Legolas except something base, in your eyes? Father…’

Arwen paused to collect her thoughts. Elrond’s head had dropped and he could not meet her gaze. She reached out to put her hand on his shoulder and give him a little shake.

‘If you had said to us, ‘I love your mother and I miss her, but I have been too long alone and I need solace,’ if you had told us that it did not mean you did not love and respect her, but that you needed someone to make you feel there was something to live for again, I think we could have accepted that. I do not say we would have liked it, but it would have been less of a betrayal. Adar, we have never liked seeing you unhappy… we would not have begrudged you a little warmth and affection…’

‘You would have thought less of me, had you known.’

‘Probably,’ Arwen agreed. ‘But still, I would have thought far more highly of you than I do now.’

‘My dear daughter…’

Elrond looked up and held out his hand, but Arwen had turned away to her trunk and was selecting random garments and either did not, or would not see.

‘I think this is all I really need. How strange, when I set out, I thought all these things were necessary! But that was when I thought I would leave her a bride, or a promised one, at least. They can pack the rest of my things, I won’t delay your leaving.’

‘You are determined?’

‘Goodbye, father.’ She kissed his cheek lightly. ‘I will see if I can send a hawk, when I get to Mirkwood, to let you know I have arrived safely.’

‘Arwen…’

But she moved past him with her bundle of clothes as if it was as easy to leave the tent as it was to walk away from him, and she crossed to the eyot without looking back.


	119. Glorfindel and the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel tries to help Thranduil and comes to an unexpected realisation...

Glorfindel’s eyes rested on Thranduil, taking in each detail he could of the king’s condition and expression. With Feril observing, he approached the king, speaking to him normally, as if he expected the king to hear him.

‘Your majesty, I need to see how matters are with you; Healer Nestoril has agreed that I may, and Healer Feril is present. I am aware that you are conscious and if you do not wish me to attend you, you are able to let me know it.’

He placed his hand carefully on Thranduil’s forehead, watching, but the king’s expression didn’t change.

‘I will take that as permission to continue, then.’

His eyes defocussed as he allowed his awareness to spread beyond the simple tactile interface of fingers on forehead, as he remembered his other self, that part of him that had looked on the light of Valinor, the Glorfindel who had walked the quiet halls beyond death, the one who had seen too much. 

‘We are both warriors, both born into the First Age… and we both have, or have had, people in our care. It is not an easy road to tread…’

_…Thranduil listened as a voice detached itself from the general sounds of which he was aware, became clear and distinct and imposed itself on his notice. A known voice, measured and modulated, even and grave._

_‘…not an easy road to tread… Mostly, they remember me for that which I have destroyed. Glorfindel the Balrog-Slayer, they call me. He who led the massed forces at Angmar in the battle of Fornost, they say… I am not known for any skill in healing. But my time on the farther side of existence has changed me…’_

_The king listened. Here, retreated into the sanctuaries of his mind, he was beyond touch, and so did not feel anything when Glorfindel lifted the dressing on his face. Yet somehow he was anxious, exposed, as if there were fingers exploring the wound there, as if he ought to feel pain._

_‘…so that I know, now, how to mend as well as rend. Great King, you are more wounded at this moment than previously; I read how you have drawn the sufferings of your subjects into yourself, taken it where it will not show on their faces or in their dreams, and for that, who would not honour you? It is not given even to my own lord, whose skills are of such note, to heal in this manner…’_

_Thranduil had not thought of it as healing. He had thought of it as duty, reparation._

_The voice fell silent. There was a sense of waiting._

_‘You may bring yourself back to wakefulness at any point; there is nothing to hamper you, except yourself. You are quite able to speak, your majesty, should you wish it…’_

_But the king did not wish it._

Glorfindel drew his awareness back into himself and refocused his gaze to find both Feril and Nestoril watching him.

‘I have spoken to the king, and I am certain that he has heard me,’ Glorfindel said. ‘And I have done what I can, for the injury to his face. I hope – I believe – I have been able to steady him.’

‘And is he conscious?’ Nestoril asked.

‘Yes, quite so. It is not at all like his son; Iauron’s fëa has disconnected from his body, but with your king, it is simply that his mind has turned away. He could wake, if he chose. But I think what he did… what he tried to do… was more than he expected, and the reality of it too much for the moment.’

‘What am I to do with him?’ Nestoril complained. ‘Bring his wretched elk back in?’

Glorfindel smiled. 

‘Perhaps, in a little while. I would not presume to tell you, Healer, how to care for his external wounds. But for the moment, he should be allowed to guide his own subconscious recovery.’

Nestoril gave a little sigh.

‘Well, we certainly have enough to do at the moment without dancing attendance where it is not needed!’ she said. ‘One of us must check him hourly, I think, Feril. Lord Glorfindel, I am most grateful for your help.’

He inclined his head.

‘I fear I will be needed on the Imladris side of the river again shortly,’ he said. ‘Lord Elrond intends to break camp today.’

*

Leaving the infirmary pavilion, he made his way across the eyot. Sure enough, he had not even begun to cross the bridge when he heard himself hailed from several directions at once.

‘Peace, Elladan!’ he called back, answering the loudest voice first. ‘I will be there in a moment! What is so urgent?’

‘We cannot find my father, and he is wanted for advice about the journey… he spoke to Arwen earlier – or, rather, she spoke to him… after which she went back to the eyot and it seemed Father went too, after giving her time not to suspect him of following her…’

‘Of course, he may not have been following her but have business of his own there. I did not see him, but then, I confess I was not looking.’

Elladan gave a somewhat rueful grin. 

‘Ai, it’s going to be a run trip back!’

‘Come, then – what is needed about the journey? It may be that I can help…’

Glorfindel allowed himself to be led away to a little cluster of knights and other elves of the household whose preparations to depart appeared to have come to a standstill.

‘What is the matter?’ he asked, and was assailed by a chorus of grievances.

‘My Lord Elrond says we must break camp by noon… we will never be done in time, for the cooks are protesting they need the fires for another hour but if they do so, there will be delays…’

‘…there is no-one to organise the packing of the camp, not without Lord Erestor and he is not here…’

‘…we do not know what to do with the medical supplies, for Healer Feril is constantly in the Mirkwood camp and Lord Elrond…’

‘…Our lord…’

‘Elrond wishes…’

‘…but more important is the order of riding,’ one of the knights said. ‘How many scouts do we send out? Will you lead us? Or head the scouting party? Or…’

‘To take the last point first… we are on an open plain, we know from the journey here that visibility is good all around and that we would see danger long before danger was aware of us. Scouts are a topic for later in the day, perhaps, but will not be needed for the first stage of the journey. I suggest you find someone other than Lord Erestor to advise you with the dismantling of the camp…’

Glorfindel fought a wry mental smile, realised they had already done so, in their heads, and appointed him.

‘In the mean time, cannot you each make your own belongings ready and set them outside your tents to make matters easier for those who pack the tents away? And, no, I will not be leading the ride out…’

‘Why not, Lord?’ one asked.

‘Because I am not riding back with you,’ he said, to his own great surprise and to the astonishment of those clustered round. ‘I have other duties which preclude my leaving at present. So. Do you all have enough clarity of purpose to have something to be getting on with until Lord Elrond has finished his business with our Mirkwood associates? Very well, then.’

He nodded briskly and turned away, to find Elrohir shadowing him.

‘It seems to me that Adar is going to have a lonely time of it! What with Arwen and Erestor… and now you… Elladan and I would join you, for two pins!’

‘You had better not!’ Glorfindel said with a faint smile. ‘Or your Ada might decide to come too, bringing the entire company of Imladris with him!’

‘Ai, can you imagine some of Arwen’s ladies in the forest? Some of them shriek at spiders the size of a nail-head, they would never stop screaming if they saw one as big as a horse!’

‘Mentioning which, I require my own horse, Erestor’s and Arwen’s, also. Saddled and caparisoned.’

‘Elladan or I can organise that for you, if you need to fetch anything from your quarters.’

‘My thanks. Not only my own; Erestor walked away from us with nothing more than a formal robe and a couple of quills in his pack… and we all know Erestor! He would only bring the absolute essentials on a trip, so I am quite sure anything in his tent is something he will need…’

‘If he shows his face here again, everyone will pounce on him and want advising,’ Elrohir nodded. ‘And while Father isn’t around might be a good time to fetch Erestor’s trunk. There’s Elladan; I’ll help with Erestor’s things and we can send him to get your horses ready.’

*

It felt oddly clandestine to be sorting out his essential gear from the ceremonial, to be packing, Glorfindel realised, even though he would be packing today anyway. But as he folded tunics and leggings and shirts, he realised the full import of his words to the household – it was not merely that he was not riding back with them, it was that he knew he was needed by the Mirkwood elves, that his immediate future lay with them and their king.

So there was an almost furtive air about him as he hastily filled saddlebags and checked his weapons were in order. Lastly, he folded in his bedroll and tightened the straps on his kit bag, taking a final look around.

Yes. He would have no need of the blue velvet cloak trimmed with gold, the gleaming belt of gilded leaves, all the pomp and finery expected of him as Elrond’s seneschal at formal ceremonials. He would go where he could leave his lordliness behind and just be Glorfindel, who could heal as well as harm, for a little while.  
It might do him good.

Elladan and Elrohir, he would miss their easiness, he expected, the laughter that supported them and buoyed their spirits even after the loss of their mother. There did not seem to be a great deal of humour amongst the royal family of Mirkwood, but perhaps that was understandable, given their current circumstances. Or perhaps the humour was of a different nature, and one needed to know the individuals a little better before it would come through… had Erestor been staying, undoubtedly, Glorfindel would have missed his company. The advisor had a keen sense of the ridiculous and an admirable intellect; as it was, perhaps the fact that Erestor was going to Mirkwood had made it seem less outrageous for Glorfindel to go, too.

Of all the elves of the household, he supposed he would miss Lindir most. A quiet elf, shy, one would say, until he offered his gifts of music, and then he became more… but he had few friends, did not seem to need or want them. He was calm to be near, though, and Glorfindel remembered enough of turbulence to value that. Lindir's voice was pure and his singing was soothing. Glorfindel did not know if there was any singing in Mirkwood.

He quickly gathered his abandoned things together into his travelling chest, hauled it outside the tent, folded the carpet which acted as a groundsheet and dragged that out too, and headed towards where he could see Elladan and Elrohir waiting with the horses.


	120. Govon's Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Govon rescues Legolas from an unwelcome visitor... again...

Govon heard Arwen’s cries for help from far across the eyot. As he headed towards the shouts, he was able to witness to the arrival of Glorfindel, and to see Arveldir take up a forbidding stance outside the infirmary.

‘Do you need some assistance, Lord Arveldir?’ he asked, approaching.

‘Too many people will wish to know what is going on,’ the advisor said. ‘Nestoril needs the curious keeping away.’

‘Very well.’ Govon took up a position nearby, giving the impression of being firmly on duty.

‘Although it is possible you might do better to see if you can find either of the princes…’

‘Do you know what has happened, my lord? What message should I carry?’

‘Only a little… the king has had some sort of relapse; his wounds had reopened. The healers are with him now.’

‘I see. Indeed, perhaps I had better find Legolas.’

Of course, he was desperate to know what was going on, not least so that he could present Legolas with more information than Arveldir had just given him. But the advisor did not have any training as a healer, and it would be useless and time-consuming to press for more facts.

Instead, Govon made his way back through the tightly-packed tents towards the command centre, where he knew he would find news of Legolas, if not the prince himself.

*

Legolas had found himself called to the command tent by Commander Esgaron.

‘It’s simply that we can’t quite locate Prince Tharmeduil and Lord Elrond insists on talking to somebody… it was all we could do, my prince, to stop him from seeking out our king in the infirmary…’

Inside, Legolas flinched. Where was Tharmeduil when you needed him? And where was Govon? 

Esgaron was waiting for an answer, looking as if he had no idea why putting Elrond and Legolas in the same place together was a bad idea.

‘Very well.’ 

Legolas followed Esgaron to the command tent, trying to prepare himself. After all, if Imladris were leaving today, this would probably be the last time he had anything to do with Elrond. 

And, he noted, as he saw the surprise and embarrassment on Elrond’s face as he entered the command tent and seated himself behind the table with every appearance of ease, he at least had known who to expect.

As it was, Elrond tried to recover his composure by scowling at Esgaron.

‘You need not stay, Captain,’ Elrond said.

‘Commander, please wait outside,’ Legolas countered. ‘I may need you to carry a message to the king.’

Waiting until Esgaron had left, Legolas sat with a faint, ambiguous smile on his face. It was one he had learned from his father, and knowing its power, rarely used it.   
But it worked now. Elrond struggled to meet his gaze.

‘I wanted to talk to your father.’

‘He is busy with more important matters. What is it you wished to discuss?’

Elrond hesitated, and after allowing more than time enough for the Lord of Imladris to gather his thoughts and begin talking, Legolas finally broke the silence.

‘In fact, we are all busy, Lord Elrond, so you can come back later, if you wish, when probably my king will still be engaged with matters of state, or you can try talking to me. Prince Tharmeduil and I both have the king’s authority to deal with any matters arising, but my brother has other matters on hand at the moment and I am expected elsewhere very soon.’

‘We’re leaving today for Imladris.’

‘You came to say goodbye? Thoughtful of you. I hope you will have a safe journey home.’

Elrond raised his eyes heavenwards and compressed his mouth in exasperation.

‘I’m going home, but I want my people back first.’

‘I do not quite understand. I thought Healer Feril had your leave to attend our injured? Indeed, our own Healer Nestoril is very grateful and speaks most highly of her, but to my knowledge, she does not intend to travel back with us to Mirkwood… of course, if there is any change in plan…’

‘I didn’t mean Feril, you’re welcome to her if she wants to go… I meant my daughter and my advisor.’

‘I see. Then I cannot help you.’

‘What do you mean? That is, I should have known you would not have the authority to make them return, but…’

‘I have the authority,’ Legolas said softly, the quietness of his voice making Elrond ashamed that he had raised his own, almost unthinkingly. ‘But Lady Arwen and Lord Erestor having both expressed a wish to remain with us, and my father the king having agreed, it would be wrong and unkind of me to retract that invitation as it was so gratefully received.’

‘Arwen is my daughter, Legolas! I cannot just let her go wandering off through Mirkwood! This is why I wanted to talk to the king, you can have no idea what it is like to worry about your daughter being away from home…’

‘Whereas my father knows exactly what it is like when a son returns from being away from home…’

‘Besides, this is your fault.’

‘What did you say, Elrond?’

‘If you hadn’t run off as you did, we would have sorted it all out and Arwen wouldn’t now be thinking about her mother…’

‘It was my understanding that Arwen wishes to stay in order to be at my brother’s side; she does not want to be parted from him while he is ill – she feels it would be disloyal, I think.’

‘But that is preposterous!’

‘No more so than thinking it is my fault she does not want to be with you.’ Legolas shrugged. ‘It is her choice, she asked my father the king and he granted her permission to travel home with us.’

‘Setting Arwen aside for the moment, I do not know what you have said to Erestor, but I will not let you subvert his opinions with whatever story you may have told him about…’

‘Lord Erestor told us he considered himself to have left your employment. We have told him no stories – in fact, he had several of his own to share – and our own advisor’s workload has been increasing to the point where he needs an assistant…’

‘Erestor would never consent to being anyone’s mere assistant!’

‘Well, I rather think he sees it as an opportunity to explore a new culture and spend time with someone important to him. I would not presume to try to part them.’

‘Part them? What…?’

‘I can see there has been a lot happening in your household which has escaped your notice, Elrond. Erestor and our own Arveldir have… struck up a friendship, shall we say? So, you see, Erestor’s decision perhaps has nothing to do with you. It certainly has nothing to do with me, and I, for one, am happy to see both him and Arveldir so content. I suppose, if you wish it, I cannot prevent you from speaking with Erestor. But I will not support you in anything which would cause him or Arveldir any emotional distress…’

‘Emotional distress… and what of my own distress?’ Elrond ran his hands through his hair. ‘My daughter says she does not wish to be with me at present, can you imagine how that feels…?’

‘You have spoken to her, then? I was going to suggest arranging a meeting, with perhaps Nestoril present as support for Arwen, but if you already have done so, then…’

‘Legolas! It is because of you, because she feels sorry for you! I am sure, if you would but speak to her…’

Elrond leaned forward across the table, hands pleading, and Legolas felt an unexpected panic rise in him at the sudden encroachment. He pushed his chair back, trying to put a little more space between them.

‘Won’t you help me? Won’t you speak to her? I’m sure she’ll listen to you…’

‘No, Elrond. She is your daughter, and her anger towards you is your fault, your doing, and not mine. I will not interfere…’

*

Govon knew something was wrong even before he got into earshot of the command tent; Esgaron was standing outside, looking as if he wished he could flee, or the ground open up and hide him, or wishing he didn’t have such exceptionally good hearing. As Govon hastened his steps, he saw Esgaron’s shoulders rise and the commander lean further away from the voices inside the tent.

And now Govon was near enough to recognise the voices, and he broke into a run to cover the last few yards.

Esgaron looked as if he was going to speak, to say something to prevent Govon from entering, but the look on his face was so determined that he decided against it.

_‘…won’t you just tell her it wasn’t like that, tell her she must come home…?’_

_‘I will not, Elrond. You will not draw me in to your schemes for your Arwen…’_

_‘Please…!’_

_‘No.’_

Govon entered the command tent with all the fury of a vengeful lover, swung Elrond round and threw a determined punch straight at the lord of Imladris’ only-just healed face. His fist connected with a very satisfying crunch and he stood back, breathing heavily while Elrond clutched his nose.

‘When his most royal highness, Prince Legolas Thranduilion of Greenwood the Great, says ‘no’, Lord Elrond, he means ‘no’. How can it be that you still fail to understand this?’ 

Govon turned away from the bleeding Elrond to bow politely to Legolas, noticing as he did that the prince was struggling to keep his expression steady. 

‘Forgive the interruption, my prince, but you are wanted immediately in the king’s presence. May I escort you now?’

Legolas cleared his throat, moving out from behind the table with alacrity.

‘Of course, Commander. Lead on.’

‘Wait…’ Elrond protested. ‘Legolas, are you going to let… and what was that for, anyway?’

Govon took a deep breath and raised himself to look down his nose at the lord of Imladris.

‘Everything,’ he said.

Outside, Legolas paused to speak to Esgaron.

‘Lord Elrond may wish to speak to Lord Erestor and Lady Arwen. Arwen is not to be bothered, but otherwise, escort him to Erestor if that is his wish and then you may help him home.’

‘Yes, my prince, but…’

‘Thank you, Commander.’ The prince turned back to Govon. ‘The king, you say? Lead on.’

Once away from the command tent, Legolas drew Govon to a halt.

‘Let me see your hand, melleth.’

‘It’s nothing; I really didn’t hit him that hard…’

‘Well, thank you for rescuing me. Elrond claims he is leaving today – you might not have had another opportunity to express your dissatisfaction at his behaviour. I'm glad you had your moment.’

Legolas lifted Govon’s hand and gently manipulated the knuckles before bringing them to his mouth. He sucked and licked each skinned knuckle in turn, causing Govon to gasp at the mingling of the pleasure of the touch with the sting of the damage.

‘Ai, melleth…’ Govon tried to protest. ‘I…’

The prince slid his tongue between Govon’s fingers, the warmth of his mouth and the slow, heated contact making itself felt in a rush of desire, causing Govon to close his eyes and throw back his head and vaguely be grateful he was wearing a long enough tunic to hide the evidence of his response.

 

The wicked, delicious tongue stilled and retracted, and Govon opened his eyes to find Legolas looking at him with a certain delighted smile on his face.

‘Would you like to continue this… conversation somewhere a little more private, friend captain?’

‘Ai, my fair elf!’ Govon retrieved his hand with a sigh. ‘Indeed I would, but in truth I was sent to bring you to the infirmary.’

‘Why? What is the matter?’ Legolas said, his mood changing abruptly.

‘Your father has had some sort of relapse, but apart from that, no-one was saying.’ 

‘Come, then.’ Legolas grabbed Govon’s undamaged hand and set off towards the infirmary.

Govon sighed. No point telling Legolas it was inappropriate to hold the hand of the Commander of the Court Guard in public, and, besides, those people who could have noticed were all very carefully looking the other way. 

The prince did, at least, remember himself enough to sadly relinquish his hold as they drew near to where Arveldir stood outside the king’s infirmary chamber.

‘Arveldir, what news?’

‘Healer Feril came out to assure me all is well and under control. I think they need just a few more minutes with him, my prince.’

‘Very well. Arveldir, go and find Erestor and keep him company,’ Legolas said. ‘Elrond wishes to try to convince him to return to Imladris…’

‘My thanks for the warning; I will go at once.’


	121. More Goodbyes than Anticipated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elrond says goodbye, unexpectedly.

Elrond thought it slightly humiliating, to say the least, to find himself escorted across the eyot by Commander Esgaron with nothing but a scrap of tired cloth to hide the bloody damage to his nose.

‘I understand Lord Erestor is lodging here presently,’ the commander said, halting outside a small pavilion not far from the cooking fires and where an number of interested persons were lingering and pretending not to be interested in what was going on. ‘Let me see if he is home…’

The tent was empty, however, and when Esgaron suggested asking the guards around the cook fires if they had seen the advisor, Elrond hastily declined.

‘Perhaps I can see my daughter first…?’

‘I have orders, lord. Oh, I know where we might look for Lord Erestor… this way.’

Esgaron turned and retraced his steps until they were able to cross to the former Imladris pavilion, to the end which had been transformed into stabling. 

There, in a separate stall from the horses, Lord Erestor, accompanied by Lord Arveldir, were fussing around King Thranduil’s elk as if it were the sole purpose of their existence.

Esgaron cleared his throat.

‘My lords, Prince Legolas asked me to escort Lord Elrond to you.’ 

‘Thank you, Commander. We were expecting you, my lord,’ Arveldir replied, choosing not to comment on Elrond's bloodied nose. ‘Was there something in particular we may help you with?’

‘I wished to speak to Erestor,’ Elrond replied, trying for an air of determined authority. ‘In private.’

‘There is no need, Elrond,’ Erestor said. ‘Lord Arveldir and I are in each other’s confidence. And Nelleron here is no gossip.’

Commander Esgaron sidled towards the entrance to the pavilion; orders or no orders, he did not wish to be caught up in this.

‘I understand you have asked permission from King Thranduil to return to Mirkwood with him,’ Elrond began. ‘May I ask why?’

His erstwhile advisor reached for a brush and began to sweep it down the elk’s neck in long, smooth strokes.

‘You can ask, my lord,’ he said, focussing on a point a little way below Nelleron’s ear.

‘Well?’

‘Arveldir, there is a tangle here… how long is it since this elk was properly groomed? Have you the comb?’

‘I am not generally party to the care of the elk, mellon-nin… it is only a recent addition to my duties… here it is…’

Elrond exhaled heavily. Hidden from sight by Arveldir at his side, Erestor smiled as he worked the comb through a burr on Nelleron’s neck.

‘In fact, it is none of your business what I do in my spare time, Elrond, any more than it is mine how you choose to spend your leisure hours, as I believe you may have intimated yourself to me. I have not had a holiday as such – not a day when I was not on duty – for decades, now. I think I have earned a little time to myself.’

‘So this is what? An extended leave of absence?’ The Lord of Imladris tried to prevent a relieved sigh. ‘I thought – I heard you wished to leave my employment. Take all the time you need – I can spare you for a few weeks…’

‘No, I do not think a few weeks will be enough,’ Erestor said. ‘And when I sought sanctuary here, I did, indeed, believe I wished to permanently leave your employment… but perhaps I will only know for certain when I have been away for a while whether or not I miss my old life…’

He looked up at Arveldir who was patiently holding Nelleron’s halter and smiled. 

‘But I think I will rather enjoy my new one. May I suggest Gildor Inglorion would be an admirable advisor in my place, once you return to Imladris? And for the journey home, perhaps Lindir could supply any need… He is often only thought of for his musical talents, but there is more to him than that.’

‘You really are serious about this?’ Elrond said softly. ‘My friend, I do not know how to make this right…’

‘Do not try,’ Erestor said. ‘It is obviously more important to you than to me.’

Elrond slumped a little, shaking his head.

‘Ah, that is unkind! Even so, should you decide, at some point in the future that you wish to return, there will always be a home for you at Imladris…’

‘Thank you, Elrond. I will remember that.’ Erestor smiled up into Arveldir’s eyes. ‘If I do decide to do so, may I bring a friend?’

‘Absolutely not!’ Elrond said, aghast, not seeing how Erestor’s face fell and Arveldir stiffened. ‘It is common knowledge that the king is very attached to him, and besides, our stables will not have the first idea how to care for an elk…’

Erestor’s smile returned as he looked up once more at Arveldir. 

‘Elrond, I was not talking about the elk.’

‘I see… well, of course, then. And are you really going to be content? I heard you were going to be Lord Arveldir’s assistant – will that be enough for you, when you have for so long been my senior counsellor?’

‘Well, you see, I am not going to be his assistant. I am going to be his everything.’

‘…what?’ Elrond said faintly.

‘Do not trouble yourself with it. I wish you a good journey home, my lord,’ Erestor said, apparently dismissing Elrond once more in favour of the elk. ‘Arveldir, have you the dried blackberries? I think he needs a treat; he has been standing still while I have ignored him…’

Arveldir kept the thought to himself that it was rather Elrond the one who had been ignored. He passed the dried blackberries to Erestor, and kept his attention on the elk until certain that the Lord of Imladris had left.

*

Elrond’s jaw dropped as Erestor turned away from him with some obscure request for something from his friend. Was that it? Had he been as good as dismissed by his advisor? It was plain to see that there was something rather more than friendship between Erestor and the imposing advisor of King Thranduil, and for a moment he wondered how long it would last, could last, how much time would pass before one or other found the companionship boring…  
Well, Erestor could come home to Imladris when that happened. Elrond would make sure that there would be a welcome for him there.

But at present, he did not seem needed here.

Outside, Commander Esgaron was waiting for him.

‘Your escort will not be necessary, Commander. I can find my own way.

‘Orders, my lord.’

‘Oh, very well!’ 

Elrond began walking towards the bridge, stopping short abruptly when he saw a familiar figure crossing and leading three horses.

‘Glorfindel? What are you doing here?’

‘Lord Elrond, good day. I am bringing Erestor and Arwen’s horses…’

‘And your own, I see?’

‘Indeed. I am going to Mirkwood…’

‘You, also? When were you going to tell me this?’

‘It is just for a little while.’ Glorfindel said with an easy shrug he could have copied from either of the twins. ‘Besides, when Arwen wishes to come home – as she undoubtedly will – which would you prefer, my lord? That she rides back escorted by warriors of Mirkwood? Or that your seneschal is by her side?’

‘You have a fair point. And if you could see your way to bringing my advisor home at the same time, I would be very grateful.’  
Glorfindel nodded.

‘I will do what I can, my lord. I hope I have left all in order for you in the camp. Farewell.’

‘Good day to you, Glorfindel.’ 

Elrond couldn’t quite bring himself to say goodbye; there had been far too many farewells already today. He nodded to Esgaron and crossed the bridge back to his own camp, wondering what he had done to deserve all these defections.


	122. A Small Imperfection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas speaks with Nestoril

‘Nestoril?’ Legolas came to a stunned halt just inside the king’s chamber. ‘What happened to my adar?’ 

On the ground beside Thranduil’s bed lay a pile of blood-soaked dressings which Nestoril had been about to clear away. She looked up and attempted a reassuring smile.

‘He had been talking to some of the warriors, those who had been most deeply hurt, beyond the physical aspects of their injuries… we did not know his intention at the time or I would never have permitted…’

‘Don’t worry about that, we both know my Adar. Tell me, please?’

She shook her head.

‘Arwen was here. The king… his wounds reopened. He lost a lot of blood before we could stop it and… and Glorfindel says he has retreated behind the pain again, that he needs time to rest and recover… but he is safe.’ She sighed. ‘Except that all the healing is undone, and his poor face is… is destroyed, again.’ 

‘Ai, Nestoril… does my brother know?’

‘Prince Tharmeduil? He has… did you not know?’ She shook her head. ‘Obviously not. He came to say goodbye to me, although I do not know where he was going… Now, while I have you here, I think it is high time I looked at your own injury…’

Legolas sighed and lifted his eyes skywards.

‘It is fine, Nestoril! But, if you wish to be busy, Govon is outside and his hand needs attention…’

‘Well, let me attend you first while you tell me the story of Govon.’ 

She tugged and pulled him towards her little dressings table until he finally co-operated and followed, allowing her to remove his shirt and unwind the dressing on his arm.

‘So…?’ she prompted, deftly removing the dressing. ‘Govon’s hand?’

‘He arrived at the command tent just in time to find Elrond’s face with his fist… I do not think he is seriously hurt… Govon, that is…’

She listened to the story, interjecting the occasional ‘Oh dear!’ and ‘Was that so?’ until she had uncovered his injury.

‘How has this been for you?’ she asked, almost too casually.

‘It has been fine, truly. Perhaps a little uncomfortable. But as long as I do not knock it, it gives me no trouble. Anyway, it was only a small injury…’

By comparison with the king, perhaps… in reality the burn had covered twice the span of Nestoril’s hand… but if Legolas thought his wound had been minimal… Nestoril decided not to disillusion him now.

‘Well, and it is much improved. In fact, since all is dry now, I would like to leave the caul silk off and just use regular dressings. But… there is something… a small imperfection in the healing, perhaps… I do not know if you will mind it…’

‘How may I see?’ Legolas asked, for the area she appeared to be focussing on was around the curve of his bicep towards the back of his injury.

‘Your father wanted a looking-glass and I have it here still…’ Nestoril found the reflective surface and held it behind the prince’s arm. ‘So, you should be able to see…’

There, reflected back in a patch of freshly-healed skin, was a trace of a braid, staining the flesh of Legolas’ arm with a strong, dark line, the crossings of strands just discernible.

‘It is the mark of the arm band Govon made for me!’ Legolas exclaimed. ‘It has been burned into my skin…!’

‘Yes. I think in time it will fade. And you are certain the injury gives you no pain?’

Legolas smiled.

‘Not any more, Nestoril. Thank you.’

She laughed at his delight. 

‘And so you will have your arm band with you forever marked into your skin! Now, while that does not say much for my healing talents, it says much for your bond that you are glad of it. As I have you here… yes, you can dress again… there are one or two little matters…’

‘Father is indisposed, and Tharmeduil is off on his vision-quest…’ Legolas sighed. ‘So I am in charge again.’

‘Hopefully the circumstances will be a little easier now…’

‘What do you need, Nestoril?’

‘Come through.’

She led him out of the king’s chamber and through the rest of the infirmary, walking slowly so that he had time to see how many were still in her care, how swathed in caul silk they were. At the very top of the infirmary, the chairs which had been set for the minimally injured now had been rearranged and a small table set up so that whoever was on duty had somewhere to work.

Gesturing him to a seat, she lowered herself into the chair behind the table, at once taking on an air of authority as she brought forward a sheet of notes.

‘My first concern is that there are still several who need repeated applications of caul silk; where I thought we had abundance, now, with your father’s relapse, my supplies will last a scant three days. Assuming the king has no further episodes, that is. But even so, I shall have to look very carefully at where I can use regular dressings instead.’

‘These are not the only injured, I think?’

‘True. Several of the warriors are still coming on for daily changes. And the commanders have begun to enquire how long it will be before these in my infirmary will be able to travel. Which raises more questions and issues… it has been suggested that the only real course available to us for the care of Prince Iauron is to send him over the sea with a small guard and with either myself or Feril accompanying him.’

‘But I understood that once in Mirkwood, with all your resources, you may be able to do more?’

‘I have one or two ideas I can try. And your father, before he was taken ill again, made it quite clear that we are all to go home, we are not to split the guard, we are all to travel together… knowing his express wishes, I would not like to disobey him.’

She paused for a moment, looking down the length of the infirmary.

‘I cannot begin to think how will we do that, with Iauron as he is, with your father unconscious… the paths home are so very narrow that no carriage or conveyance will be able to pass. Unless we build boats and force our way upstream to the Forest River… these are not matters where I have enough expertise.’

‘Leave it with me; I will discuss the matter with the commanders. There will be a way. Besides, we will be here a little while yet – we will have to wait for Tharmeduil to follow his visions and come back again.’

*

Tharmeduil flicked through his notebook once more before stowing it safely away. The horses were ready, he was ready… 

He glanced over towards the Imladris bridge… 

Somewhere under there, he had drawn Canadion and Thiriston talking… well, possibly talking. And the time was a little imprecise…

He waited a further ten minutes before walking towards the bridge. There was a lot of traffic on it today, all told; persons from Imladris coming across, horses and baggage from Imladris, also. It looked as if Elrond was going home with fewer members of his household than he had arrived with…

‘When you’re ready down there, I’m waiting for you two,’ he called out. ‘We have to be on our way before Nestoril tells Legolas I’ve gone, otherwise I’ll never get away…’

Canadion emerged first, the easy smile on his face holding a secret in it.

‘And I am ready, and packed… but we have will have to wait for Thiriston…’

‘Do you often have to do that?’ Tharmeduil asked. ‘Never mind, don’t answer... Come on, by the time you get me to my horse and into the saddle, he’ll have caught us up.’

‘As you wish, my prince. Where are we going?’ 

Tharmeduil paused and glanced around the eyot. He took in all the details he could, saw where Govon and Legolas had just exited the command tent and were making their way towards the infirmary. They appeared to be holding hands. In public.

Good.

If what he was expecting really was going to happen, it was a nice image to have in his mind.

‘Mirkwood,’ he said, finally answering Canadion’s question. ‘Nestoril got through more caul silk than she expected today. We’re going to fetch her some more.’


	123. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Company of Imladris departs.

Glorfindel came to a halt beneath the flagpole where the standard of Imladris was flying so freely.

They had arrived with such hope, both Imladris and Mirkwood, and to have witnessed that hope lost and blown away like ashes in the wake of dragonfire…

And Elrond was returning home without his daughter and lacking an advisor…

Glorfindel unwound the tethering rope and lowered the standard, taking his time and removing it from its hoist, folding it with care; this should be returned to Elrond.

He considered his own position.

His immediate destiny called him to Mirkwood, he knew and saw that as clearly as he had seen the fluttering standard drop and fall towards him. A person was made of many facets, and each in their turn had value and worth. But each facet needed polishing to keep its shine, each aspect needed use to keep the others in balance.  
Now was the time of his other self, the Glorfindel who had walked amongst the healing powers in Valinor and absorbed their wisdoms. In Rivendell, Elrond would always be the master of healing, and Glorfindel’s own gifts rarely needed. Nor did he wish to push himself forward... but it was time.

Time to serve his other self, and he would prefer not to have Elrond witness what that was likely to entail.

He carried the folded standard to the bridge, looking out across to the Imladris camp. It was almost gone, now, the last stages of disassembly and packing underway, all the tents and pavilions down and the company beginning to gather as if prepared for leaving.

Glorfindel walked slowly across the bridge, pausing at the interface between bridge and the land, hesitant. To step onto the track would be tantamount to stepping back into his other self, and he feared being sucked back into his duties as seneschal…

‘Glorfindel!’

Elrohir had seen him, and was heading across.

‘Have you got everything you need? Or did you leave something? Adar’s not in the sweetest of moods at present; I’d keep away, if I were you… Well, in truth, I am keeping away…’

The younger son of Elrond smiled as he reached Glorfindel.

‘No, there’s nothing I need, penneth. I wanted to return the standard; it is the kind of thing easily overlooked and then once you get home, everyone remembers about…’

‘Let me take it, then… and… watch out for Arwen, will you? Look after her. We’ll miss her, me and Elladan, with her mad crochet things…’

Glorfindel handed over the standard and felt a weight lift from him, as if with passing it across he also relinquished his responsibility to Rivendell.

‘I will, don’t worry.’

Elrohir’s name was called from a distance, and he shrugged.

‘Farewell, then. No doubt we’ll meet again.’

‘Undoubtedly.’

Glorfindel took two steps backwards and then turned and headed for the Mirkwood camp.

*

Arveldir met him not far from the riverbank with a formal bow.

‘My lord, you are very welcome amongst us.’

‘Thank you, Lord Arveldir. I hope to be of use to your healers, but if there is any other way in which I can serve…’

‘It was my understanding that you, and our other friends from beyond the river, were to be our honoured guests. But certainly, if you wish to have a more active role, I am sure my prince would welcome your input wherever you wish...’ Arveldir spread his hands. ‘But come. Lady Arwen was pleased to learn you were coming back with us. I think she is finding this moment difficult.’

Arwen stood in the shadow of the former Imladris pavilion. Her arms were folded across her body and Healer Feril was at her side, Erestor standing near. All three were looking towards the west side of the river.

Erestor turned and gave his slight smile, his eyes lingering on Arveldir.

‘We were wondering whether they would formally take leave,’ he said as his friend approached with Glorfindel. ‘But it would appear they are simply going to ride off.’

‘It certainly seems that, for all my father says he wishes me to return, he is parting with me very easily,’ Arwen said, her voice forlorn. 

‘Legolas said he was not to be allowed to see you,’ Arveldir said. ‘But I find I must agree. He could have tried harder.’

‘Healer Feril? Are you staying, also?’ Glorfindel asked.

‘Indeed I am. Not simply to help my friend Nestoril, but to bear Lady Arwen company. I understand I was granted permission to do so?’

‘I think you are the only one here who has been,’ Arveldir said, smiling. ‘But you, also, are most welcome.’

Glorfindel came to stand near Arwen and the healer.

‘Of all the things I expected when we set out on this journey, I had never imagined it would end so,’ Arwen said.

‘But it’s not ended yet, Arwen. Iauron might get well. He is no worse, at least; some of the cold-drakes of old, their poison would settle and then work its way in. This has not happened for the prince.’

‘True. Thank you, Glorfindel. Oh, look! They’re really leaving!’

Across the river, one of Elrond’s knights sounded a horn, and everyone gathered their horses around and stood ready. Another blast, a shouted command, and they rode out.

Arwen’s breath caught in her throat in what could have been a sob as two identical riders peeled away from the main bunch to gallop towards the river, turning their mounts to race along the riverbank, waving, before turning again to follow and catch up with the more sedate progress of the rest of the company.

No-one else looked back and soon they were a shadow, a smudge on the plain. And then they were gone.

After a moment or two, Glorfindel took a breath.

‘And so, Mirkwood is our home now, my friends. Shall we go and see where we may be of use?’

‘May I claim Lord Erestor for a time, my lord?’ Arveldir asked. ‘We have matters to discuss…’

‘Yes, by all means; do not think I am trying to give orders, please…’

‘Not at all. You are all our guests, but my king has already offered employment to Erestor, and so I stake my interest.’

‘You do, indeed.’ Glorfindel’s smile was knowing, but his eyes amused and kind. ‘Come then, my ladies… show me around the camp with fresh eyes.’

‘There is not a lot to see,’ Arwen said. ‘At least, here is where the cooking fires are, where the warriors gather. Some of them sit up through the night…’

And many were gathered there now, Glorfindel noted. True, it was getting close to the call for the midday meal, but there was too much an air of inactivity about the   
place… granted, it was only two days since the dragons came down, but those warriors who were fit enough needed purpose, direction.

‘Beyond, here are the billets for the warriors, those who are not too injured to still be in Nestoril’s care,’ Arwen went on, waving her hand. ‘The two pavilions, as you   
know… one is our infirmary and the other is now the stable…’

‘What of billets for those who are not of the guard?’

‘I think there is little space, and so everyone just lodges where they can. Healer Feril, and Nestoril and I, we have tents set a little apart. Really, they need organising, but there has been so much going on, and I have not felt it my place, but if one could suggest to Lord Arveldir…’

‘Who is in charge? Who leads them while the king is indisposed?’

‘That would be me.’

Legolas, approaching, tipped his head.

‘My brother Tharmeduil is away on an urgent errand with two of the Court Guard as escort; in the interim, I have taken over again. If you have questions, Lord Glorfindel, please, I will see you in the command centre. It is just over here.’


	124. Cleansed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erestor and Arveldir talk

Left alone with Erestor, Arveldir wasted no time in putting his arms about him. The raven-headed elf sighed and clung as his hair was gently stroked.

‘Of the many things I love about you, the ability to be in your company, in silence, and find it companionable is one of the best…’

Arveldir hugged gently as Erestor shivered against him.

‘…but this is not simple silence. You are subdued, not quiet. You feel the loss of your former life. Of course you do.’

‘Of course I do,’ Erestor whispered. ‘But… it is not all. May I… at the risk of upsetting things, which I have no wish to… may I talk of things past?’

‘Yes, but perhaps not here. Shall we go to our quarters? Or would you rather go further from the camp?’

‘Further. Much further.’ 

Erestor sighed and made to move, causing Arveldir to relinquish his grip. He looked up at the Mirkwood elf, and took his hand, twining their fingers together.

‘I should like, if you do not mind, to cross to the west of the river. Just to make sure they are really, truly, properly gone.’

‘Of course, melleth-nin. Whatever seems best to you.’

Strange; Erestor had been longing to hear the words, wondering if he would be first to say them, hoping for them. My love. And now he feared they would be tarnished.

Perhaps he should have spoken before Imladris had left. Perhaps he should not speak at all.  
He looked up at the Silvan who had come to mean so much to him in such a brief flash of time, dread and regret filling him. But the tale needed telling, or it would always lie heavy on him.

‘Come, then. I need to cleanse myself of this.’

*

The western side of the river was changed. A few days previously the landscape had been clean, rolling, folding away towards the foothills of the Misty Mountains. But now, in this small area, although very little evidence remained of the Imladris encampment, the air was charged with a heavy sense of abandonment.

Arveldir walked beside Erestor, keeping hold of his hand and finding his own mood altered by the landscape, and by the subdued demeanour of his friend. No, no longer just his friend – his beloved.

It was not that he had never loved before. But he had been in his job for a very long time, and that brought with it certain inconveniences. When you were the king’s most trusted advisor, when you were the only one he could call on, then he did call on you, at any hour of the day or the night, whether you were asleep or eating or at the heart of a family celebration. Not everyone had understanding enough, courage enough to share. Not for long, anyway.

But his beloved dark-haired treasure understood the nature of the work, and so he had begun to hope that they might forge a way forward together.

‘This is where my tent was pitched.’

Erestor came to a halt and broke the silence.

‘I was near to Lord Elrond, and so near the centre of everything. I heard more than I wished…’ 

He looked up at Arveldir with a smile on his mouth that became long-suffering before it reached his eyes.

‘It is part of our work, of course, to be privy to unexpected confidences. Yet how difficult it is, to school oneself only to responding to those things one is supposed to know…’

‘What’s troubling you, melleth?’

Erestor wandered on a little further before sitting down on the flattened ground. Arveldir joined him, placing himself so that his body supported Erestor’s and he could put his arms around him. 

‘Many things. This, for a start, that I fear you will cease to address me with endearments… since so much could be laid at my door… The dragons…’

‘The dragons were always coming, Erestor. Our prince had seen them in his visions.’

‘But what if we had fought together, from the first? What if Imladris and Mirkwood had not been estranged at the time when they fell from the skies upon you? Perhaps it would have been different?’

‘Perhaps… but still…’

‘It is a long train of thought I wish to share… it weighs upon me, it presses on my fëa… but I fear to speak of it…’

‘I will hear you, whatever you wish to tell me.’

Erestor leaned back and closed his eyes.

‘For our two houses to have stood together, then certain things… concerning your prince…’

‘Legolas would have had to part from Elrond on happier terms,’ Arveldir said.

‘Or never to have been seduced by him.’

‘Is that truly how it was? Our prince would have us believe it was a mutual association…’

‘Do not all whose seduction has been expertly done?’ 

Arveldir could feel Erestor’s face lift in a smile against him.

‘Well,’ Erestor went on. ‘None were more surprised than I when the truth came out. And yet, we should have seen how lonely our lord was. I did see it, in truth.’

He paused, gathering his thoughts before he spoke again.

‘Understand, Elrond… he is no king, although of high blood. His brother was a king, but a king of men, and he died, and his loss was bitter. I saw… I have not been with   
him from the very beginning, but I was there when Celebrian bore him his children. I was there when the news came of her capture, and of her rescue. And I saw… I   
saw Elrond leave the healing rooms. I saw him shatter like a dropped wineglass in front of me and I saw him put his hand to his head and sigh, and then gather in all the pieces of his broken self, somehow dragging them back together. He was never the same after that, but you could only tell if you really looked.’

‘Celebrian?’

‘Yes. I learned later that I had witnessed the result of her telling him she would not, could not stay in Rivendell any longer. But after that one moment, he did not ever let his sadness show. Perhaps that was a mistake; perhaps he would have had more support if any had been able to guess at his sorrow. But then, he might have had less respect; who can say?’

‘You respected him, though, Erestor; you had seen his pain.’

‘Well, we have to respect our masters, do we not? How else can we work for them and with them? So that now, when all is laid bare and… but there was a time, Arveldir… a time when, if I had known how his solitude was an excuse to hide loneliness…’ Erestor took a breath, and hurried into the rest of his speech. ‘Had I known, I would have… but he did not see, and it passed. But I felt for him once, more than I do now, and it haunts me still.’

‘You cared for him?’

Erestor nodded. ‘I was much younger then. But now you will worry…’

‘I care for my king. Perhaps not enough to offer such a sacrifice as you might, but I do not think it would be appreciated. Or required. Perhaps it is the human side of your lord which makes him more prone to certain things.’

‘It may be so. But…’

‘Why do you think I would worry, Erestor?’

‘Because… I have just told you that at one time I held …inappropriate feelings… for my master, and that I cannot but feel that had I been more forward and less shy, then your prince would not have become entangled and Mirkwood and Imladris would have fought the dragons together and your five fallen may well still be alive, and your crown prince well, and the wedding still on and… and although I am outraged and shocked and feel Elrond’s silence about the affair almost a betrayal of all my years of friendship and service, still I cannot help but feel a little sorry for him. And I would not wish you to interpret that as any kind of… of interest… but I fear…’

‘I was in love once,’ Arveldir began, his voice slow and easy, as he tried to be as reassuring as he could. ‘Not with my king, it’s true. But one who was equally out of my   
reach; a warrior, an elleth, very lovely, very brave, very dashing. She never knew, for I never spoke…’

‘And do you regret that, now?’

‘Sometimes. Or, rather, until recently, I did. But nothing happened as a result of my silence. No-one died. No-one, to my knowledge, was seduced. Do you regret your own silence?’

‘No, not until I learned of what had happened. Not for my own heart. It is more that… could I have prevented all this?’

‘I think the only thing you could have prevented by being his, was being mine. And even so, I am not sure I would not have tried for you, whoever you were with.’

‘Truly so?’

For answer, Arveldir turned Erestor in his arms and cupped his face before kissing him, taking his time to taste and savour his beloved’s mouth, to feel the response from the elf in his arms.

‘Truly so,’ he said softly, once the kiss finished.

‘I do not… that is, it is you I love, Arveldir. Not… someone I looked at and saw unhappy, once.’

‘I know, and you are my love, also. Mine, my beloved. Set the past aside; it will not help you, and my prince is happy now; he has his fëa-mate, after all…’

Erestor rose to his feet and tugged at Arveldir’s hands.

‘Come, my beloved, my flame-haired one. It is too open here, too exposed for what I would do next… I would have you hold me, cleanse me with your love, chase the heaviness from my fëa. There is a hollow in the plain, just a few moments away, it is sheltered and private. Will you follow me?’

‘Anywhere,’ Arveldir said.


	125. A Sense of Purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas takes charge...

Legolas took his place in the command tent and gestured for Glorfindel to sit.

‘I find myself in charge again, against all expectations,’ he said. ‘But be welcome, my lord. You have questions?’

‘Mostly along the lines of what help do you need, your highness?’ 

Legolas gave a wistful smile.

‘Advice, mostly, I think. Now I begin to understand my father’s burdens… he manages everything and makes it seem effortless.’

‘These are unusual circumstances, and I am sure even he, with all his experience, would find the current situation awkward. All the plans have changed, it is true, but I am sure your king does not do everything unassisted?’

‘No, he has Arveldir to help, and the commanders of the guards, of course.’

‘Those of your warriors who are now fit will need something to occupy them. They are used to being busy, and inactivity will make their memories and thoughts louder than they ought to be. The best thing for them, for their peace of mind, is work and a reinstatement of order.’

‘Yes. We have been lax this last day or so. And we need to turn our thoughts to the journey home, and how to convey our injured. But we must wait for   
Tharmeduil to return with his escort.’

‘Do you know how long that will be?’

‘Several days, I think.’ 

‘If you’ll pardon me, that’s a long time to simply wait for someone.’

‘True enough. And were it not that we have our own wounded, I would be more annoyed than I am currently showing. But that is how it is with Tharmeduil; he has to follow his visions, or he becomes ill.’

‘Might I suggest, your highness, that now the majority of the carrion is gone, it might be well to attempt to reorder your original camp site?’

‘It has been gone through for salvage, but that is all… yes, we cannot leave a mess behind us. We should restore the land, that will be work enough, for our warriors. Thank you, my lord. I am very grateful for your advice.’

‘It is no more than your own commanders will tell you, or Lord Arveldir. But they are probably not yet used to dealing with you, your highness. Do you wish me to   
find Lord Arveldir for you?’

‘No, that’s all right, thank you; I have other matters on hand, and I think he and his friend need a little time…’

‘With respect, your highness, it is perhaps too much of a kindness to allow the personal relationships of your servants to intrude on their duties… and matters such as the ordering of the camp routine, while they could be considered the responsibility of the commanders of the guard, should certainly be brought to his attention at the least…’

Legolas exhaled slowly.

‘You are right. It is just that I never think of them as servants… My father is often kind, but he seldom lets it be seen. My thanks, Lord Glorfindel. If there is anything you need, Commander Govon will be happy to help you.’

The prince got to his feet, signalling the interview was over, and Glorfindel inclined his head and turned to go.

‘Thank you, your highness. I will see if Healer Nestoril can use my help.’

Left alone again, Legolas dropped back into the seat and rested his head in his hands. Yes. The camp would quickly go to ruin with no order and no sense of purpose… and it was left to him to sort it all out…

No. Enough of that. Of course it was left to him; it was his turn. 

He left the command tent and called over the nearest warrior.

‘Triwathon!’

‘My prince?’ The warrior, one of Bregon’s warriors, came over and bowed. ‘How may I serve?’

‘Please bear a message to the three commanders of all the guard that I wish to see them here in twenty minutes. And send someone to seek Lord Arveldir and summon him to the meeting, also. That will be all. My thanks.’

While he waited, he paced the small area of the pavilion, thinking, planning, working out what to say, but by the time he heard the voices of Commanders Esgaron and Bregon in conversation outside, he was not really any clearer.

He took his place once more so that he was ready when they made their presence known.

‘Take a seat, Commanders. We await Lord Arveldir and Commander Govon.’

‘Govon is on his way; we saw him across the field. As for Arveldir…?’ Esgaron shrugged. ‘I think he went off somewhere with his friend…’

Legolas raised his eyebrow; Esgaron’s tone had almost been judgemental.

‘Thank you. Well, we can wait a few moments more.’ He looked up at them and smiled. ‘I know my father would not wait for anyone, but it is easier to find someone and pass on a message in the palace than in the wilderness, perhaps. And as yet, no-one is late.’

Govon arrived next, punctual rather than early, but nor was he late.

‘Commander, have a seat. I don’t suppose you’ve seen any sign of Lord Arveldir in your travels?’

‘Not for a good hour, my prince, when he gathered with our friends from Imladris to watch Elrond’s household ride out.’

‘I see. Well, we do not actually need him here, so since I know we are all busy… or about to be busy, we should get on.’

This was new, Govon realised. Usually Legolas would have waited, citing any number of reasons why a tardy individual might have been delayed. And his fëa-mate was sitting more as his father the king was wont to sit at meetings, his voice holding a new note of decisiveness. It seemed as if Legolas was embracing his present position as acting prince regent with determination, if not with delight.

The prince took a moment to gather himself and then began to address them.

‘Commanders, I know it is but two days since we were under dragon fire, and that seems scant time indeed to recover from such an attack. But it is apparent that standards have already slipped and our warriors’ spirits with them. We need to reinstate order amongst our guard.’

‘Agreed, your highness,’ Esgaron said. ‘After the skirmish with the spiders, although we had wounded, we had no such lack of discipline…’

‘We were in the forest, then, where we all felt safer. Out here on the plain…’ Legolas paused. ‘It is true that visibility is good, but it is not what we are used to. Our warriors feel exposed, vulnerable. It does not really matter how this has come to pass – it simply needs changing before we slide further into apathy. So, I would   
like…’ He broke off, seeing through the open front of the pavilion that Lord Arveldir and Erestor were approaching. ‘Arveldir. I am so pleased you managed to find   
your way.’

The advisor flushed and bowed.

‘Forgive me, my prince; your message did not immediately reach us…’

Us? The king would, Legolas knew, make much of that ‘us’… but however much he had to run the camp in his father’s place, he was not the king and the mild   
sarcasm of his greeting was, he felt, enough of a reprimand.

Besides, Legolas would have felt rather hypocritical to mention the matter of Arveldir’s friendship just then.

‘Lord Erestor, since you are in my father’s eyes one of his advisors now, you can begin by joining us,’ the prince said, keeping his voice formal but welcoming.   
‘Please be seated.’

‘Your highness, my thanks.’

‘We were discussing discipline and order in the camp.’ Legolas turned to the commanders. ‘Those of your warriors who are fit enough must begin duties again. We   
must clear and restore our original campsite, reinstate weapons practice and drills, make sure there are set hours for meals once more… work parties to gather firewood and forage – perhaps some of the more lightly injured could help here? There are plenty of fish in the river, an attempt should be made to catch some to replenish our supplies.’

‘Is there any word, my prince, when we will leave for home?’ Arveldir asked.

‘There is not. Healer Nestoril is anxious as to how we will move those who are too incapacitated to ride and so we delay a little on her behalf. What is more, Prince Tharmeduil and an escort have left on a special assignment and we must give them some time to complete it.’ 

He glanced around the faces across the table from him; Erestor, listening avidly, Arveldir still not quite recovered from being late… the commanders… Esgaron’s expression disapproving… Legolas realised he didn’t really like Esgaron, but couldn’t quite say why… no matter. He didn’t have to like him, just give him orders.

‘It would be far better for the heart of the camp if you were able to tell your command to be ready in three days, or two days, I know this. So, with that in mind, we will tell them two days. We will break camp on the morning of the twenty-second of June. Even if all we do is re-establish a second camp on the far side of the battle field, it will give something to aim for.’

‘But the plain is less defensible than the eyot!’ Esgaron protested. ‘And there is easy access to water here…’

‘There is a tributary stream where we can get water,’ Bregon put in, and Legolas relaxed. That the commanders were prepared to argue his idea through suggested they had accepted his orders, and therefore his authority.

‘True. And much better grazing for the horses,’ Govon said.

Esgaron appeared to disregard the Court Commander, answering Bregon instead.

‘The banks are high and there is still the issue of defence…’

‘We simply set up a watch again; my prince, that is something I was going to suggest in any case…’

‘Very good. I think that is probably all… I would like to re-instigate reporting procedures as were standard before the dragon attacks. And begin to take thought as to how we may move our injured. I suggest you gather your guards together and let them know what’s been decided. Start them working after the day meal – I will leave it to you to decide on their levels of activity. Thank you all for your time. Lord Arveldir? There are some non-military matters I would like to discuss with you; please remain.’

The commanders filed out. Erestor, Legolas noted, remained behind.

He sighed inwardly. He had really wanted to speak to Arveldir alone… but to send Erestor away, after expressly inviting him to the meeting would make him, and   
the commanders undoubtedly still near enough to notice, wonder why.

‘My prince, please accept my apologies for arriving late to the meeting… I had business on the Imladris side of the river…’

‘I see. Well, if we were at home, you’d have had more than twenty minutes’ warning… No. Were we at home, you would not have been late, for my father the king would have waited outside the throne room until sure you had arrived, then kept you waiting for many long minutes before he chose to shoe himself… But the Imladris side of the river? I thought we were not going there? Or, if we must, we would let someone know about it?’

Arveldir flushed, but before he could say anything, Erestor spoke up.

‘That was my fault, your highness. Please do not blame my… Lord Arveldir for my mistake.’

‘Erestor, it is only that we are in a wilderness and it is important to know where everyone is for security. Would you… that is, may I ask you to carry a message for me? I know it is not your duty to do so, but…’

‘But you wish to speak to Lord Arveldir alone. Of course, your highness.’

‘Really, I need a message taking. When Healer Nestoril hears we are decamping in two days, she will either have a fit or faint… I think if the news is carried to her, in   
person, and by one whom she does not know well enough to swear at… I simply want her to be reassured we are not necessarily going far, perhaps only a mile or   
so, and that if she has any urgent medical reasons why not, to let me know.’

Erestor glanced at Arveldir, who gave him the smallest of reassuring smiles, and seeing the exchange, Legolas relented.

‘Or both of you can go, in a few moments… bear with me…’ 

He dipped his head, and when he raised it again, there was a change in his bearing, allowing himself to drop the formal air of command and be more himself again.

‘We’ve had a rough few days,’ he began. ‘Not just the dragons… all of us, really, have come up against something or other we’d rather not have faced. And so we need to draw closer to what sources of strength we have. For some, that comes from within. Others find it from those they love…’

He smiled at the advisors gesturing at the pair of them.

‘As with both of you. And, I’ll admit, for me. Without Govon…’ He shook his head. ‘But I was very gently reminded today that some things are best kept out of the public eye…’

He thought furtively of the morning, of carrying Govon’s injured hand to his mouth to lick the damaged knuckles, oblivious to the fact that they were in the middle of the eyot in full sight of all the company…

‘Understand, there is no suggestion that we must shun our friends,’ he went on hastily. ‘Simply that we are working individuals and we must be seen to be   
professional. Erestor must be at your side, Arveldir, since he is learning his new role by observing and assisting. But perhaps expeditions to the west bank of the river are best undertaken during your private time.’

‘Understood, my prince. And my apologies.’

‘Really, none are necessary… now, go and work your advisorly magic on Healer Nestoril, please!’


	126. Vision Quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tharmeduil sets out towards the forest...

Tharmeduil gritted his teeth and tried to swing up into the saddle, but his leg crumpled under him and only gripping the saddle tightly and trusting his horse to stand prevented him from falling.

He touched his head against the leathers and took a frustrated breath.

‘Let me help you up there, my prince,’ Thiriston said, and gave him an obliging shove while Canadion held the bridle and got ready to dash to the other side of the saddle in case the prince looked like going over the top.

But with the power of the big elf’s shoulder beneath him, Tharmeduil made it into the saddle and settled carefully.

A sudden misgiving rose in him, even though he knew he had to do it, still, he wondered whether he should… except that he knew these doubts were part of what he had to go through before they set off.

So… that was done, then.

‘When you’re ready,’ he said, ‘we should get started. I’m not going to be able to ride very fast, so we’ll have to go for longer.’

‘And we’re heading for the forest?’ Thiriston asked.

‘Yes. Head straight east, though, not for the road. We won’t get there today, of course. But we might reach the end of the plain and the start of the scrub.’

They set off, crossing the bridge and passing through the site of the former camp, trying not to pay too much attention to it as they rode through the churned and bloodstained grass and remainder of the remains of the dragons.

‘Only two days since… how time stretches!’ Canadion said, trying to lighten the mood. ‘To think a year can slip by in the forest in a flicker of leaves, and yet so short a time take so long to pass!’

‘Well, it is over,’ Tharmeduil said. ‘No more dragons. At least… not for a good while, that is…’

‘What? Oh, no…’ Canadion protested. ‘Not more of the wretched beasts?’

Tharmeduil shrugged. ‘It is just the one. And I might be wrong. Just someone should warn my Ada, if there is rumour of more dragons, not to get involved. Will you do that?’

‘Gladly, my prince!’

*

By riding steadily they passed through the battlefield swiftly and were out onto the wide, clean spaces beyond. Burned swathes of grass showed where the black dragon had strafed the area with flame for some distance yet, but still, they had the sense of leaving the horror behind.

The forest was a dark line on the eastern horizon ahead, the land breaking into folds and hills and blurring the sense of distance. Coming out, they had taken several days to cross the plains, turning south-west once they left the shelter of Mirkwood. Now they were making directly for the forest to enter it some fifty miles south of their outward journey, shortening the route by a few miles and so they hoped, with just the three of them and all with horses, to make the journey in less time.

For Tharmeduil, it was an uncomfortable day. His companions took very good care of him, setting up camp and tending the horses, preparing food and hot drinks and bed rolls and generally not letting him do anything except rest once he’d dismounted from his horse.

‘We’re going to set a watch, my prince,’ Thiriston said. ‘Between the pair of us; there’s still enough carrion on the field to attract scavengers, and they might cross our paths, so we must have a care.’

‘I can take a turn, if you wish,’ he offered, only to be refused kindly.

‘We are your guard,’ Canadion said. ‘So let us guard you.’

‘My thanks, then. If it helps, I don’t see any danger. Not while we’re outside the forest.’

‘Just keep your mystical stuff tucked away unless you have to, my prince,’ Thiriston suggested. ‘No point confusing us further!’

So he lay in his bedroll and spent the night in reverie, and the next day in a kind of somnolent trance on the horse, allowing the visions to play through his mind. 

In truth, there were not so many of them left now. Just this next big thing, and a few loose ends to jot down for Govon to take note of, and the rest would be on the far side of the dark.

*

The landscape around them changed, and Thiriston announced a sortie into the more wooded lands to hunt for the pot.

‘I don’t know why we set out with only three days’ supplies,’ he’d grumbled.

‘Three days was all I saw.’ Tharmeduil shrugged. ‘I forgot why, at the time.’

‘Well, if I hunt now, the supplies will last a bit longer. Canadion, keep to the line. We’ll camp near the brook we saw on our way out; if I’ve not rejoined you by the time you get to the stand of oak, make camp and wait for me there.’

‘We will.’

Canadion and Tharmeduil arrived at the oaks first, but not by much. They had dismounted, Canadion had started a fire and left Tharmeduil tending it while he saw to the horses, when he heard the whistled signal that announced another elf in the vicinity and there was Thiriston was the north, waving as he rode down towards them, lifting a brace of coney as proof of his success.

Tharmeduil drifted off into reverie; his leg was still numb and unwilling to obey him, his left arm the same. It was a strange thing, to be unable to feel anything, and yet still to be in pain at the end of the ride. Reverie took him away from the discomfort, and passed the time well, too.

Watching the prince’s eyes glaze as he readied the meat for the pot, Thiriston shook his head.

‘He’s a worry to me.’

‘And me also. Although I talked and chatted through the journey, he did not answer much. He smiled and he nodded mostly, but I fear he is in pain.’

‘Then why is he doing this? And why are we helping him?’

‘He, because he must.’ Canadion shrugged. ‘We, because he wants us with him. Even though it does mean spiders. And, although we are not really alone   
together, you and I, at least we are away from the camp and all the people there. It is better, I think.’

‘It seems a while since we were alone, melleth.’

‘Under the bridge, yesterday morning.’

‘For more than an hour, I meant! We stole a night or two in the forest…’

‘The flet across the river from the camp! Yes. Good times, melleth. Why do I feel so sad, suddenly?’

‘Probably because it is a silly thing to do, and we have established, you are the silly one. Come. While our prince rests, while the food cooks. Just let me hold you,   
and tell me what’s really bothering you?’

Canadion snuggled in with a sigh.

‘I am worried about him, I am worried about you, I am worried about us.’

‘Well, do not worry about us. Or about me. Or him, he seems to know what’s going to happen and he isn’t worried about it.’

‘No… but all this talk of being on the far side of the darkness…’

‘Never mind that now. I’ve been worried about you.’ 

Thiriston ran his finger down Canadion’s cheek and onto his neck, stroking the silken skin. The younger elf shivered.

‘Do you remember, melleth, the day we wore paint to honour our king, and I had only my hand to offer for marking?’ he began slowly. ‘And you said I was perfect, as I should be…’

‘You still are, penneth. No, really… the flames have barely touched you, and if you didn’t know about them, you wouldn’t notice. Not that it would matter, anyway.’

‘Would it not?’ Canadion asked in a very small, doubtful voice.

‘Well, it’s true, I love to look at you. But when I do, I only see your skin for a moment. Then I see your brightness and lightness of heart. Yes, you are altogether beautiful and perfect to look upon. But you do not change when I close my eyes. And then, you look at me and seem to fail to notice all my scars…’

‘Can you not see that they show your fëa in all its courage? Your history is there, and to be with one who has survived so much, it can only make me feel safe.’ 

Canadion wriggled nearer and changed subject slightly.

‘They say Lord Glorfindel’s scars are a fearful sight! Have you seen them?’

‘No…’ Thiriston’s voice was an amused growl. ‘And you had better not have seen them either… Well?’

Canadion laughed. 

‘Of course I have not! It is only that they say, those who have, that he is striped and lined with the mark of the Balrog’s flaming whip, and his body is white and red and brown with the scarring… and yet the Valar sent him back so! It seems unfair…’

‘But who are we to judge the Valar? Perhaps they seek to show that scars are not always to be hidden…’

‘Perhaps that is a lesson for us both, then.’ Canadion looked up into Thiriston’s eyes. ‘Would love to be looking at your scars right now, melleth-nin… at the warrior wearing them…’

Thiriston found himself grinning.

‘Well, you cannot. We are on duty, after a fashion. Come, behave yourself! And look to the prince! He is smiling in reverie.’

‘Good. I am glad he is in a better place.’

_Tharmeduil drifted amongst memories of his visions, the old completed, or altered off-course and dangling their threads of lost opportunity, the new still forming, changing… from outside himself he heard the voices of his guards, the deep growl of Thiriston, the light teasing of Canadion…_

_Why was he here? Because he must be. Why were they? Well, partly because, for what he needed, they were the best choice. But also because, for what they needed, he was their best hope…_

_He found himself smiling as the smell of cooking food wafted into his reverie…_

…and came awake.


	127. Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas has several more meetings...

‘Your highness,’ Esgaron said, bowing.

Legolas looked up from the papers scattered about the table in the command centre. It was not work, the papers had nothing to do with the running of the camp, but it made him look busy.

‘Yes, Commander. You have a report for me?’

‘The first group of warriors have been sent to begin a clean-up of the plains. One of Bregon’s warriors, Celeguel, claims to have seen a group of three riders heading towards the forest; she thought perhaps Thiriston Cut-Face was amongst them…’

‘Yes, thank you. They are making good time, then.’

‘Forgive me, your highness…?’

‘Thank you for the report.’

‘You knew about this? That one of the Court Guard has ridden away…?’

Suddenly Legolas felt trapped beneath the weight of Esgaron’s apparent disapproval. The command tent was not a huge space, but now it felt smaller than ever, as if its canvas walls were folding in around him to smother and suffocate and he longed to just escape into the air.

But Esgaron’s disapproving face was still waiting.

Legolas held his gaze and exhaled slowly.

‘Yes, it is high time we returned to our proper reporting procedures. The special assignment I mentioned to you but an hour ago? The one on which my brother Prince Tharmeduil has left, you do remember it being mentioned?’

‘Of course, your highness…’

‘He required an escort, naturally, and who else but the Court Guard should provide it? I am glad they are making progress. Thank you, Commander.’

Legolas allowed his attention to drop back to the papers on his desk. Were his father to do something like this, anyone on the other side of the desk would have realised the interview was at an end and would take their leave. But it seemed Esgaron had not yet done.

The prince lifted his head and placed his forearms on the table, lacing his hands together as he gave a brisk smile to the commander.

‘Was there something more, Esgaron?’

‘It is but… I would be remiss in my duty if I did not point out that the Court Guard is now effectively halved in strength now that these two have left the camp while their responsibilities have increased with the inclusion of the four elves from Imladris amongst our numbers…’

‘This has not escaped our notice,’ Legolas said. ‘All is in hand.’

‘I hope that if more elves are to be assigned to the Court Guard that the commanders will be consulted first?’

‘Commander Esgaron,’ Legolas said calmly, ‘I do not see why we would need to assign more elves to his majesty the king’s hand-picked guard. We are aware that all three companies have lost valued warriors to the dragons; but it would be inappropriate and insulting to the memory of the Court Guard’s fallen to simply choose another elf at random to replace him. The two who are with my royal brother will return before we leave the area. In the meantime, since security on the eyot devolves to you, I appreciate your bringing this to my notice, but be easy. Now, is there is anything more I may help you with?’

Esgaron stiffened. Although there was absolutely nothing in Legolas’ tone or behaviour to suggest it, he had the decided impression he had just been reprimanded. He inclined his head.

‘Your highness has been most generous with your time. I will return to my duties.’

*

Legolas waited until Esgaron had had enough time to get out of earshot before rising and going to the opening of the tent.

Part of the new regime was to make sure someone was close enough to carry messages for the prince or the commanders, and at present he was glad to see Tinuon had the duty and was on loose guard nearby.

‘Captain, will you bear a message, please?’

‘Of course, your highness.’

‘I need to speak to Nestoril in the infirmary, so someone must take over here. And if you were able to tell Commander Govon I would like a word with him… without Commander Esgaron hearing of it?’

‘At once.’

Waiting for Tinuon to return, Legolas gathered the papers together and put them away out of sight.

‘Commander Govon reporting to take over for you, your highness,’ Tinuon said from the doorway.

‘Very good. Commander, please step in.’

‘Your highness.’

Legolas grimaced and shook his head; the new title was far too formal; even ‘my prince’ felt too much at times – but it reflected his new position as regent and so he had to put up with it.

‘A quick question, Commander, before I seek an update on my father’s condition… your guard is reduced in number and those in your care increased. Would you have any objections if I were to ask Lord Glorfindel to assume responsibility for the Imladris contingent? Not to take over, or to be part of your command, but to act alongside you and liaise with you as required?’

‘None whatsoever, your highness; it is a good thought.’

‘Very well. It needs confirming with Glorfindel himself, but I am sure he will agree and should any ask about the Court Guard’s abilities, feel free to reassure them. And… it was your idea, should any ask.’

‘The notion was arrived at following consultation, your highness.’

‘Very good, Commander.’ Legolas glanced around. ‘There are writing materials in the case, should you wish to make a start on your written report for Lord Arveldir while I am gone.’

*

Healer Feril intercepted him as he walked into the infirmary.

‘Your highness, we did not think you would have word so soon… would you mind waiting but a moment? Healer Nestoril and Lord Glorfindel are with your father now…’

‘Yes, of course. How is everyone?’

‘Well… most of the injured in here are much improved… Captain Erthor is still sedated, however… but his injuries are starting to properly knit, at last…’

‘I’m pleased he’s getting better.’

Feril nodded.

‘As are we. Would you like to sit? I will go and speak to Nestoril…’

The healer made her way through to the king’s chamber, and were it not that he knew Nestoril and Glorfindel were both with his father, he might have been amused by Nestoril’s hasty ‘Just tell him not now, for me, Feril! I cannot deal with… ’

Legolas walked down the length of the infirmary to wait outside the dividing canvas, interrupting the hushed conversation by clearing his throat.

‘Oh, very well!’ Nestoril pulled aside the curtain enough for him to enter. ‘My prince, do not be alarmed… I asked them not to send for you yet… although if this is about moving camp…’

‘No, it is not. Nor was I sent for, Healer, I simply came… what has happened?’

There was a pile of red and pink stained caul silk at the side of the king’s bed and Nestoril shook her head.

‘We thought he was coming back to consciousness. As he began stirring, it seemed something happened to prevent him, and his wounds reopened once more. Lord Glorfindel was able to reach him and calm him so that the bleeding ceased, but not before he…’

‘Nestoril…’ Legolas placed his hand on her shoulder for a moment. ‘I am sure you are doing your utmost for my father.’

He came to stand at the foot of the bed. The king was paler than ever, and a light mottling of pink on the dressing covering his face was evidence of his most recent relapse. Glorfindel was at his side, one hand on Thranduil’s forehead and his mouth moving in a muttered healing incantation. His eyes were closed and a frown of concentration sat between his brows. 

As Legolas watched, it seemed to him that Glorfindel somehow was moving further away, his voice growing softer, more distant until his lips were moving soundlessly. 

Nestoril cleared away the bloodstained caul silk softly and quietly, her eyes sombre. Feril took the bundle from her, laying a hand on her arm.

‘You should rest, Nestoril.’ She turned to Legolas. ‘Your highness, she has been working with no let up all day, and I am quite capable of caring for the infirmary injured…’

‘But the king…’ Nestoril protested.

‘The king is in no danger,’ Glorfindel said quietly. His voice was dull, weary. ‘He will sleep now. Nestoril, I would advise you to do the same.’

She wavered, ready to be persuaded, and Legolas nodded.

‘You know you will serve him better, once you are refreshed,’ he said. ‘Go with Feril, eat, drink, take a little time.’

‘Well, since you all insist…’ She gave a rueful smile and tipped her head. ‘Only an hour, though; Healer Feril has been on duty almost as long as I.’

‘Come, then.’ Feril took her arm. ‘I will make you some chamomile tea, and we will sit together for a few minutes…’

Glorfindel waited until they had gone before beckoning Legolas to his side.

‘He is safe, your highness, safe beyond the pain. It would seem that is the problem here; in order to wake, he has to face all the distress and anguish he tried to take from his warriors, and crossing that boundary reactivates his injuries. I should be able to help, but not today. He needs to be stronger first.’

He paused to smile, but his eyes were still tired.

‘As do I.’

‘I am very grateful for all you are doing for my father, my lord,’ Legolas said. ‘I had come seeking you on another matter, not realising my father had been taken ill again…’

‘Yes? How may I assist?’

‘Simply, if there is danger, could you take responsibility for the safety of your friends from Imladris? The Court Guard is at half-strength currently.’

‘I will gladly do so. Not only will it ease the burden on your guard, but the elves of Imladris are used to taking orders from me at times.’

‘I’m very grateful. You will be under no command except your own, but please consult with Commander Govon as leader of the Court Guard and the others as appropriate. There is usually a commanders’ debriefing just before the evening meal.’

‘Of course.’ Glorfindel turned his attention back to the still figure on the bed, his eyes almost wistful. ‘Your highness, do you need me to lead any weapons practice or take a more martial role in proceedings here?’

‘You have much valuable experience, my lord, and I do no doubt we could benefit from it. But I feel your energies would be better spent reassuring your Imladris friends and helping here… unless it is what you want?’

‘In truthfulness, your highness? No, it is not what I want. I will gladly protect my friends in need and give all other help I can, but I am a little tired of being a hero.’ 

He reached out to adjust the dressing on Thranduil’s face . ‘I wonder if perhaps Thranduil is tired, too, tired of being a king?’

Legolas thought back over his meetings of the day, the sudden claustrophobia that had risen up during his talk with Esgaron and he sighed.

‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised,’ he said.


	128. Death or Ships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tharmeduil raises and awkward topic of conversation...

As Tharmeduil drifted up from reverie he became aware of familiar voices, one light and laughing, the other deeper, almost gruff in contrast. He focussed his gaze and saw Thiriston and Canadion were cuddled together opposite the fire. As they hurried to shift apart, he shook his head at them with a laugh.

‘No, don’t mind me! Tell me, though. How long is it since you two took your vows together?’

Canadion shifted uneasily and looked down at his lap. 

‘Vows?’ Thiriston said. ‘There are no vows between us. Together almost a dozen years now, but nothing more.’

‘We are just… as we are,’ Canadion added with a shrug.

‘But you are fëa-mates,’ the prince said, ‘it is obvious to any who look at you… why would you not have taken vows together?’

It was a fair question, Thiriston supposed. Taking vows was a commitment, a promise, a recognition of what lay between you, binding until one or other partner either died or sailed west to the Undying Lands. And for many who had found and acknowledged their fëar-mates, it was the next logical thing to do, to stake your claim in each other and proclaim that bond between you.

Canadion broke the silence first with a smile that didn’t quite fit his face.

‘Because he has never asked me.’

‘Ah... but are you not both fëa-mates, Canadion? Why have you not asked him?’

The young elf’s eyes glittered towards his fëa-mate and dropped again.

‘Well, without vows between us, he must see that I stay with him because I could not bear to be anywhere else… were we bound together, he might think it was because I had to. Do you see?’

‘I see you may well be playing a dangerous game with your happiness, penneth! But Thiriston, why have you not asked him?’

‘I think that is my business, your highness.’

Tharmeduil nodded towards Canadion.

‘And his,’ he said softly. ‘I can think of two reasons – in case he says no – or in case he says yes.’

He reached for his staff and hauled himself up to his feet.

‘I’m going for a walk,’ he said. ‘Might help clear my head a little. Or give you space to clear your own.’

*

‘Well, this is a fine thing for our prince to do, to lead us to this dangerous emotional precipice and then abandon us!’ Canadion said, trying for his usual lightness of tone. ‘I do not think we can pretend the conversation has not happened, and I do not know what to do next… my fëa wants me to ask, which is it, my love? But my heart is afraid and my head tells me to leave this be.’

‘And when did you ever listen to your head, penneth?’ Thiriston said, finding a smile. ‘Come here. Let me hold you.’

Canadion found his way back into Thiriston’s arms.

‘So… my head cannot make my fëa shut up…’

Thiriston wrapped his arms more tightly around Canadion.

‘Well, I do not know if my reasons are as sensible, or as silly as yours,’ he said. ‘But they are mine, to keep, for the moment.’

‘As am I, yours, to keep… but… I would it were for more than just the moment. If I were to ask you, melleth-nin, what would you say?’

The big elf rested his chin on the top of Canadion’s head.

‘When have I ever refused you anything?’

‘The time when I suggested we bring the soft cheese and the damson paste up into the flet just outside the palace and…’

‘Apart from then. And even then, you convinced me… you must admit I was right, though. It did attract the insects…’

Canadion laughed and slid out from under Thiriston’s chin to look up at him with his normal teasing smile.

‘Very well, then; I will promise never to ask for soft cheese and damson paste if you will consent to take vows with me. On the condition that you know that it does not mean I will ever feel I am with you because I must be; I am with you because my fëa must be, and that is different.’

Canadion held his breath as Thiriston spoke in reply.

‘I cannot accept your terms as stated. By all means, ask for whatever you fancy… just not on a flet in the forest in spring time… that aside, yes, if you want to make vows with me, I consent.’

‘Ai, thank the Valar for that!’ 

The younger elf pulled Thiriston into his arms and lifted his chin to kiss him.

‘I had no courage to ask you,’ Thiriston muttered. ‘I had so much more to lose than you.’

‘What, when you are the bigger of us?’ Canadion shrugged in his fëa-mate’s arms. ‘Obviously, you do not. I do.’

‘When you are so pretty as you are and so popular…?’

‘Never mind that! How long do you think we have before our prince returns?’

‘For what I would like to do? Nowhere near long enough…’ Thiriston growled as Canadion fastened his mouth on his throat. ‘But then, he has the foresight… let him see how long to keep away for…’

*

Prince Tharmeduil hobbled and lurched his way to where the horses were grazing on long pickets. His own mount came over to him, and he leaned his weight against the animal’s shoulder.

Sometimes he wondered where they came from, these suggestions to interfere and intervene. Looked at practically, to force his escort into beginning a conversation that had the potential to end badly was not such a good idea, not with most of the trip ahead of them. Still, he had a feeling he wouldn’t be awake for most of it…

He gave them time enough to broach the subject, time enough to quarrel about it, time enough to apologise and time enough for a pretty decent making-up-of-any-argument or, hopefully, celebratory consummation. He even allowed time for them to dress.

All things considered, his numb leg aching and the horse beginning to get bored with being a living crutch, he thought he was very considerate, and ambled back towards the camp with his half-smile in place.

So he was surprised to see Canadion walking towards him, and glad to see a smile on the young one’s face.

‘We want you to be the first to know,’ he began. ‘Thiriston and I intend making vows once we get home.’

‘Excellent. I am most pleased to hear it.’

‘Not that you did not know already!’ Canadion added, offering his shoulder to support the prince. ‘But for your foreknowledge, I doubt I would have dared…’

‘Ah, well, as to that… I didn’t actually see the outcome… just me leaving you to talk it over.’

Canadion’s face fell.

‘But… I could have lost everything that mattered to me!’

‘Instead, you won it. Is that not better?’

They regained the camp to find Thiriston testing the pot of cooking coney.

‘It’s all but done. Canadion, I think we need more drinking water. Will you fetch a skinful for us?’

‘Right away, melleth.’

‘That sounds happier,’ Tharmeduil said once Canadion had loped away towards the stream.

‘Ai, the penneth should have known I’d never refuse him if he asked…’

‘So it was he did the asking? I wonder why it wasn’t you, though.’

‘Do you so? Consider, my prince. I am not quite as old as your father… but I am older than, to choose a random name, Lord Elrond…’

‘And Canadion is half the age of my younger brother.’

‘It did not seem right to me, or fair, to ask, in case he felt he must agree.’ Thiriston looked up, and there was a fierce, determined joy in his eyes. ‘So, it is done, we will return home and make tokens and say the words, but we are already bound by this. Only death or ships will part us now.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting over the next few days may be erratic as I may be out of reach of internet connections for a few days.  
> Be assured I will still be writing.


	129. Invitation to Eagles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas wonders about Flora and gets new quarters...

Legolas sat with his father for a while and then went through the other curtain to Iauron’s bed. His brother was lying very still, his chest barely rising and falling in breath, but he looked peaceful and calm, and somehow Legolas found sitting beside him to be restful.

Iauron had always been the dynamic one, eager to run any risk, fight any battle, bed any female… for a moment Legolas’ thoughts turned away from his brother towards home, Lake Town, the human woman Flora whose child might be born in the healing halls of Mirkwood. He wondered how she was, how far advanced her pregnancy would be. 

Of course, he had never really been interested in how long pregnancy took, for human or elf. But he knew a year was usual for elvenkind, and seemed to remember it took less time for human babies to grow to be ready for birth… he wondered how would it be for Flora with her peredhel baby, whether she would make the journey to Mirkwood or if she would brave it out amongst her own kind.

He wondered if she would mind very much about Iauron.

‘Your highness?’

The voice was that of Healer Feril, and he turned to her with an attempt at a reassuring smile on his face.

‘Did you get your tea, Feril? Is Nestoril still resting?’

‘Ai, if only she would…!’ Feril smiled. ‘It is time for me to attend to your brother’s needs now. I must wash and feed him, and see he drinks. This is better done privately, if you do not mind?’

‘Of course. I need to return to my own duties now in any case. I am grateful for the care you are giving my kin, Feril. It cannot be easy for you.’

She dropped a curtsey to him as he passed through the curtain into the king’s chamber. 

His father was still lying there, doing nothing except suffering, and there was only so much of that Legolas could bear to see, so he made a hasty exit through the external canvas and headed quickly back to the command tent where Tinuon appeared to have been left in wary charge.

‘Anything to report, Captain?’ Legolas asked.

‘The three commanders are holding their debriefing presently, your highness,’ Tinuon replied. ‘But I can report that the clean-up crew returned from the plain some short time since, and there was a brief archery practice not long after your highness was called away.’

‘Well, it’s time for the day meal. Let’s put the ‘closed’ sign on the desk and get our food.’

Since the hasty retreat to the eyot there had been just two cook fires running and no real order as to who ate at which. This evening, however, a natural divide seemed to be happening, with the hale warriors at one and the rest, with the court and the elves of Imladris at the other.  
Legolas took a bowl of stew and a chunk of bread and settled himself down between Arveldir and Arwen.

‘How has the day been for you?’ he asked generally.

Arveldir was first to reply.

‘I must confess to a certain relief that order is returning; I am unused to chaos, your highness!’

‘Well, I must thank you for your help. You had a report made, as was usual?’

‘Indeed. But I was used to then carrying that report to your royal father…’

‘You should continue to do that,’ Glorfindel put in, glancing towards Legolas. ‘I beg pardon, your highness. But I’m speaking as a healer and with the king’s well-being in mind…’

‘No, go on?’ Legolas said. ‘By tradition, the campfire stands on no ceremony.’

‘My thanks. Well, I am certain the king is aware of what passes around him; to read the day’s reports in his presence will connect him to events outside the infirmary. It may even draw him back to us. It will certainly reassure him that all is proceeding in the camp as it should.’

‘Then, if the healers permit, I will begin this evening.’

*

Legolas walked across towards the infirmary with Arveldir after the meal, intending a visit to the small tent he was currently sharing with Govon which was pitched behind it.

To his surprise, he saw Hador and Tinuon busily erecting a much larger tent near to his own. Its eaves were higher than they were, and the pitch of the roof substantial. They had almost finished with just one or two lines to secure.

‘What’s this?’ he asked in surprise.

‘Your new quarters, your highness,’ Tinuon said. ‘Word came that this pavilion was to be made available for you, and since there is a need for you to be near the infirmary, this is where we were told to put it. Are we done, Hador?’

‘Yes, just secured.’

‘Good. Then help me fetch the furnishings, will you?’ Tinuon nodded towards the prince. ‘We will be back shortly, your highness.’

While the two were busy elsewhere, Legolas collected his belongings from the tent with a heavy heart. He had hoped… but given all the discussions earlier in the day about discipline and order, his conversation to Arveldir and Erestor, it was his duty to lead by example.  
Buried in one corner of the tent, under a fold of the fabric, he found a small flask of sandalwood oil, and he pocketed it with a smile. Well, at least Govon would be back to making verbal reports again…

Really, he hadn’t got much to move; many of his belongings had been misplaced after the dragon attack, not that it mattered. He had his weapons, and enough clothing. Oh yes. And some sandalwood oil which he could claim he needed for honing his knives, should he be asked.  
He looked at his bedroll, spread out with Govon’s, and realised he didn’t have the heart to move it.

Tinuon and Hador were back, lugging an assortment of bundles; a tapestry groundsheet, a pallet for under his bedroll, should he choose to move it (only single in width, but that would just make for some interesting proximity), a folding table and a chair.

‘There are writing materials in the case, here, your highness,’ Hador said. ‘And a full water skin and some lembas, for if you cannot get to the cook-fire.’

‘My thanks, Hador. How have you been, since…?’

‘Not badly, my thanks, your highness. I miss our comrade – well, we all do, in truth. But at least he did not suffer.’

‘Yes, it’s a hard thing.’

‘Come and see how it suits, your highness,’ Tinuon called.

Legolas stepped inside the pavilion. It was perhaps the same size as the command centre, but the higher ridge and smaller table made it feel more spacious. Certainly it was an improvement on his previous lodgings, except for the fact Govon was now relegated to the tent next-door.

‘Yes, you’ve worked hard, and it’s very fine. Where did it come from?’

‘Oh, commander Govon told us Prince Tharmeduil left word you were to take it over; the prince said he won’t be needing it again, I understand. If you’ll excuse us, your highness…’

‘Of course. Dismissed.’

He settled himself at the table and arranged the writing materials, filling in time by roughly working out the best time they could hope to make for their homeward journey, but there were too many variables. So far, although he knew Healer Nestoril knew of the intended breaking of camp, neither had dared broach the subject to the other. Well, let her have today to get used to the notion, and he would speak to her in more detail tomorrow about it. If he had to.

He heard the rattling of the buckler outside and looked up to see Govon in the entrance, a smile on his face.

‘If you’re not busy, your highness, I have that report for you.’

‘Commander Govon, please enter…. I can’t offer you a seat, I’m afraid. Unless you wish to sit on the bed?’

‘It would not be appropriate,’ Govon said. ‘Now, at least.’

‘How has the day been for the camp?’

‘Interesting. Prince Tharmeduil’s departure with two of my guard has caused consternation, although I was aware of it and the need… his highness told me to make the tent over to you. I trust all is satisfactory?’

‘It is a very much better place to work than the command tent, granted. Tinuon and Hador worked hard.’

‘Lady Arwen offered to crochet strands for some spare bells to use rather than a buckler – you will not object that I declined?’

Legolas shuddered, but couldn’t help a grin.

‘No, indeed, Commander, Lady Arwen is quite busy enough as it is.’

‘Your brother the prince left his notes and sketches with me – when you have time, perhaps we could usefully examine them?’

‘I can set some time aside this evening, if you wish?’

‘That would be very accommodating of you, your highness. Reports in from the site of the battle say there is much to be done to restore the damaged earth. Lord Glorfindel informs us that the eagles, and probably the bears will return tonight, for the last time. Then it is up to us to deal with the remains however we may. A brief archery practice was held earlier; all who participated were glad to have done so, but many were tired swiftly and several bewail that they seem to have lost their edge.’

‘It will come back to them, I am sure.’

‘Indeed. Those warriors who were called before the king are greatly improved both emotionally and physically, but many are no concerned for his majesty’s well being.’

‘I will see there is an official statement tomorrow. Thank you, Commander. Is there anything more?’

‘Just one thing, your highness. As I have said, the eagles return for the last time tonight. Many of the company intend to watch the spectacle, and I wondered whether you would like to accompany me – us, that is?’

‘Commander, I would be delighted. In the meantime…’

‘Oh, in the meantime…’ Govon brought in the buckler and secured the opening to the pavilion. ‘I think my standing orders were to give you as much of my time as you needed?’

‘Well, now you mention it…’ Legolas tried to keep his face still, but his eyes danced. ‘I seem to have left my bedroll somewhere…’

‘Then let me help you locate it, your highness…’


	130. Adrift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which King Thranduil hears voices...

_  
Voices, there were voices, some nearer, some more distant. The one he heard the clearest was perhaps the one he wanted to hear the least; it spoke of a way back from this peaceful place behind the pain, a way to cross the barriers without feeling the agonies, without bursting open his paritially-healed wounds again…_

_Until the voice had told him that, he had not realised it had been happening…_

_The voice, Glorfindel’s voice, was knowing, insistent and difficult to refuse._

_He kept refusing anyway._

_The others, the ones with more to say of interest, they were fainter, they drifted in and out of clarity at first. He really had wanted to hear what Arveldir was telling him, but all he grasped were a few half-phrases about Legolas having the makings of a fine leader… good to know, but why would he have to be?_

_And Legolas himself, his voice deep and hushed and the words slow. But the things he spoke, not anything like the conversations they had at home…_

_‘Adar, do you remember, when we were younger? And you took us all up, in turn, onto your elk with you… it was not Nelleron then, it was Ithilion, the white-coated elk who glistened like moonlight… I felt so tall, so high sat before you and you told us, this was what a king did, sat high above everyone, not to look down on them, but to see farther than they could and so note their dangers first and have time to protect them… you’re still trying to do that, Adar, to see farther into the fëar of your warriors and protect them from their injuries… but not one of them wants to heal at the expense of your pain, Adar…’_

_Another time, Nestoril talking to him while she made him drink. At least, she said that was what she was doing; he was not aware of it himself…_

_‘Yes, a little more… Lord Glorfindel advises against too much of the sedative lest it hamper your waking. We need you strong, my king, for we must break camp in two days and you will be moving…’_

_Arveldir, once more._

_‘So here I begin my official report of the day’s events. It is the evening of the twentieth of June, and Prince Tharmeduil is still away with two of the Court Guard and we do not know when he will be back… Commander Govon knew of the possibility of the mission – for so he calls it, while Commander Esgaron would rather refer to it as an excursion… Lord Erestor spends much of the working day with me, under orders of our prince, who says that it is the best way for him to learn the differences between being advisor to a lord and to a great king… tonight will be the last night of the eagles’ visits, and so tomorrow there will be much work disposing of the last of the carcasses…’_

_Thranduil’s attention wandered. While he was intrigued to hear about Arveldir and Erestor, he was not at all interested in the dragons’ remains. When his mind came back, Arveldir had moved on._

_‘…archery practice. It seems to have gone well. As reported earlier, Prince Legolas is doing a fine job, if only he would remember I can advise him as I do you, at least while he carries your mantle… but, my king, for all he is diligent and fair and pleasant, he is not you… we need you, sire, we do indeed…’_

_Arveldir’s plea stirred him, reached him in a way that made it harder than ever to refuse the next voice: Glorfindel, again…_

_‘Lord King, perhaps you do not know how your people love you? How it hurts them to see you so? It is particularly difficult for those whom you touched and healed… they feel responsible for your suffering, since you tried to take theirs upon yourself… There is a thing I can do, your majesty, and I will attempt it tomorrow. I tell you now so that you will know, when the time comes, what is happening… you must let Nestoril and Feril attend you, Lord King, and try to drink and eat and if you feel pain, try not to let your wounds break. Try to bear the sorrow in your mind, and not in your flesh, or the damage may be irreparable…’_

_Thranduil did not approve such instructions. He had no wish to bear any more sorrow… but yet, if his warriors were feeling worse instead of better, what had been the point of this?_

_Once more, Legolas._

_‘I have just sat with Govon and others of the company along the riverbank to watch for the eagles. They have been taking from the remains of the dragons, but this was to be the last time. It was an amazing sight, to see these great birds of the line of Thorondor still surviving in the mountains, and so much bigger than the common eagles… Ada, will you drink some of this for me? It will ease you… there. A little more? Good… and where was I? I remember… Arwen jokingly said that we should ask the eagles to fly us all home, by way of thanks for providing such a feast, but Commander Esgaron thought she meant it and began to ask about the horses and the equipment until Lord Glorfindel said that the great eagles do not often involve themselves in the affairs of elves these days… Ai, but it was splendid to see them, Adar… but will you not come back, Ada?’_

_Thranduil thought he felt a touch, as light as a breath of thought, across his hair._

_‘We miss you. I feel the need of your wisdom, your decisiveness. For all I have learned from you, I am not you, and I cannot make them listen to me as you can; I am having to find my own way and it is a challenge. But at least I have Govon to talk to about it. There is more of this concoction of Nestoril’s, she promises it is good for you, here… Understand, I do not mind them seeing me as leader; but I know now how hard you work to keep us safe, all the time… and I will gladly help you, Ada, but I am adrift in all this new protocol…’_

_A sigh._

_‘That aside, Govon has been made Keeper of Tharmeduil’s Records, and we looked over them together earlier… much is obscure, some things have come to pass – you, Ada, bleeding and breaking out into more blood… but one thing. Tomorrow, you wake up. We break camp next day, and there is a drawing of you on Nelleron, being led across the bridge, and all things point to it being now; Glorfindel is amongst our party, but Thiriston and Canadion are not… Tomorrow, after the morning meal is done, you wake up and we have a day to get you well enough to ride.’_

_Bells, there were bells, and why could he hear a smell, a warm, moist, beast smell as if the breeze was full of animals… something against his right cheek, tickling, soft, and he smiled and rose up towards it, but a sudden memory of despair tugged him back down…_

_Time seemed to pass. There were more intervals and more requests to drink, different voices, and then the demanding voice again, Glorfindel’s decisive tones._

_‘It is time, King Thranduil. It seems in the night your wounds opened again – from this we know you wish to return, but the pain stops you. If this is going to happen anyway, you might just as well wake up so that we may talk to you and support you…’_

_No. Thranduil wanted to protest, to argue that this was not at all the case…_

_‘So here. You will feel my touch on your head,’ Glorfindel insisted. ‘The pressure of my fingers and all around you will brighten. You will see the way past the pain…’_

_The peaceful place became less peaceful. Thranduil’s twilight realm grew clearer, incorporated colour and texture. Ahead was a barrier, a wall of darkness, a thunderhead of roiling clouds of distress and anguish… but there was a fainter place, as if the bleakness was pushed back and he realised that if he headed towards it, he might see a way in…_

_Almost without knowing he had done so Thranduil found himself on the edge of the darkness. It billowed and twisted and so much of it was thick and agonised, and so much of him wanted to respond…_

_And there was a lantern._

_No, not a lantern, a figure, a bright white shape, not on the far side of the pain but through it, and it called to him in words he could understand and hear, not simply sense and be aware of…_

_‘Thranduil. Here is the way through. You have done this before, I know you have; it is only what I have done myself. Come. It is not so far, not really. Do this and you may rest.’_

_And it was not so far._

_The pain rose up around him, roared and demanded him, but he walked through it and he realised the voice, Glorfindel’s voice, Glorfindel in all his shining Eldar self was right; he had done this before._

_In the same way that he could withdraw behind his kingly mask, so, at times, when it had all become too much, he withdrew behind another mask. It muffled him, blanketed him, so that nothing he felt was felt as strongly as normal. It all evened out at a low level of sadness where he could function until such time as he regained his energies… Depression, Nestoril called it. Withdrawing was how he perceived it._

_And, in a sense, that was what had happened this time; he had withdrawn behind the pain, but he had gone too far through, passed through too much of it all at once and so trying to recover brought back the actual, physical symptoms of his injuries._

_Glorfindel was star-bright, shining, and Thranduil advanced towards him, and the dark clouds parted, closed in after him._

_He felt the weight of grief overhead; Arwen’s lament for her lost future life. That it was unlikely to have been as happy as she thought it would did not matter; in her heart, all would have been perfect, and her hopes were shattered when the dragons came._

_Her pain, absorbed accidentally when she had impulsively reached out to take Thranduil’s hand, swirled around him and he released it. Really, Arwen’s distress was not his fault._

_Around, above, the clouds lightened fractionally. He allowed himself to be distracted, to see into the heart of the dread…  
‘Thranduil. Come, do not falter now.’_

_Oh, there was Legolas… hurling himself at a dragon as if his life no longer mattered… Thranduil’s fault, he had told him, one of the warriors was dead, and Govon was dead, and Iauron was dead, and the weight of all that death had made his fine, bright son despair…_

_That was most certainly Thranduil’s fault._

_Yet Govon lived, and Legolas was happy again… except he was leading them? Why was he leading them?_

_He found the brightness of Glorfindel’s ancient fëa was nearer; Thranduil had moved further amongst the clouds of darkness._

_Because Iauron was ill and Tharmeduil was gone and Thranduil would not wake up._

_Wake up._

*

‘Wake up!’

Thranduil’s breath shuddered and he felt himself convulse and shake. There were hands pressing his shoulders, and as he gasped and panted and tried to focus his eyes, he realised the voice in his head was not the one he had just heard, but that of Nestoril, and it came again.

‘Thranduil, please, you must wake up…!’

Thranduil woke up.


	131. Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arveldir can't find the prince, Erestor makes a suggestion to Govn, and Legolas is called to the infirmary

‘Legolas? Your highness, are you sleeping?’

The voice was very quiet, Legolas thought, distantly hearing it as he swam up from reverie. At his side in the confines of the small tent, Govon twitched and stirred, stretching languidly against his fea-mate and Legolas smiled at the bump of groin against hip. 

Last night they had been up very late; after watching the flight of eagles, Legolas had sat with his father for a while, talking, hoping to reach him,   
somehow. Then, as he still hadn’t had the heart to move his bedroll away from Govon’s he had returned to the small tent and his beloved’s waiting arms.

So they had been up another hour after they had retired, and…

‘Your highness? Are you there?’

Surely that was Arveldir? But it was still very early, too early to be calling for him. And so quiet, it was almost as if the advisor was talking to the wrong person…

‘Legolas? Pardon the intrusion, but…’ There was a brief pause. ‘He is not here, Erestor!’

Govon’s eyes opened and held all Legolas’ attention anyway.

‘That’s because you’re here, with me,’ his fëa-mate whispered softly. 

‘We must find him!’ Arveldir could be heard saying. ‘Where would he be?’

An expression of guilt flitted across Legolas’ face, making Govon grin.

‘Go,’ he said softly. ‘It’s only the advisors; they’ll understand.’

‘Clothes, I’ll need a moment…’

Govon shook his head.

‘Stay, get dressed; I’ll go.’ The Commander bundled his bedding around his middle and crawled out of the tent. ‘Arveldir? What’s wrong?’

‘The prince is not in his quarters and he is needed in the infirmary at once!’

‘He’ll be there in a moment.’

‘But where can he be? It looks as if his bedroll has not even been… Oh. Good morning, your highness. I am sorry to disturb you…’

Legolas had emerged from the tent, still pulling on his shirt and tunic. 

‘I don’t sleep in the pavilion; it’s too big for one. What’s the matter?’

‘Can you come to the infirmary? Nestoril needs you.’

‘I just need my boots; I will head straight there.’

‘I will walk you across; perhaps I need to explain something to you about your position in the camp… Erestor, mellon-nin, would you mind talking to the   
commander on the same topic?’

‘I…? Oh, of course… But, Commander, if you wish first to dress?’

‘Perhaps I’d better.’ Govon grinned. ‘It’s hardly seemly to be getting a scold when all I’m wearing is bedding, now, is it?’

‘Commander, I have neither the wish nor the right to scold…’ 

Erestor’s voice followed him as Govon returned to the tent. No doubt whatever it was Erestor was about to say to him would be similar to Arveldir’s words to Legolas… a lecture on the impropriety of spending the entire night with one’s avowed fëa-mate, Govon supposed. 

As he pulled on leggings and footwear and shirt, he wondered how Arveldir, or Erestor for that matter, would manage to deliver such a speech without considering the true meaning of the word ‘hypocrisy’.

‘Lord Erestor, I am sure his highness would not object if we talked in the pavilion?’ he suggested, emerging from his tent, and Erestor nodded and followed him to the larger accommodation next door.

There being only one real seat and feeling himself to have some right to do so, Govon sat on the pallet and gestured Erestor to the chair.

‘Please, speak freely, my lord.’

‘I… oh, this is difficult! I have no wish to offend and I realise my own situation…’

‘I suppose it’s actually a little like my own,’ Govon offered, feeling some sympathy for the dark-haired advisor whose expression was rapidly becoming unhappy. ‘You’re in love with an advisor; I’m in love with a prince… the difference is…’

‘The differences are many, and all would point to your right to be with your prince. He is, after all, really yours, whereas I cannot help but feel mine is only borrowed…’ 

Erestor smiled, the expression softening his stern features.

‘But your prince has gone from being third in the succession with no thought of ever having to lead to the position of regent so swiftly, there are bound to be unexpected issues…’

‘And while it is all very well for a commander of the guard to be with a comparatively minor royal who has no intention of ruling, for a simple warrior, a soldier to be partnered with the regent is a very different thing…’

‘That was not at all what I meant, or wished to say, or even thought, Commander!’ Erestor said quickly. ‘My meaning was that his change of role means that we need to be able to find him at once, at any hour… much as Lord Arveldir is available to the king at any and every hour…’

‘And so my luring him to my tent is not appropriate. I do see your point…’

‘And I rather doubt there was any luring involved…’ The advisor smiled again. ‘But is there any reason why you cannot both lodge in here? There is ample   
space, and it is, after all, where we now expect the prince to be…’

‘But of course we cannot! It would be… and then… but he is…’

‘So, no reason, I take it, except that most important and yet ridiculous reason of all, what people might think?’

‘I would not wish any to think I was encroaching on his highness’ ability to lead… or to think him distracted from the care of the camp by our proximity…’

‘And yet, with you at his side he is far more confident. Then again, I saw him in those hours after the dragons, when he feared you dead. He led us then with dignity and courage and strength. Is there something more here that I am not aware of? Is it simply not done for the warriors of Mirkwood to partner   
amongst the civilians?’

‘No… but there is a little awkwardness…’

‘And the best way to deal with the little awkwardnesses, my friend, is to ensure they do not become big difficulties later, entombed in tradition and   
legitimised by the passage of time. Commander, for the sake of the camp if not for the sake of both your fëar, it is almost your duty to remove your belongings into here… would you like me to help you with the task?’ 

*

Arveldir waited for the prince to find his boots and then fell into step beside him as they headed towards the infirmary.

‘What was it you wanted to say about my position in the camp, Arveldir?’ Legolas asked. ‘That I have a duty to behave as befits the regent, with proper   
decorum?’

‘It is my opinion that your behaviour has been exemplary, your highness, excepting the way you refuse to share your private space with your avowed fëa-mate…’ 

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Well, that is how it appears… far be it from me to try to tell you how to manage your affairs, but…’

‘Arveldir! Do you really think this is what I want? All this skulking around trying to be discreet? I do not know how it is for you and your friend, but the last thing I want is to spend time apart from him when we could be together. But what has this to do with anything?’

‘It would make it far easier for us to know where you are, your highness, if you would but let Govon share your quarters…’

‘I see.’ Legolas took a deep, steadying breath. ‘Well, I have no objections to sharing quarters with Govon, mine or his, I do not care which.’

‘If we know to seek you in your pavilion, your highness, that will be much simpler. Good. And now that is settled, I wish you a good day, my prince.’

And Arveldir turned swiftly on his heel and walked away, leaving Legolas wondering exactly what had just happened…

He barely had time to process the conversation and realise that, actually, it was probably going to be a big improvement, when he found himself outside the king’s chamber and Nestoril waiting to intercept him.

‘He has awoken, Legolas, your father woke up! But… oh, it was not easy for him, and there was more blood and… well. His wounds have been treated and   
he has asked for you repeatedly. It is only now that he is well enough for you to… be wary, Legolas. Lord Glorfindel is with him.’

Legolas entered with caution and stood looking at his father.

Always pale, Thranduil now looked as if he were bathed in moonlight, lying propped on pillows and with his eyes closed. A dressing covered the wreckage   
of the left side of his face, but the wound on his arm was undressed; it looked like raw meat, a stark contrast to the milk of the uninjured skin. The bedding had been arranged to cover him but leave his hip and leg bare to show where a lighter dressing than previously had been applied to the wounds and was lightly dappled with pink.

Glorfindel, attending, looked up at Legolas and nodded briefly.

‘I will be just outside, should he need anything.’

‘My thanks.’ 

Legolas stood at the bedside and took his father’s right hand in his.

‘Ada? They say you are back with us, but you do not look very awake…’

Thranduil’s lips curved upwards.

‘So tired, ‘las… but you’ve been… all alone, in charge?’

‘No, Adar. Not alone. Lord Glorfindel has helped, and I have Govon…’

The king’s bright eyes opened and stared at his youngest son.

‘You look…’

His thought trailed off. 

‘If you were going to say I look tired, Adar, it’s because I was up half the night watching the eagles. And then called early with the news you had   
awoken…’

‘Taller. I was, in fact, about to say you look taller. Perhaps you hold yourself more proudly than I remember, it is not important. Except that I am very glad   
to see you once more, ion-nin…’

‘Ada? You’re not usually so effusive… I’m worried, now…’

Thranduil almost managed to laugh.

‘Ai… I have had almost too much time for thinking… it is not a good occupation…’ Thranduil paused to wave a hand towards a jug of water and a beaker set nearby. ‘They tell me to drink. Would you help me?’

‘Of course.’ 

Legolas turned quickly away to do as requested; his father never asked for anything, he simply told you to do things… now he really was worried…   
He made his face be smiling and unconcerned as he helped his father to drink.

‘Everything’s well, in the camp, Adar. We’ve started training again; the warriors feel better for it.’

‘Good. And we break camp tomorrow?’

‘The sooner we get ourselves off this eyot the better; it is too small for the size of events that have happened here. We will not go far at first, just to the   
plain.’

Thranduil sighed, though whether at the thought of travelling or from exhaustion Legolas couldn’t say.

‘You’re tired, Adar. Was there anything in particular you wanted me for, or did you just wish to make sure people were still willing to jump whenever you   
give an order?’

The king raised an eyebrow.

‘Both, if you must know… Legolas, Arwen is very unhappy.’

‘Well, it’s not surprising, really.’

‘The disappointment in her father is something she will have to learn to live with… but the disappointment she feels for the loss of her future with   
Iauron… perhaps there you might help her, ion-nin. Perhaps reassure her that she is quite pretty, really, and when she allows herself to be so, an entertaining companion. Her sense of humour is deplorable, of course… antler warmers, indeed…! But, still, for a time she is in our care and we should   
try to make things easier for her.’

‘I’ll try, father.’

‘Good. Now go and talk to Glorfindel who will no doubt tell you all the things about my condition which I want to know but that Nestoril will not let him tell me…’ The king broke off. ‘I think I am tired again…’

‘Rest, then, Ada. I’ll talk to Arwen. Ada…? I’m glad you’re back. We missed you.’

*

Nestoril and Glorfindel both were waiting for Legolas to emerge. At once Nestoril went in to the king, laying her hand swiftly on Legolas’ arm in passing and giving him her bright smile.

Glorfindel waited for Nestoril to disappear behind the canvas and then tipped his head to smile at Legolas.

‘Will you walk with me, your highness?’

‘Gladly. I am pleased to have my father back; we owe you a great debt, my lord.’

They left the infirmary and wandered towards the eastward bridge to look across the river.

‘It is a strange thing, but being able to help another somehow gives value to one’s own suffering. Once I was trapped in a similar darkness to that which   
held your father. My recognition of it, and the blessings the Valar heaped on me before sending me back, enabled me to help him. In so doing, I released   
a little of my own burden of remembered pain.’

‘He may never thank you himself, my lord; it is simply not his way…’

Glorfindel smiled, his eyes lit by some distant memory.

‘Your highness, it is the way of great kings to thank their servants and their staff. But it is the manner of very great kings that they do not; no thanks need be spoken for their appreciation is always known. Thus with your father.’

‘Well, it is my way to express my thanks, and I do. But really, I am still concerned… should I be?’

‘He is weak from loss of blood, but his heart is strong and while despair tries to grasp his mind, he knows how to repulse it… none of which is an answer.   
He is tired, and he is weak, and his spirit may falter yet. Nestoril and I believe we should try to keep him sedated – becalmed, if you will. He is in no manner fit to take charge yet.’

‘I understand. But simply knowing he is back gives me all I need to keep acting on his behalf.’

‘I am pleased to hear it, your highness. And were there any absolute need, he may now be consulted, at least.’

‘Thank you. I know my father – indeed, all our injured – are in good hands, my lord. Send for me at need. I will pass the news around the breakfast cook   
fire that the king has returned.’

A look of alarm passed behind Glorfindel’s eyes and Legolas shook his head quickly.

‘No, do not worry, there will not be a horde of visitors wishing to speak with him! But our warriors are anxious and I would allay their fears. After breakfast, I will be at the command centre or will leave word there where I am to be found. Seek me at need.’


	132. Beige to Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arwen is feeling beige...

Arwen came out of reverie and back into the greyness of the world. The light outside was bright, but the sky was not; it was wreathed with cloud. Inside  
the large tent she shared with Feril, the light was diluted and dulled further by the canvas. Not grey, at least.

Beige.

There was a place for beige, she supposed. As a background colour, a neutral tone, it could provide a good foil for other colours. 

But it was not how you should feel, if you felt like a colour. You should feel like yellow, or blue, or pink. 

But not beige.

Sadly, though, it was how Arwen felt this morning. Infected by the light and by a sense of loneliness not all the gentle conversation of Feril could adequately drive away, Arwen felt beige.

Besides, she was, quite literally, alone at the moment. Feril was spending a lot of time in the infirmary, trying to take some of the pressure off Nestoril by attending the less-significantly injured warriors. Arwen had done so too, at first, but now there were not so many, she, with her limited knowledge, was no longer really needed.

There! In a nutshell, that was it. Nobody needed her, and so she felt useless, in the way, a burden… and a stranger.

At least she had friends from Imladris with her here, but they all seemed to have found their places very quickly; Glorfindel doubly in demand for his warrior’s wisdom and his gifts of healing, Erestor advising and liaising and bringing new understandings… Feril already had her healing duties… 

All Arwen had done was touch Thranduil’s hand, a gesture of friendship and compassion and he had clutched at her fingers and gone into some kind of fit, and while she had called and called for help, still she had had to witness the awfulness of his wounds breaking open and blood flooding out… she should be used to such sights, being a healer’s daughter, but nothing she had ever seen in Rivendell had prepared her for this, and somehow, she could not quite believe it was not her fault…

The memory changed the colour of her thoughts red. Beige was probably better than all that blood, she supposed…

There was a sound from outside, a jangling of the string of bells she’d hung outside to serve as a door knocker… She had a visitor!

Although probably it would simply be someone looking for Feril.

‘Yes?’ she called out.

‘It’s Legolas. Are you busy, Arwen?’

‘Oh… not at all… please, step in!’

She pulled aside the opening of the tent and hooked it back, and daylight flooded in, banishing the beige and bringing with it the shining pale gold of Legolas’ hair shimmering in the outside sunlight.

‘The cloud’s burned off. It’s going to be another lovely day,’ Legolas said. ‘And we wondered – Govon and I – if you’d like to join us for breakfast?’

‘Breakfast?’ she repeated. ‘That is, thank you! I would like that… if I won’t be intruding?’

‘Well, it’s hardly a private cooking fire… but Govon’s commandeered the best seats for us. I’ve got an announcement to make to the company, as many of them as I can gather together at once. But I thought you deserved to know first – only keep this to yourself for a little while, yes?’

‘Yes, of course! What is it?’

‘Well, my father’s awake. He’s tired, of course, but quite himself. We talked for a time, and I left him in good heart.’

‘Oh, thank the Valar!’ Arwen gave a sniff and a shrug. ‘You cannot know how awful I have felt – it was while I was with him that…’

Legolas hastily rearranged what he knew of the facts ad freely ignored what he knew had happened. 

‘And it is well that you were – can you imagine if the fit had come upon him while he was by himself? But you were there, and you summoned aid instantly, probably saving valuable time.’

‘Do you think so?’ she asked.

‘Arwen, my father particularly mentioned you to me,’ Legolas said. ‘So. Come. Eat indifferent breakfast in company with me and Govon and share our secret for a little while. Will you do so?’

She smiled.

‘Yes, of course I can keep your secret! Lead on, Legolas!’

*

It was like being part of a select club, Arwen thought, finding a seat next to Erestor and with Legolas and Govon to her other side. As she settled, Arveldir joined them, taking his place beside Erestor and smiling. There was no doubt in her mind that all of them there were in on the secret of Thranduil’s recovery and it added savour to the lembas, cheese and dried fruit that made up the meal. 

The mood amongst them was calmly cheerful, with Legolas smiling and teasing his fëa-mate lightly about sharing quarters; it was as if a weight was off him, and he smiled when Arveldir addressed him on some matter of business to do with the breaking of camp.

‘Yes, I am sure none of us who are able to walk will begrudge use of our horses to those who are less able. We should suggest that the commanders make their mounts available, also, unlike when we were in the forest…’

‘Indeed, my prince, there is less need where we have so much space around us for the commanders to be on horseback… my prince? Why do you look at me so?’

‘That’s twice in one sentence. I am relieved, that is all. I am no longer ‘your highness’, I am ‘my prince’ again. It is far less formal and much more what I am used to!’

‘You are, of course, still regent…’

‘I know. But it is less of a burden today.’

The sky above was blue now, the sun bright, turning the sandy rocks of the eyot to gold, gilding the edges of the metal plates and burnishing the camp with light, and there was not a drop of beige to be seen.

Arwen relaxed.

‘Govon? It might be best from you?’ Legolas said.

‘If you wish. Lady Arwen, would you care to join us later for our evening meal, such as it is?’

‘Oh… that’s very kind! Everyone is being so very friendly today… thank you, I will.’

‘As for that, my lady, I hope you know there has been no intention not to be friendly, it is but that…’

‘Commander Govon. You have had dragons and chaos and injured kings and fallen warriors to keep you busy! I have felt very welcome here and I quite understand that the safety of the camp and its king has to come first…’

‘Perhaps, my prince, now is a good time?’ Arveldir put in. ‘Shall I pass word?’

Legolas nodded. ‘Please do.’

Arveldir rose to his feet and crossed to speak to Esgaron, at the far end of the circle. The commander nodded, and called his warriors to order, sending a runner off to round up any who were not around the breakfast cook fires.

Soon all the warriors had gathered, the commanders each going to their command, and Legolas stood to address them.

‘My father our king is not one to make speeches often,’ he began. ‘And I have no wish to be the kind of regent who is constantly addressing his company.  
But today I make an exception since you will wish to know the news, the good news. Our king has awoken…’

He paused, waiting for the murmurs to die down, noting the smiles and the relief, seeing how so many held themselves taller, lifted their chins, braced their shoulders.

‘He has awoken and we have talked together. He thanks you for your concern for his well-being. The healers tell me he is not yet fully back to his strength, and so you must still look to me for leadership over the next few days. But I, in turn, am now able to look to my father the king once more. The healers ask that you do not petition to see him; he must rest. Today, however, we must work. We must clean and repair the plain where you all fought so valiantly, so that it is restored when our king rides out tomorrow. I will make sure updates are placed in the command centre through the day for those of you who wish to enquire. Go to your work with lighter hearts than you did yesterday, and know this: our king is honoured by our service.’

Legolas nodded to Arveldir who stepped forward to field the many questions that suddenly came from the company. Erestor joined him, and the two made a very useful blockade behind which Legolas, Govan and Arwen were able to retreat.

‘What does the day hold for you, Legolas?’ Arwen enquired as they escorted her back towards her pavilion.

‘I will be at the command centre for a time, but I would hope to cross to the plain and help with the work,’ he said. ‘If it would not be considered unfitting to my status, Govon?’

‘That is surely not for me to say – but I would say, we will need all the help we can get…’

‘Why? What needs doing?’ Awen asked.

‘The remains of our camp to be cleared away – there are odd bits of belongings still scattered here and there – a pit to be dug for the last of the bones of the dragons, hard work indeed that will be… and a mound raised over them so that the ground can begin to heal…’ Govon replied, then turned in an aside to his fëa-mate. There is a Silvan ritual, a cleansing of the ground which some of the warriors would like to have done, Legolas, did I say?’

‘You didn’t, but by all means. If it helps our warriors, and the ground, to feel better, then proceed.’

‘Can I not help with the clearing up?’ Arwen suggested. ‘I have leggings and a proper hide tunic – and I have never been afraid of hard work!’


	133. Hidden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas digs and Arwen finds something out...

Mid-afternoon, and Legolas straightened up and stretched out his back.

Around him other elves kept working, or paused to lean on shovels, or rubbed hands across the backs of necks.

Tinuon, digging a few feet away from him, paused in his own work and grinned.

‘I heard you say, ‘I can dig,’ my prince, but I did not realise you meant it!’ he said, wiping the back of a grimy hand across his brow.

‘Well, there are too many others who cannot dig, or not for long, and so why not do what I can?’ 

‘Because you are a prince, my prince!’ Tinuon shrugged and grinned again. ‘Your father our king would not dig.’

‘Indeed not! He is the king. And yesterday, I would not, for I was regent and the sole representative here of the royal house of Mirkwood. But now my father our king is awake, even though I am still prince regent, I am no longer our only royal.’

‘Even so, and pardon the liberty, but I am Court Guard and you are court… I think you should stop, my prince.’

‘But why, Tinuon? I like to dig, to turn the earth… Why should I stop?’

‘Because the wound on your arm, which you have been pretending is not there today, is now bleeding and staining your shirt and if my Commander sees that I have let you continue…’

‘Is it so?’ Legolas twisted to look. ‘You are right, Captain! But I had no idea, no sense of the pain…’

‘Will you go to the healers, then? For my sake, if not your own, your Govon…’

‘Very well, I will. See? I set aside my shovel and I am leaving…’

He made his way towards the bridge, walking slowly across the plain as his arm really began to throb and smart… Tinuon was right, he probably should not even have been digging… but in spite of the best efforts of eagles, bear-like creatures, and the smaller carrion birds of the plains, there was still a lot of dead dragon to bury…

The pit was big enough, now, but not quite deep enough yet. It did not matter if the dragons would mound up above the plain – they would be a fitting monument to the fallen – but they would have to be sufficiently covered with the spoil of the pit to be properly hidden and so there had to be enough earth to cover them with… there had been talk of burning the remains, but that was too much like the pyres of the warriors, and dragon flesh was unlike the light, delicate bodies of elves and would take far longer to burn, and do so with unpleasant aromas, and that would not do…  
Arwen hailed him, coming over with her arms full of a miscellany of items. He waved, remembering to use his good arm, and went to intercept her.

‘Commander Bregon asked me to carry these back to the eyot – they are belongings of some of the warriors who will be glad to have them back, he says. All the rest, that which cannot be identified or claimed or bits of squashed tent – they will go into the ground with the dragon carcasses… Oh, Legolas! You’re bleeding!’

‘So I was told, and that is why I have stopped work. I think you should escort me to the infirmary, don’t you? Perhaps you could dress the wound, if Feril and   
Nestoril are busy?’

‘I would be glad to…’ She shifted the bundle in her arms awkwardly and they set off towards the bridge and the eyot. ‘I am looking forward to joining you for supper tonight… you and your personal guard Govon? And I remember you prompted him to ask me, was that for the benefit of the others, so they did not think it inappropriate for you to ask me?’

Legolas laughed.

‘Ai, Arwen… I forgot you would not know! Or, at least, I assumed someone would have said, since so many here do like to talk… do you remember, at the   
welcoming feast, you were talking to Govon and he mentioned a fëa-mate?’ 

‘Well, yes… will she be here, also? Do I know her, will I finally find out who…?’

‘This is not so simple as I thought…’ Legolas smiled ruefully. ‘Govon’s fëa-mate is not an elleth… in fact, he and I are avowed…’

Arwen’s jaw dropped.

‘I remember now!’ she said, finally. ‘Iauron told me, you had found somebody and were happy… and there was much of he and his in the tale and nothing of she and her… I remarked it, and, well, you understand me… I suppose I should have put it together, as Govon had told me about his spider bites and Iauron told me how you met when your melleth was ill… but I did not make the connection! I suppose it is because Govon is such a… such a powerful and strong figure and in his war paint…’

‘I am sure he will be pleased at your approval of his power and strength!’ Legolas shook his head. ‘For me, it was his eyes that held me. I worried about him, all the time I was caring for him.’

‘Talking of caring… you head to the infirmary, I’ll drop these somewhere… somewhere…’

‘The command centre’s a good place. Explain to whoever has the watch. I’ll wash in the river, first, and then meet you.’ 

He headed down the riverbank to a shallow spot downriver of where they drew their water. Other elves from the clean-up crews had the same idea, and there were several warriors in the water, trying to remove the dry, dusty earth and other, less pleasant marks of work.

Clean again, he dried off on his shirt and pulled his leggings on, gaining the top of the bank as Arwen was leaving the command tent.

She waited at the bank for him, her eyes on the burns to his arm.

‘I can’t think why you haven’t had a caul silk dressing, you know…’

‘Because I didn’t need one, last time this was tended.’

‘Well, you do now!’

‘Others need it more; really, Arwen, I promise you…’

‘Legolas?’ 

Govon’s keen eyes had spotted him from across the eyot, and he now loped across.

‘I was going to ask why you were baring your body in public, but then I saw the blood… what happened?’

‘I think your fëa-mate was digging too hard!’ Arwen said, noting that Govon flinched at the title. ‘And I am taking him to the infirmary now. Would you like to help?’

‘Indeed, I would!’ He fell into step on Legolas’ other side, taking his shirt and tunic from him to carry. ‘So the truth is out, and we are unmasked, melleth-nin?’

‘Truly, I think Arwen is the last to know about us…’

‘And now I remember the way you two looked at each other when I was asking you about your fëa-mate, Govon!’ Arwen said. ‘Well. Here we are.’

Inside the infirmary, Nestoril rose from behind her desk.

‘Whatever has happened, my prince? You have not been attempting your father’s mystical sympathetic magic, have you?’

‘No, of course not,’ he grinned. ‘I’ve been digging a pit for the dragons, and I did not notice…’

‘You are such a pe-channas…’ Govon muttered.

‘Well, let me see…’

‘Actually, Nestoril,’ Legolas put in, ‘Arwen offered to help…’

‘Let me show you where the dressings are kept now, then.’

*

Once Legolas had been properly bound and lectured and sent out of the infirmary, Govon insisted he escort him to his quarters.

‘And see that he stays there,’ Nestoril said sternly. ‘Arwen, my dear friend, if you are not busy, I have a task or two…’

‘I would be glad to help, Nestoril…’

‘Arwen’s mood is brighter,’ Govon noted as they left. ‘Almost we didn’t need to ask her to supper.’

‘Almost. But I think she needs more than a feeling of being useful to lift her spirits properly. I am sure we are doing the right thing.’

‘As long as she doesn’t decide to ask us lots of curious questions…’

‘What in the name of all the Valar has happened here?’ Legolas demanded, coming to a stop outside his pavilion.

Its opening flaps had been spread wide and pinned back, and inside things looked a little different…

The narrow, single pallet had, from somewhere, acquired a companion piece and both had been moved to the rear of the pavilion with an accretion of bedding. Two bedrolls were stacked at the side, and Legolas’ travelling chest had been moved through, along with Govon’s saddle bags and spare weapons. A curtain of thin fabric had been strung across the pavilion, and would draw shut to hide the new sleeping area, and the foreground now had two chairs behind the folding table, a lantern, and a bench set in front of it for visitors. Writing materials were laid out on the table and a water skin and small rations chest were at the side.

‘I assume Lord Arveldir had a talk to you earlier about your position in the camp?’ Govon asked.

‘Indeed, and he pointed out to me that it looked bad that I didn’t share my quarters with you, but we both know…’

‘Yes, melleth, we both know it is not what you want. And Erestor pointed out to me, that if we continue to behave according how other people want us to, then   
we will never really be able to behave as we want us to. But I had not expected this.’

The small tent was still in place, not an arm’s length from the pavilion, and Govon ducked to look inside it.

‘Everything has been moved, except for the groundsheet… and…’ He dropped to his knees for a moment and fumbled around under the edges of the groundsheet, looking for something. ‘Ah, here it is… and this.’

‘And what might it be that you have kept so well hidden?’

Govon covered the item with his hands and came to stand outside the pavilion. 

‘Bring in the buckler, unhook the opening, draw the curtain and sit with me and I will show you.’ He smiled as he followed Legolas through to the doubled   
pallets. ‘And then later you can see what was hidden in the tent.’


	134. Gift, Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Govon has something for Legolas...

‘This has saved me some time.’ Govon said, stroking his finger down Legolas’ sternum. ‘You are already half-undressed, my fair elf. Although it is a pleasure, to uncover you for myself…’

Legolas caught his breath as Govon’s finger burned a line of ice down his skin and he felt the rise and surge of response heating his blood. He spoke, while he still had breath to spare for words.

‘But you are altogether far too well-clad, friend captain…’

Legolas undid Govon’s tunic and pushed it off his shoulders, tugged the shirt out of his leggings and slid his hands beneath to ride the warm, smooth skin of the body beneath. His hands found the ridges of ribs, the undulations of Govon’s abdominals, the hard, strong pectorals.

And all the while, Govon’s finger drifted lower to linger at the boundary between the bare flesh of the prince’s hips and the waistband of his leggings.

Suddenly Govon’s hands were on his back, everywhere stroking and touching, and Govon’s mouth was on his, and Legolas closed his eyes to drink in the sensation of hands and lips and tongue, to feel the breath glancing across his face and his own hands worked at the lacings of Govon’s shirt, slipped down inside the back waistband of his leggings to cup his buttocks, filling his palms with the rounded, firm weight of muscle and Govon broke the kiss to gasp and bite at his neck, releasing his hold on his fair elf to tug his own shirt off while Legolas continued to stroke and pull Govon against him. 

The touch of the warm tongue and lips at his throat caused Legolas to throw his head back and groan, to pull Govon nearer and to lower himself to the mattress, bringing his lover with him and pushing away the leggings and the rest of their clothing until suddenly they were both naked, Govon stretched on top of his fair elf, his hair draped across them both and the burn of skin against skin, the thud of their hearts beating, the rise of their need swelling around them both to fold them in a delirium of want.

Govon pulled back for a moment, pushing himself onto his elbows and looking down at his beloved, the change of position making the throb of his growing erection more urgent against his melleth’s groin. The prince’s startlingly blue eyes looked back, full of the heat of desire and the warmth of love, and Govon felt his heart might burst inside him, overflowing with tenderness for this so fair elf, the one his fëa wanted even before he had seen him, the one he needed, who, somehow, needed him.

Holding this sense of love and wonder in his heart, he placed small, loving kisses on Legolas’ mouth, neck, chest, beginning to slide down his body, mouth working, tongue circling as he went. He reached his fair elf’s navel, pressed his cheek against the firm abdomen, stroked the line of hip and thigh and pushed himself between the prince’s legs.

‘Ai! Govon, saes! Wait!’ Legolas gasped, although his hips were rising and pushing already, although his hands had found Govon’s head and were stroking the hair back from his face. ‘Would you not take me, fill me?’

‘The gift I have for you…’ Govon’s hand came up to encircle Legolas’ shaft, his voice trailed off as he briefly found something else for his mouth to do. ‘This… this is a part of it…’

Legolas drew breath to protest, but Govon took him entirely in his mouth, his tongue wickedly inventive, his teeth light and exciting, and from somewhere came the waft of sandalwood before he found sensitive, sleek fingers working beneath him, invading gently, delicately seeking until a surge of pleasure overwhelmed him as Govon found the little node of nerve endings and the warrior’s mouth moved in delightful rhythm with his fingers until everything exploded in a crash of ecstasy that left Legolas nerveless and sated and exhausted.

Govon eased gently out and away, wiping his mouth surreptitiously as he worked his way back up to gaze down at his beloved. His own need was a huge, pressing urgency but he made himself wait, tried to still the edge of his desire until Legolas had returned to consciousness, at least. But there was something in the way he lay so utterly relaxed and replete, so at ease that Govon felt he could simply lie and watch forever and marvel at the trust the prince had in him, to be so exposed and vulnerable, so fragile in his afterglow.

‘You are looking at me,’ Legolas said, his eyes still closed and a smile curving the double-bow of his lips. ‘I can feel the caress of your lovely hazel eyes, melleth. And do not tell me you do not yearn, friend captain, that you do not burn…’

Govon silenced him with a kiss, and Legolas ran his tongue around the inside of his lover’s mouth.

‘Salt. It is very strange, to taste myself on your lips, melleth.’ Legolas pulled back to look up into those amazing hazel eyes. ‘I would rather taste you, friend captain.’

Before Govon could protest, insist that he wanted only to give and not to take, Legolas had turned him over and in one lithe movement, had taken his lover into his mouth, engulfing him, tongue and mouth busy, his silver gold hair spreading radiantly across his melleth’s hips and Govon came undone in a moment as Legolas took him deep into his mouth, swallowing and swallowing, his hands grasping Govon’s thighs as the warrior shuddered and clamped a hand over his own mouth to silence his cries as his climax took him away from the world...

Presently, he felt the mouth on him release, felt a heavy weight and the silk of hair on his chest, and he stroked his fëa-mate’s head, toying with the light gold strands.

‘And, if I am ever able to move again, my fair elf, I have something for you. Something else for you, that is.’

‘As if you are not enough!’ Legolas smiled against Govon’s chest. ‘Well, I will move, if it will help.’

He sat himself up, cross-legged, facing Govon who moved a little more languorously, stretching first before pulling himself into a mirror-image of Legolas’ own posture.

‘Here we are again, looking across a bed at each other,’ he began lightly. ‘And this thing I have for you. It has had a little more thought than the first time, and far more care… but I do not know whether or not you will like it and if you do not, I beg that you…’

Legolas leaned forward to draw Govon’s mouth to his.

‘If only I knew what you were suddenly anxious about, friend captain, I might be able to reassure you.’

‘It is this.’ Govon drew something out from his discarded clothing and dropped it into Legolas’ outstretched hands. ‘Know that it is given with more love than the first was, although that was given with all my heart.’

‘And it is received with more love, also, for I thought I had lost you…’ Legolas examined the item in his palm, holding it up, stroking it. ‘But you made another token for me?’

‘Yes. You said the first had burned… and I had promised you another, when the first wore…’

The band was made of shiny grey and silver plates, triangular but with rounded edges which had been pierced and linked together over a central braided core, visible only when the band was turned over. The prince smiled.

‘You plaited strands from your hair with leather and bowstringing again?’ He looked into Govon’s eyes, his smile carrying all the way through to his fëa-mate’s heart. ‘And the plates protect the braidwork… this is lovely, melleth-nin…’

‘Do you see what the plates are? It seemed such a good idea at the time, but now I wonder… Do you not mind them…?’

‘Are they…? Are they not the scales from a dragon? Govon!’ Legolas’ voice was astonished. ‘It is beautiful! And… surprising… you chose the scales on purpose? It will not distress you to see, and to remember?’

‘Ai, I did not think of that! I wanted them to signify, I survived this, we survived this, we can survive anything… had I thought it would be an unpleasant memory for you… give it back, then, it can be unmade…’

‘No! No, do not ask me to return it to you – I love that it means you survived, we survived… I merely meant, that you can brave the associations…’

‘Of course it will not distress me to see you wearing it, the associations are not difficult for me… I fell into nothing, and woke from it in your arms… but you do, really, like it?’

‘I do indeed. I may only wear it around my wrist while I carry my injury, but I really do, truly like it. Thank you.’ Legolas fastened the token around his wrist and leaned across to kiss Govon again. ‘Really, thank you. Now, tell me all about the making of it?’

‘Well…’ Govon rested back against the pillows and gathered Legolas against him. ‘Many of the burned warriors asked if they could take scales, as proof they survived the black dragon. They were told, of course they could – it is less to have to bury! But I – we – our love-story – survived the grey wyrm and so I took from there.’

He pressed his lips against Legolas’ hair.

‘In the camp, you know there are those who are not yet recovered enough to work. One can take the scales to them, they will clean them up and pierce them with hot metal points so that then they can be threaded. It gives the convalescing warriors something to do, and brings them company, for many come to say, can you do this for me? So they are not alone with their wounds. Once cleaned and pierced according to my wishes, the scales were returned to me. All the braiding and stringing is of my own devising.’

Legolas smiled; Govon sounded so proud of himself.

‘And since most suffered at the black dragon’s fire, this will be unique, that I bear grey scales,’ Legolas said.

‘Well, almost unique,’ Govon qualified. ‘Erestor was in discussion with Arveldir about the appropriateness of adding some to Nelleron’s bell-strings… Come, we should dress, if we are having company for supper and the supper needs finding first.’


	135. supper and Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas and Govon try to help.

‘My lady?’

Govon tugged at the stringing of bells outside Arwen’s shared pavilion and waited.

‘Oh! Just a moment!’

She emerged only half a moment later.

‘Thank you for coming to fetch me, Commander; it is not as if I do not know the way!’

‘Please; I am not on duty now – call me Govon. Legolas has gone to raid the cook fires for us… I do not know what we will have to eat, but I would expect lembas, at least…’

She laughed and fell into step beside him.

‘Well, in truth, I do not care about the food, it is the friendship offered that I am looking forward to.’

They strolled through the camp towards the north of the eyot where the prince’s pavilion was set up. Arwen, not having visited Legolas in his own quarters on the eyot before, was suitably impressed with the space. 

‘And behind the curtain?’

‘Simply a sleeping area.’

‘I suppose some might not approve of being reminded that you are a bonded couple,’ she said. ‘I hope things are not difficult for you?’

‘It would not matter if they were,’ Govon said. ‘I take it such matters are not well-thought of in Imladris?’

‘I would not know – nobody ever tells me anything at home… Oh, but I expect you have had the entire tale of my father and…’ She broke off, confused. ‘I am sorry, I should not have…’

‘I have had a little of the story… I found neither of us wanted the entire tale, my melleth to tell it or me to hear.’

‘Well. I think such associations are known… but I am not sure they are properly respected,’ she said. ‘But I am pleased to see Legolas happy. He was so kind a friend to me, in Imladris.’

‘He has spoken highly of your kindness, also, in turn.’ Govon smiled. ‘Will you sit, my lady?’

‘I will indeed.’

He held a chair for her and then went to look out of the pavilion to see where Legolas might be. He saw his fëa-mate walking round the end of the infirmary with a large basket in his arms. 

Govon waved, and Legolas smiled acknowledgement, unable to wave back because of the balance of the basket.

‘My fëa-mate is on his way,’ Govon told Arwen, and soon Legolas’ voice could be heard outside.

‘Govon! If you could help?’

‘Arwen, hello! I hope Govon has been keeping you entertained?’

‘Indeed he has.’

‘I told them at the stores that I was in need of something suitable for Lady Arwen and so I hope the food will be good. Certainly, it is fresh, for much of it was caught today, and it is hot – or it was when I left the cook fires, so we should hurry it onto the plates…’

It became a convivial meal, for Govon produced a bottle of wine from somewhere and both he and Legolas were at pains to make Arwen feel welcome, and to see her smile and release some of the sorrow that had been mantling her made the food all the better. 

In truth, it was a chance for them all to relax; Legolas forgetting his position as regent and Govon his as Commander of the Court Guard, and in spite of all the cares upon them, there was a fair amount of laughter amongst the conversation.

‘Oh, I have not felt so light of heart since Iauron and I escaped from that tedious meeting with Arveldir and Erestor!’ Arwen said at last. ‘It seems so long ago now, but it is only a few days… so many things have happened… Tomorrow is Midsummer, and Iauron…’

The mood changed abruptly, and the brightness of the laughter faded away to a brief memory.

‘Arwen…’ Legolas began. ‘Don’t be sad. There is still some hope for Iauron...’

‘Not this side of the Sundering Seas,’ Arwen said. ‘Glorfindel explained it to me.’

Legolas sighed. It probably wouldn’t be any use telling her that really, she was far too good for Iauron.

‘There is something I – we wished to share with you, Arwen,’ he said instead. ‘I will clear the table first…’

‘Let me, melleth,’ Govon said, gathering together plates and dishes and sliding them into the basket. ‘You find the books.’

‘So.’ It was growing dark outside, and Legolas brought the lamp onto the table and opened one or two notebooks, spreading a large sheet of parchment beneath. ‘We hope it will ease your mind a little if we share certain things with you. You may have heard a rumour that Prince Tharmeduil is gifted with visions and insights?’

‘I heard something…’ Arwen answered faintly.

‘Tharmeduil shares his insights with Healer Nestoril mostly, but also with me and, sometimes, with Govon. He would draw his visions on the parchments, and one or other of us record them in the books, and when he went away, he left them with Govon.’

‘Indeed, some of the things he left with me were given with dire warnings not to look except in great need… and while I am honoured with his trust, it is also somewhat of a burden… we are curious creatures, and I would love to know… but I must hold to my promise. Still, there are plenty of places where the records suggest your future will be happier than you presently know, Arwen.’

‘Where should we start, melleth?’ Legolas asked. ‘Tharmeduil gave these to you, not to me, after all.’

‘The trail is all over the place; there is no starting point. So, I think we had better go to the important event and look at other things around it.’

Arwen craned her neck to get a clear look at the notebooks, and Govon slid out from his seat to sit next to her and turn the papers for her.

‘This is the clearest image.’

He unfurled a piece of parchment and Legolas obligingly held down the corners.

‘Arwen, we have no wish to prompt you or to put ideas into your mind. Look at this central image and tell us what you see…’

‘I do not know… wait… many people. All seem happy and are looking at these two figures… is it… it looks like a wedding party!’ Arwen looked up, an appeal in her eyes. ‘Is it?’

‘Keep looking,’ Legolas suggested. ‘I have often found that the longer I look, the more I see in the images.’

‘Yes… well, I think… Oh, there are two faces I know! My brothers, do you see? And… Legolas! Is that you? Who are all these small persons with you? I think one might be a… a dwarf, but the others, with no shoes on… are they children?’

‘It is as much a mystery to me as to you about these little ones,’ Legolas admitted. ‘But what else?’

‘The central figures… I know that face, that… that gown, that is me, it is I! But who is this person I am marrying, it is not Iauron… it is… it is a man! No, it cannot be – did your brother draw him wrong? Or it cannot be a wedding… but now I see the garlands and the banners… and there is my father! Oh, this has to be wrong, if it has my father in! No, I cannot read this riddle… why do you show me these pictures?’

‘Because whether or not it is a wedding or some other celebration, Arwen, it shows you are happy again. Look at the way the image of you is standing, how smiling a picture it is!’

‘Indeed so,’ she said. ‘But to base so much on this one image…’

‘There are other pictures.’

Govon opened the notebooks, showed her where Tharmeduil had repeatedly sketched two figures together, a man and an elleth who bore so striking a resemblance to Arwen that it could not be any other. He had drawn them beside the fire in Imladris, together in the gardens, the man sometimes untidy, sometimes clean, but always a man and not an ellon, always with rounded ears, always staring towards the image of Arwen with love in his eyes.

‘And the way I and the male figure are looking at each other, with such affectionate friendship…’ Arwen looked up. ‘Of course, it has to be a mistake. I could never marry a man – my grandmother would have a fit, never mind what my father would say… and they are such temporary creatures! Although that really would not stop me if I loved someone! But… but I really do like Iauron – I thought that we were just a breath away from loving each other.’

‘Prince Tharmeduil told me once, no matter where he looked or what he drew, he did not ever see your betrothal to Prince Iauron,’ Govon said. ‘It bothered him.’

‘I am afraid it is true,’ Legolas said. You are a breath away from Iauron – but now it is a dragon’s breath away. It has taken him from us all. Nestoril thinks she may be able to help him at home, but I feel that she is saying that to comfort herself, since my father does not wish us to take Iauron to the havens without we try all we can first…’

‘I am confused!’ Arwen protested. ‘What did you think to achieve by doing this?’

‘We thought to give you hope, Arwen. A glimpse of a future that does not depend on Iauron’s recovery. But do not waste your hope on my brother,’ Legolas said. ‘Although you will return with us and stay with us for as long as you wish, it is not your fate to live in Mirkwood, I do not think. You see the wedding, it takes place in the wide open places of the world, amongst mountains and plains, not forests and darkness.’ 

‘I am not sure it has helped,’ she said. ‘Me? Marry a man? Whatever will you say next?’ She tapped the page where two of the small, curly-headed childlike figures seemed to be dancing on a table. ‘That one of these children will save the world, perhaps?’

‘It is strange you should say that,’ Legolas said, ‘for Tharmeduil once told me he had seen the strangest images…’

‘Legolas – perhaps we have given Arwen enough to think about for one night,’ Govon said quickly. ‘My lady, there is more wine, if you wish it?’

She shook her head, smiling as she reached for her shawl.

‘I am very grateful for your company – and for letting me see these… interesting pictures! I have had a lovely evening, thank you. But I think I would like to visit with Iauron for a little while before I retire.’

‘Let me walk you over?’ Legolas offered, but she shook her head.

‘No, it is but a step! And there are lanterns everywhere. Goodnight to you both.’

Govon came to stand with Legolas, his arm around his shoulders as they watched Arwen across to the infirmary. She turned and waved, and they waved back.

‘That went well,’ Govon said.

‘Do you think so? She did not seem convinced, to me…’

‘Well, no. But she is certainly happier, and is starting to think about her future aside from Iauron. Maybe she and Tharmeduil… no.’ Govon corrected himself. 

‘No, I’ve seen too many of his visions come true to doubt this one. She will marry a man and break her father’s heart. Not that I can feel much sympathy for him at present.’

‘No. No, he has so often pushed her away, and he rode off as if she did not matter to him. It is difficult indeed to feel sorry for him. And I do not intend to spend the rest of my evening trying…’

Across the grass, Arwen lifted a hand in farewell as she ducked into the infirmary.

‘…I have better things to do,’ Legolas went on, turning to Govon to cup his face in his hands and place a soft, lingering kiss on his lips. ‘Much better things.’

‘That sounds like a delightful way to end an evening,’ Govon said. ‘Or to spend a night.’


	136. Dressings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril speaks with her charges.

Nestoril smiled as she made her way into the infirmary. Feril, on duty at the desk, rose to her feet.

‘Good morning, Nestoril.’

‘Good morning, Feril. How was the night?’

‘Quiet… mostly. Lady Arwen came to visit Prince Iauron... and I think she is still here…’

Nestoril turned astonished eyes on her friend.

‘You think? Do you not know?’

‘She asked not to be disturbed, saying she could leave through the skirts of the pavilion and so not disturb the infirmary.’

‘Well, I will see in a moment. How did Erthor pass the night?’

‘Peacefully. I think he is in a way to be better.’

‘But we must move him today, whether he is better or not.’ Nestoril sighed. ‘I wish I had another day for him… for the king… Oh, and Calithilon?’

‘Less peacefully… his reverie was disturbed twice, from distress not pain.’

‘Thank you, Feril. If you wish to break your fast now, I will be fine.’

Feril nodded and left, and Nestoril took her seat, reading swiftly through the notes left by Feril and Glorfindel. In truth, there was little to read; only Calithilon and Erthor remained in the infirmary proper, with Iauron and Thranduil in their own separate areas.

The two injured warriors were placed close enough to talk, should they wish, but far enough apart for some sense of space around them. Of the two, Calithilon was least injured, and he stirred and sighed, the gentle sound causing Nestoril to look up, rise, and go over to kneel beside him.

‘Good morning, Calithilon. How are you feeling this morning?’

‘My leg is hurting and my chest is sore. But it is better than it has been, so I ought not to complain.’

No, indeed. Not when Erthor, just a little way down, lost all the skin from his back and shoulders and had spent all his time on his stomach and sedated. Not when the king’s face was a shredded ruin and…

Nestoril made herself smile. Calithilon was in pain, and there was no use comparing how he coped with it to how others did theirs.

‘Well, we are breaking camp today, so you will be up and dressed this morning. I will attend to your wounds for you presently, once I have checked on my other charges.’

Erthor was also awake, in the strange half-land between sedation and consciousness. The dosage had been reduced yesterday, but traces of the medication lingered, making the warrior’s responses slow and his voice a drawl.

He lay on face down, perforce, his back swathed in caul silk. 

‘Healer Nestoril, what is this tale? Am I going for a little walk?’

‘Something like that. We are not going far, I gather, simply to the plain.’ She smiled. ‘It is time to turn our thoughts towards home.’

Rising to her feet she passed down the infirmary towards the dividing canvas, intending to see whether Arwen really was still visiting Iauron, but a faint voice redirected her towards the king’s chamber.

‘Nestoril.’

‘My king.’ 

She dipped into a curtsey as the canvas swished into place behind her. ‘I hope this day finds you well?’

‘Then you hope in the face of evidence to the contrary.’

Tharnduil’s voice was more languid than ever, but there was a shine to his uncovered eye and a lilt to his mouth that showed his amusement.

‘Oh, Thranduil!’ Nestoril shook her head at the king. ‘Of course I hope! You make us hope! But really, how is the pain today?’

‘It is nothing I cannot endure.’

‘Yes, but you’re our king. You set yourself up to endure anything. Even when you do not have to. Surely it would be better for your subjects to be able to believe you are not suffering too severely?’

‘Do you have a point, Healer?’

‘We break camp today. It would make sense to control your pain so that you are more able to cope with the journey.’

‘Very well. If you wish to present me with yet another noxious draught, I will endeavour to drink it.’

‘What a coincidence, my king, I happen to have one right here…’

Thranduil took the beaker from her, willing his hands not to tremble and show his weakness… but then, Nestoril would not be fooled. She simply had the good manners to pretend not to see. The fact that he managed to drink it, unaided, felt like the greatest victory of his rule to date.

‘I have much to do this day, with the breaking of camp and organising how to move everyone,’ the healer said as she took back the empty beaker. ‘So, if you will, I shall attend to your dressings now and then, once you have broken your fast, I will arrange for someone to help you dress…’

‘Legolas can assist me.’

‘That is a good thought; it will get him out from under the feet of the commanders as they try to set things in order!’ She turned away to wash her hands and returned with her dressings kit. ‘So, I will not ask if you are in pain, but instead enquire, which is worse today?’

‘The leg. Perhaps because of the weight of the covers.’

Nestoril laid aside the bedding and stripped off the bandage over the caul silk dressing.

‘Well, it is a long injury still, and has been a wide one; the skin which had just begun to heal across was burst when you were taken ill… but it is knit over, again, although there are still some open patches…’ She looked up. ‘I know your majesty will not wish to reprimand any for the decisions made while you were indisposed, but I could have wished for another day or two before we moved…’

Thranduil held his breath as Nestoril examined a particularly fragile area of healing burn. It was a relief when she finished, and began applying a new dressing, although he noted she skimped the caul silk, cutting it to the precise contours of the wounds.

‘The pain relief in the draught will begin to work soon; wounds do not like being messed around with!’ Nestoril said briskly, re-bandaging his leg and drawing the covers carefully back. 

‘If I have not lost all track of time, today is Midsummer Day, is it not?’ Thranduil asked as Nestoril moved on to begin unfastening the bandages on his arm.

‘It is indeed. Had all gone to plan… oh, it does not bear thinking about, so much has gone awry…’

‘Then I expect that is why we are moving today. To take the minds of our warriors away from the fact that their injuries are largely pointless – we have slain three dragons which otherwise would perhaps have laid waste to the region, but we would have been better able to fight them from our own positions of strength and not out in the wilderness… and we came for what? I led them here for what purpose? For a betrothal which was doomed before it began and which cannot now proceed, to seek advice for the care of our second son to find that not even the allegedly-great Lord Elrond has any advice to offer except to make him sail… to endure spiders and dragons and blood and the loss of five comrades to what end, exactly?’ 

Thranduil broke off, turning his head away and Nestoril saw his throat convulse as he swallowed, struggling to maintain his composure.

Nestoril wished she were just that little more familiar with the king, for she sensed that he badly needed a comforting hand, a gentle hug. But it was not her place, and, indeed, for all the bitter rage of guilt and the bile of grief in his speech, any attempt at sympathy would be met with the sternest of rebukes.

‘My king,’ she began, keeping her eyes fixed on his arm as she peeled away the caul silk pad. ‘What have you been doing? Your arm looks raw, as if you have been scratching it! How can I possibly heal you if you will not leave your dressings alone?’

Thranduil flinched, as if he had been expecting gentleness and the scold was a surprise, but when he turned back, his lips were amused.

‘One needs a hobby in the depths of the night when reverie is far away… besides, your job was becoming too easy…’

‘If my king will not promise to stop interfering with his own healing process, my king will, perforce, be dressed in mittens to reduce the effect!’ Nestoril said sternly. ‘And, if my king attempts to protest, I will ask Arwen to make them for him!’

It was too much, and Thranduil felt an unexpected laugh break free from his weight of guilt.

‘Ai, Nestoril! Tell me, what would I do without you?’

‘You would plague another in my stead.’ She smiled to herself as she redressed the wound, although she was distressed to see how much skin still needed to regrow, how much of the king’s arm was still raw and seeping. ‘There. I dread to think what you have been doing to your face!’

‘Why, nothing, dear Healer! Why do you think I needed to distract myself by toying with my other injury?’

Nestoril found she was holding her breath as she lifted off the caul silk padding from the king’s face. But beneath, although all was still shocking and ruined and with the strands of muscles reaching across his open cheek like the strings of some gruesome harp, still, there was healing there, and the gaping yaw of flesh was less, the skin starting to recover and the muscles start to regrow.

‘You could have just called Feril, you know. She would have sat with you or given you something to help. But as a strategy, it worked; your face is healing, my king.’

Deftly and gently she redressed the injury and covered the pad over with a bandage she passed around the king’s head, giving him a vaguely rakish look.

‘If you are out and about, the pad needs to be more secure,’ she said.

‘Thank you, Nestoril. The draught is, indeed, working… I feel somewhat… distant from myself… is that usual?’

‘It is intentional, my king. For if the pain should jolt you too much, we fear it will take you all the way back into the dark again.’

‘Very well… it is… strange…’

‘I will bespeak breakfast for you, my king. Try to eat, but it is more important to drink, still.’

‘Yes… A thing further… Arwen… Tell Arwen…’

‘Yes, Thranduil?’

The king sank back against the pillows, his eyes starting to glaze as if reverie was coming to him.

‘Tell her… just because she has spent the night with Iauron does not mean they have to wed. It does not count if one party is insensible due to dragon-breath poisoning…’

Nestoril’s bright grin broke out.

‘I will speak with her at once, my king.’


	137. Breaking Camp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arwen does some thinking and the company prepares to leave the eyot...

Arwen came out of a miserable reverie to find the ground beneath her even harder than usual and the delicate fragrance of chamomile tea swirling around her.

Focussing her tear-stained eyes, she found someone had set a cup of the herbal tea down beside her and she reached for it gratefully.

It was only as she took the first sip that she saw Nestoril smiling at her from the other side of Iauron’s chamber.

Iauron’s chamber…?

‘Arwen, thank you for sitting so long with my charge!’ Nestoril said, ‘I think you must have tired yourself out yesterday on the plain, and fell asleep while you were visiting.’

‘I… not entirely,’ Arwen admitted. ‘I had such a strange conversation with Legolas and Govon last night, I had to come and spend time with Iauron…’

‘Was it to do with Tharmeduil’s visions, by any chance?’

Arwen nodded, and Nestoril compressed her lips.

‘Those two! I do not for a moment doubt that the mean well, but, really…! What were they saying?’

‘They didn’t say – they showed me pictures – and were at pains not to influence what I saw… what I thought I saw…’

‘What did you think you could see, Arwen?’

‘Myself, with… with a new love. I looked happy, and… I looked how I felt when I first met Iauron, and we both thought each other just ordinary elves. Only I looked more than I felt and… it all seemed to lead to a marriage, in the pictures. So I came to sit with Iauron, for it was not he in the pictures… I wanted to ask him what he wanted. I thought it would help me know what to do.’

‘And you have been crying and he has not answered you! Oh, Arwen…’

‘But that is just it. Yes, I have wept this night… and a lack of an answer is, still, an answer. I think it has helped me. I feel I know now, what I must do. Indeed, I feel I can do nothing else…’

‘I see. You know, Tharmeduil has seen so many things, and sometimes, his ideas change. Do not, I pray you, make any decision based on the prince’s drawings, it is not at all what he would wish… nor what King Thranduil would wish, either. And all these drawings have been made before we know the outcome of Iauron’s illness…’

‘Oh, Healer! I know you speak to comfort me, but do you not see? This…’ Arwen stroked Iauron’s face tenderly as he lay immobile, unresponsive. ‘This is the outcome of his illness! Glorfindel has spoken to me in detail about it…’

‘Lord Glorfindel is very wise, and very skilled,’ Nestoril said. ‘But he has no idea of the power behind our Silvan traditions. Until all has been tried, I will not give up on my prince.’

‘No more will I, Nestoril. Do not you see? If Iauron’s healing lies beyond the Sundering Seas, then I will go with him. Whatever happens, I am his in honour, and unless something happens to convince me he has no love for me, I will follow him. I cannot commit my future to a series of drawings. Not while Iauron is alive. Not when I am sure he has loved only me since first we met.’

‘I understand you, I think, at last! It is very commendable of you, Arwen, to stand steadfastly beside your sweetheart. It does mean you must come home with us, to Mirkwood, for if Iauron’s cure lies this side of the sea, that is where it will be found…’

‘I would not turn away now for anything. Not even were my father to return and beg. And it is not because of my father that I choose to cleave to Iauron – it is because of Iauron that I choose him.’

‘I honour you, Arwen, for saying so. Many would turn away and seek the easier path. And talking of paths, I must get on. I have two inured warriors to attend and then we must prepare for the breaking of camp.’

‘But are your warriors able to walk or ride? How will you manage with Iauron?’

Nestoril sighed.

‘In truth, I have little experience with casualties such as this of late. It will not be so difficult, on the plains. But in the forest, the paths are narrow so that our only choice is to place them on litters and carry them on the shoulders of other warriors – we cannot get any kind of wheeled carriage through.’

‘Perhaps Glorfindel might be of use? For his experience reaches such a long way back…’

‘A good thought, Arwen, my thanks. So, excuse me while I attend Erthor and Calithilon, and I will see you later.’

Arwen drank her tea and looked at Iauron. He was so very still, barely breathing and he only moved when one or other of the healers turned him over to rest his skin. They had to feed him and give drinks to him, wash him and do everything, for he was unable to do anything for himself except breathe. That his condition was stable and hadn’t worsened was seen as positive, but Arwen wondered how long the healers would be able to keep feeding enough to maintain his health.  
Setting down her empty cup, she pressed her lips to Iauron’s forehead before getting to her feet and leaving the infirmary through the open panel, making her way to the cook fires to get something to eat.

Around her, the camp was a-buzz with activity as tents were dismantled and packed away, warriors gathered their belongings into their kit bags and the commanders issued orders.

Legolas was at the cook fire, his eyes following Govon as the commander organised his two remaining warriors, but he looked around at Arwen’s soft greeting, moving up to make room for her.

‘Thank you for your company last night,’ she said as she sat and took the bread and fruit he offered her. ‘It was a lovely meal and afterwards was very… interesting.’

‘I hope we didn’t upset you? Govon said after, that he didn’t think it had gone as well as we’d intended…’

‘Well, it made me think, certainly. What is that rather grand phrase…? Consider my options, that is it. And while it is comforting to know that I need not be alone in the future, I do not see the way between now and then quite so clearly.’ She sighed. ‘But, still, thank you. I know you think I’m lonely and sad, but… I’m going to be fine.’

‘And busy. I think today we’re all going to be busy.’ Legolas sighed. ‘Ai! Govon and I have one night together in comfortable lodgings and now we have to take the tent down and pack it away again…’

‘Good point; I must get my own things together, once I’ve finished here.’

They ate in friendly silence for a few moments until Legolas set his empty plate aside.

‘Well, and I had better go and speak with Nestoril. I understand she is a little discomfited by the thought of breaking camp.’

‘A little? Legolas, when I spoke to her she was more than a little discomfited…’

He grinned and ducked his head.

‘Thank you, then, for the warning. I will do my best to assuage her worries.’

It was difficult to linger at the cook fire when so many were busy all around, and soon after Legolas had left, Arwen set aside her plate and went to her tent to sort out her belongings.

Feril was already there, changed into leggings and a tunic for travelling, folding her gowns away into saddlebags. She smiled swiftly at Arwen.

‘You sat with the prince through the night, did you not?’ she asked. ‘I have spent many a night in vigil beside the sick; it is strange but, when the one attended is in no pain, it can bring a sort of peace.’

‘Indeed, I feel much more at ease for spending time with Iauron,’ Arwen said. ‘And I have much more clarity now. And so, packing… do you know, when must we leave?’

‘None have said, but it must be before mid-afternoon for there is a new camp to make before dark…’

 

In the finish, it was early afternoon when the last tent was down. The pavilions had been left as emergency shelters while everything else was taken apart and put away, and Nestoril found herself and Feril pacing the almost-empty infirmary while their healing supplies lay in a neat pile awaiting removal and until proper help could be brought for the wounded.

Glorfindel appeared, bringing with him an odd array of helpers; Govon, with Tinuon and Hador, Erestor…

‘Where’s Arveldir?’ Nestoril asked. ‘If you’ll forgive the question, Erestor.’

‘He is with Legolas, and the king.’

‘With the king? And Legolas did not think to tell me?’

‘I think he had intended it to be a surprise, Healer,’ Govon said with a shrug.

‘What is to be a surprise, Commander?’

A tinkling, jangling sound outside and Govon swept back the panel of the infirmary with a flourish.

Outside, Legolas had hold of the halter of the elk, whose antlers were now decorated with additional dangling, gleaming shards of brightness. On Nelleron’s back, sitting very nearly upright and holding the still form of his son in his arms, King Thranduil sat in regal splendour, his eyes distant. 

But as he slowly became aware of the eyes on him, the king brought his attention back with an effort.

‘And to whom do I offer my thanks for Nelleron’s trophy dragon scales? It was well thought, for without him, the grey wyrm might have done far more damage…’

Arveldir bowed.

‘I am pleased they meet with your approval, my king. Erestor and I organised it, and several of the wounded prepared the scales… the Lady Arwen crocheted the ties, of course.’

‘Of course…’

Thranduil’s voice drifted away, and Legolas watched his father with anxious eyes. 

Glorfindel caught his gaze.

‘Your highness, it is quite normal for the king to seem distant; it is the effect of the medication.’

‘Thank you. Nestoril, we strapped Iauron in place on the elk so Adar isn’t holding him on. It seemed the best way, for such a short trip. The bed’s down and some of the honour guard are packing it up.’

‘And we have a stretcher for Calithilon and a litter for Erthor, if he feels unable to walk,’ Govon said. ‘Tinuon and Hador are here for your medical supplies. They’ll fold up the bedrolls.’

‘Thank you. Erthor, can I help?’

Calithilon could not put any weight on his leg without it buckling, and Erthor was shaky and unsteady and so his bedroll was respread on the litter and he lay, face down on it to protect his injured back. Members of their own companies came to take the poles of stretcher and litter, and Tinuon and Hador hurried to pick up the supplies.

Legolas nodded to Govon.

‘Commander, let Esgaron and Bregon know we are ready to break camp. Then return to precede our king. We will leave this place, and hope to never come here again.’


	138. Adar-in-Honour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the company set up a new camp. and Thranduil talks to Govon...

Thranduil floated somewhere high above the plain, untethered from his body. He was aware, peripherally, of movement, discomfort, of a sense that he was holding onto something and he must not let it fall… but that was all muffled, unconnected, and his consciousness had no real point of contact with his body.

If he tried, if he really made a huge effort, he could bring himself down to the level of his physical self, but then the discomfort grew and nagged at him, burning and throbbing his left side, leg, arm, face… once retreated into the floating haven of the drugs the pain grew less and the worry, the urgency grew less, also.

From up here, he did not know what he was worrying about. Everything, he supposed. That was what he usually worried about.

‘Adar.’

Maybe it was someone he was worried about, instead… Had he not just been addressed? ‘Adar’, someone had said… he had sons, three fine sons. He was probably worrying over one or other of them, it seemed to be a habit of theirs, taking it in turns to plague him…

‘Adar?’

The voice was louder. In this context, ‘Adar’ must mean him, which suggested one of his sons was talking to him.

‘Father!’ 

Thranduil felt a jolt, as if he had been suddenly dragged back into his body, and with it, into a house of pain. He gathered himself, tried to concentrate… one of his sons… it could not be Iauron, poor Iauron, that was why he had to keep holding the bundle in his arms, it was Iauron, who now could not speak… and he seemed to remember it could not be Tharmeduil either, that his second son was… missing? Away? So this voice, he knew it now, in any case, this voice was his youngest son, the one over whom he worried the most. In which there was a certain irony, since this son tried the hardest never to be a cause of concern…

‘Legolas,’ Thranduil said.

‘We’re here, Adar.’

‘Obviously so… everywhere else is ‘there’ and so we must, by default, be ‘here’, ion-nin…’

‘We’ve crossed onto the plains and moved out, beyond that little ridge we saw on the way in. It’s between us and the battleground now, so we can’t see it…’  
The battleground. Suddenly the drug was swept away from his mind, and he found the memories returning just as the pain had, and he bit his lip to prevent a gasp of horror escaping as events replayed themselves.

‘We’re making camp, Adar. You’ll be in your own pavilion tonight, not an infirmary. Hador and Tinuon are seeing to it now; Nestoril has a bed ready for Iauron, so let Glorfindel take him from you, and you can dismount.’

‘But someone said… do not let go, do not let him fall…’

‘Glorfindel’s waiting to catch him. Adar, you need to dismount, and you cannot do so while you hold my brother.’

Thranduil found more of the mists clearing and he recognised what was happening. Iauron was bundled tightly into his arms and Glorfindel was reaching with strong hands to take the prince from his grasp.

‘Very well. Have a care, Glorfindel. He seems heavier now.’

‘Your majesty, I will take the greatest of care.’

Thranduil released his hold on his son, reluctantly handing him over into Glrofindel’s arms.

‘Your turn, Adar,’ Legolas said. ‘If I stand here, I can hold Nelleron’s bridle and you can lean on me as you dismount, if you need to.’

‘Of course I do not need your help,’ Thranduil said, placing a hand on Legolas’ shoulder and letting his son bear his weight as he swung out of the saddle and managed not to fall to the ground as he landed. ‘But I understand that you need to feel you are of use to me.’

‘Yes, Father, it is my one purpose in life, to be of service to you while you get off your elk.’

Thranduil lifted his eyebrow in amusement and held his son’s gaze. Legolas laughed.

‘It’s nice to have you back, Adar. I think the drugs make you a little strange. But they seem to be wearing off now.’

‘Ai, Legolas! They truly are… but a little discomfort is easily borne… come, where am I to be housed? Are there any urgent matters I need to attend to?’

Nestoril came to Thranduil’s other side and took his elbow so that she could steer him.

‘Yes, my king,’ she said. ‘You are urgently needed to come with me and sit, and eat, and drink something which is not medicated. Legolas has everything in hand.’

‘Indeed? I wonder what Govon would make of that…’

‘My king? There is seating just here…’ 

Nestoril led Thranduil to where he could lower himself onto a covered trunk. Around him, placed at a lower level than the king’s seat, other trunks and chests made seats for the rest of the court. Legolas sat at his side, Arveldir and Erestor flanked him on the other, Glorfindel, Feril, Arwen all nearby with Govon, Hador and Tinuon standing behind, the Court Guard on duty once more.

Beyond the little circle, the rest of the company were making camp, the warriors glancing across occasionally, looking their king over, making sure he was really there, really back with them again.

‘Arveldir?’ Thranduil lifted a hand. It was exhausting, somehow. ‘I will need to address the warriors presently. Liaise with the commanders once we have finished here, will you?’

‘Yes, my king.’

‘Good. My thanks.’

Now that the effects of Nestoril’s draught had properly worn off, Thranduil was suddenly aware that perhaps his levels of pain were not something he could endure, at least not in the public gaze. He looked a challenge at his friend the healer, trusting to her to take up the hint.

‘And I can see Healer Nestoril looking at me with a scold in her eyes and so, mellyn-nin, I will take my leave of you while she inflicts upon my person whatever she deems it is time for now. Legolas, Govon, attend me.’

‘I will be right behind you, my king,’ Nestoril said. ‘Just as soon as I have collected my dressings pack.’

‘Nestoril was right,’ Legolas said quietly to Govon as they helped Thranduil to his pavilion and off with his robes of office. ‘We should have stayed on the eyot a day or two longer…’

‘On the contrary, ion-nin,’ Thranduil interrupted. ‘Whoever ordered the move made the correct decision. There was a weight of failed expectation on the eyot – our warriors felt it; we all suffered beneath it. Here, the air is cleaner and our hearts less heavy. I find… for all that I am in pain, and tired with even the minimal exertions of the day – that I begin to wish to be home.’

‘I think we all do, Adar,’ Legolas said. ‘Except for Arwen and Erestor, I think.’

‘Yes… whatever will we do with Arwen? Erestor I do not think will be a permanent guest…’ Thranduil broke off to shift uncomfortably as a sudden spurt of pain distracted him. ‘Much though I like the advisor… and much though my advisor likes the advisor… he is too pale already to take to living underground for long. Govon, when we get home, you might consider a change of career.’

‘My king?’

Thranduil lifted his eyebrows towards Legolas.

‘Ion-nin, will you please tell your fëa-mate that when I call him by name he should not answer as if I have just addressed him by his rank!’

Legolas tried to hide a grin as Govon answered.

‘Sire, you must see it is difficult for me – I had a perfectly good father of my own and so it would be inappropriate to name you as such. But perhaps you would not object if I referred to you as ‘Honour-Adar’, on those few occasions where…’

‘Use my name, Govon, it is quite an easy one to say if one practices…’

‘As my Adar-in-Honour wishes… You were saying I need a new career, Thranduil?’

‘You will for sure if you do not cease your attempts at humour… No. I cannot see Erestor making a home with us. And I cannot see Arveldir wishing to remain when Erestor leaves. It may be that I will need a new advisor in the future. Consider the matter on the way home, Govon. But do not speak of it to Arveldir. He may think I wish to dispense with his services and I would not alarm him.’ He closed his eyes against the pain. ‘And now you both may go. Nestoril will be here momentarily and no doubt will wish for privacy to work her healing wonders upon me.’

He was alone only for minutes before the healer’s gentle voice came from outside and he summoned her in.

‘Nestoril. I am grateful that you honoured my deception… I did not want to worry my son unduly…’

‘In fact, I was about to enquire how you were in any case. The pain is back?’

‘In all its taunting torment.’

‘And which is most troublesome?’

‘The arm.’

‘Probably because you’ve been carrying Iauron; it has strained the fabric of your clothing against the dressings and so against the injury. My king, there was a litter for the prince…’

‘But he is my son.’

‘I will need to look at your arm, so if you will let me remove your shirt, my king…? There. And I will unbind… I can make another draught for you, but you know its effects. If you wish to speak to your warriors, you had better wait until after to take it or you may appear a little strange to them…’

‘Agreed. So. Do your work, and once I have spoken to my warriors you may procure me another draught.’

‘Yes, you have broken the just-healing skin again, Thranduil. This salve will help – it has mild pain-relieving properties and I will bandage over it lightly. I suggest a sling – I do not want you to wear anything close over the injury for the rest of the day – your robes will cover you adequately enough when you meet your warriors – and I will dress it again this evening, once the draught has taken effect. Does my king know if we are breaking camp again tomorrow?’

‘Nestoril, your king does not even know how far we have travelled today. It felt as if we roamed halfway across Middle Earth…’

‘We are on the far side of the little ridge of hills. From the top, the eyot is clearly visible. Not much more than a league, I think. But still, too far for your comfort…’

‘I was fine on Nelleron until the draught wore off… but there were injured warriors, too, I remember… why did I not remember them earlier…? How were they, Nestoril, how did the journey affect them?’

‘Calithilon grumbled but his condition was no worse for being carried on a littler. Erthor did not complain – it is his back which burned worse, poor thing, and so he has to lay face-down on the litter which is uncomfortable in other ways. But you, my king, it is your injuries which trouble me…’

‘Do not let them; I am more concerned with our warriors, Nestoril.’ Thranduil glanced at his arm, now slathered in a thick, aromatic salve. ‘You have a fine touch, healer; I was not aware you had begun your work until the pain began to ease.’

‘If that is an attempt to change the subject…’

‘Not at all. It was merely an attempt to thank you.’

Nestoril smiled to herself as she bound on a dressing pad and arranged Thranduil’s arm in a sling.

‘If I may trouble you to assist with my robes? Yes, that will do. If you have a moment, would you send Arveldir to me? And his new shadow may attend too, of course.’

‘Of course, my king.’

 

Thranduil spent the intervening time taking control of his pain once again, making it slide to the back of his awareness as he gathered his dignity about him like another robe so that when Arveldir and Erestor bowed their way into the pavilion, the only trace of discomfort was the greyness of his pallor, and neither advisor saw fit to comment on the matter.

‘My lords. I will address my warriors presently. But before you precede me to warn them of the fact, I would value your opinions. I do not know who it was decided to break camp today…’ Thranduil paused, just in case one or other would offer a name, but both advisors were too well-versed to fall into the trap of being more helpful than they needed to be. ‘But it has undoubtedly been good for the heart of our warriors to move away from the eyot and a little nearer our beloved forest. However, I would appreciate your thoughts as to whether we need press on tomorrow, or if we might take a day or two here to calm Nestoril’s nerves and allow our injured further recovery time…’

‘My king… while Prince Tharmeduil is away from us, I believe it would be better to camp here and await some sign of his return. It seems that he and his escort are headed towards the forest but were not making for the road… if we are too far from where they left us, we risk missing them. But I would first speak with… with the one who suggested we leave the eyot.’

‘Ah. So it was neither of you, then? No matter, it was undoubtedly the right decision… Begin to make plans, my lords, for a journey home, the swiftest and easiest route possible, bearing in mind we will need to carry our injured. Very well. Send one of the commanders to walk with me to the camp.’

As it turned out, they sent all three. Govon bowed and presented him with a note informing him that, yes, it would be most useful to stay in this camp awaiting the return of Prince Tharmeduil, and then fell into step at his side as they headed towards the gathered warriors.

All bowed to the king until he waved them up and walked amongst them.

‘No speeches today,’ he said. ‘Simply a few words and my thanks and my respect for how you have carried on… Celeguel, how well you have healed! Triwathon, we meet again… mellyn-nin, no, I assure you, my injuries look worse than they are… Commanders…?’

Esgaron and Bregon stepped forward and called their warriors to order. Once they had formed ranks, Thranduil addressed them.

‘It is Midsummer’s Day. We are not spending it in quite the way we intended, but no matter. We are here and we have turned towards home. We will camp here until such time as Prince Tharmeduil and his escort rejoin us. So, gather your strength. It is a long march home.’ 

His mouth lifted in a smile.

‘But in my experience, the way home always seems much shorter.’

He turned away to where Govon and Legolas were waiting to walk him back to his pavilion where Nestoril was waiting to hand him the pain-killing draught. He drank it almost eagerly for once.

‘Legolas, you are in charge while I am recovering. Do not be afraid to ask Arveldir for advice,’ he said, his voice fading as his strength slipped away. ‘Not that you seem to have needed it yet… Govon, keep him out of trouble, why don’t you?’

‘I’ll do my best, Adar-in-Honour.’

‘Do not,’ Thranduil managed as the draught began to take him away. ‘Do not ever call me that… in front of…’

Govon grinned at Legolas with a shrug.

‘What a pity we will never know what he was about to say, isn’t it, melleth? Shall we leave him to rest?’

‘That’s probably a very good idea, Govon. Feel better, Adar.’

‘Adar-in-Honour.’

_Thranduil floated..._


	139. The Eaves of the Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tharmeduil tells his companions why they're back in Mirkwood...

It was late the next day that Canadion and Thiriston led their prince’s horse under the eaves of Mirkwood.

For most of the journeyTharmeduil had been listing in his saddle muttering to himself and whenever they had stopped, had tried to make notes in his book with much head-shaking and frowning.

‘What is troubling you, my prince?’ Canadion asked. ‘Can we help you find clarity?’

‘There is something awry… something… when I foresaw this journey for us, it was different. I am trying to see what has changed, I know I do not have long now before the visions stop…’

‘Well, can you at least tell us what we’re here for?’ Thiriston asked with a scowl. ‘It’s all very well for you – but we haven’t even got a little book to look at…’

Tharmeduil laughed.

‘Do not you know? Can it be I forgot to say? Healer Nestoril will be running out of caul silk soon, and there are still warriors in need of it… and my father, too. We’re going to fetch her some more.’

‘Are we so?’ Canadion said, a tremor in his voice. ‘And how do we do that, my prince? Is a company from Mirkwood meeting us with a pack from stores?’

‘I am afraid not; we will get them the same way we always get them… that is, I will rely on you and Thiriston to get them. And you will be fine – you do not mind my saying, when you know I know you are courageous in the face of your fear, when you must know I have only respect for you?’

‘May I check, my prince… are you saying we will be fine because you know we will be fine, or because you know you say we will be fine?’

Tharmeduil laughed. 

‘You will be fine. I know every move, every angle of attack that is to come. I know how many, what sort, where from. And I will talk you through it all tonight and then, tomorrow, I will go over it again as we head more deeply into the forest. For now, let’s find that little glade just inside and to the south where we can make camp.’

Within moments of coming under the shelter of the branches of the forest the three elves found themselves relaxing. The dangers of the forest were known dangers, familiar terrors they had long grown up with and far more easy to their minds than the dangerous open spaces of the plains and their huge skies, full of dragons.

The most notable difference between the trees of Mirkwood and those of woodlands not known as havens for elvenkind was the sheer scale of the trees; Mirkwood oaks reached the height of the wild sessile oaks of Middle Earth within a decade of life and continued growing for millennia. Birch made huge, dappled towers of straight trunks and the splayed fingers of horse chestnuts reached out like huge parasols, each hand of leaves as big as the canopy of their lesser, un-enchanted, disempowered cousins. But that same mystical, elven, Silvan energy that gave the forest such vigour also supported the darker creatures that lurked, always trying to gain a foothold.

Of these the giant arachnids were undoubtedly the greatest danger and of late their numbers had been on the increase. Extra vigilance from the Mirkwood hunters had stemmed the tide, at least around the Great Cave Palace, but out in the further reaches it was less easy. It had been the opinion of the commanders that the attempted migration, and subsequent skirmishes with the spiders which had resulted in the harvest of so many cauls and the loss of the next generation of eggs would have an impact on the arachnid population for years to come.

‘But there are still plenty of queens around,’ Tharmeduil said once he had talked them through his visions for the next day and drawn out a rough map.

‘And there is a large party just to the south of our position…’

‘My prince, when you say that, what exactly do you mean?’

‘I mean that by tomorrow noon we’ll be near enough to engage them. There’s nothing to worry about tonight.’

‘I’ll take first watch,’ Thiriston said. ‘Not because I doubt you, my prince. But to spend a night amongst the trees… I have missed them.’

Tharmeduil lay back on the ground and looked up through the overarching branches of a sizeable oak.

‘So have I,’ he said.

*

Morning began for Tharmeduil when he came out of reverie to the hiss and thwock that was the unmistakeable sound of an arrow thudding into something with serious intent. He pushed awkwardly up on his elbow to see Thiriston and Canadion involved in an impromptu archery practice a little way off. The target had an image of a spider drawn on it, and the arrow currently lodged in it would have buried itself into the nerve node between abdomen and thorax.

As he watched he saw Thiriston take a shot. The arrow he loosed sped towards the target, drifting a little off centre to land in the spider’s abdomen.

‘Ai, that would have been an explosive hit!’ the prince called out. ‘So the bow hand is better, Thiriston?’

‘Better, prince, but not properly working yet. It aches. I’m happier with my axe, truth to tell.’

‘How are you this morning, my prince?’ Canadion called across.

Tharmeduil was stiff and sore, aware of the unresponsive numbness of his left side. He was troubled, too, by the elusive something that wasn’t right, but he had not dared send his mind chasing off after it in case he brought another fit down on himself. Out here, with spiders not so far away and only these two warriors with him, another fit would not be a good thing…

He saw the possibilities begin, unfold, run away as his prescience answered the question of what Canadion and Thiriston would do if he were to have a fit. The visions comforted him.

‘Pretty much as I was last night,’ he answered. ‘Only in need of a walk to get my leg working again. Can I have a help up?’

Thiriston came across and offered a strong arm for the prince who managed, with his help and the aid of his staff, to stand and begin to hobble around.

‘My fëa-mate will see to breakfast. Where am I taking you?’

‘Just to the horses will do. My beast is quite good at holding me up. Thank you; I’ll make my own way back.’

It was frustrating to have to rely on his companions to help him around. It was easier, somehow, to let the horse support him, and Tharmeduil began to understand just why his father spent so much time with Nelleron – an animal didn’t judge, didn’t give you knowing looks across the fire, didn’t have to pretend not to see when you got annoyed with yourself. Above all, animals didn’t pity you.

Worse than being the subject of pity, though, was the sense of being let down by his own body. He’d thought, when he’d set out on this trip, that he’d have recovered a little more strength and movement. In spite of all the warnings in his notes, he had thought it would not be quite so bad so soon, and he was beginning to fear he might be an encumbrance to the warriors when they engaged with the spiders. He wondered if there were anything he could do about that, and all he could come up with was to assure them he would be fine, that he knew he would be fine, and hope they believed him.

Over breakfast they discussed his vision again.

‘So… when we come to the glade, we watch out for trigger lines… there is a fallen trunk, and amongst the creepers the spiders have strung strands down…’ Tharmeduil paused, looking for Canadion to continue.

‘Thiriston will get up into the canopy to check the spread of the web. We’re expecting a three-layer blanket web, as three females are nesting together for protection, their guards having been almost wiped out when they crossed us near the river,’ the young one said. ‘Once we know where the queens are, where the eggs are and where the guards are, we will all head into the canopy and… what is it, my prince? Why do you look so… so pale, of a sudden?’

‘The canopy,’ Tharmeduil answered. ‘That’s what’s changed, that’s what’s different. In all my visions of giving you directions and instructions in this fight, I’m in the canopy with you.’

He shook his head, tired suddenly, trying not to let panic overwhelm him.

‘But I can’t even stand unaided any more. How, in the name of all the Valar, am I going to get up into the canopy?’


	140. Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tharmeduil makes new plans...

Canadion and Thiriston exchanged glances.

‘And just why do you have to be in the canopy, my prince?’ Thiriston asked. ‘Your instructions seemed perfectly clear as they were…’

‘Because of the perspective! If I say, it’s coming straight for you, and I’m in the canopy, then that means something other than if I’m on the ground, where it could be coming straight for you at an angle or… wait… wait, wait, wait… I can work it out! If I take the drawings and work from them…’ Tharmeduil was already furtling around in his saddlebags for his notebook. ‘I can redraw them… no, rewrite the instructions from how it would be if I were from the ground instead… it will take me a little time… do we have time?’

‘My prince, if you have seen nesting queens, they are not going anywhere until their eggs hatch. So an hour now, surely, will make no odds and if it helps ease your concerns…?’ Canadion said. ‘I will make more of that bark distillation that passes for tea while you do so, shall I?’

‘Thank you, yes… could you pass me the pigment sticks? And will one of you talk to me as I work?’

It took less than an hour for Tharmeduil to reimagine events as seen from the floor of the forest rather than from his previous perspective in the canopy and to go through them again.

‘…So the only thing I am not sure of is the last three guard spiders, where they will come from. In these drawings of the canopy, it appears they try to attack in a group as you’re cutting free the last caul, Canadion – so Thiriston, make sure you are there to watch his back, and he yours, for I won’t be able to see… are we clear?’

‘As much as we can be. But, my prince, this…’ Canadion tapped the papers. ‘This is our job, it is what we do, it is what Thiriston makes me look good at… there was no need to put in such effort! All you need do is point us at the spiders and stand back!’

Tharmeduil laughed. 

‘I am sure that is so, mellon-nin! But Nestoril needs three cauls, else she will not know whether to save my Adar’s pretty looks or stop Calithilon whimpering about his bad leg with the last one… and so, I seek to get the most out of this trip and give you as much protection as I can. It would not do if you were injured and it was my fault for bringing you here.’

‘My prince, we could be injured at any time, and it would not be your fault. That is how things are, in Mirkwood.’ Thiriston shrugged. ‘I have lived elsewhere in my time, but it is here that is home. Now, are we ready? We should move on. Canadion, will you saddle the prince’s horse while I see to ours?’

‘Of course, melleth. My prince, I will not take long and then we can get underway.’

At first they moved through dappled brightness, being near to the boundary of the forest, still, and the canopy being less dense here. Most of the trees were the attenuated, ghostly silver birches – ‘Flighty things,’ Thiriston said. ‘Canadion loves to sit and gossip with the ones near home…’ with an under layer of bramble and dog rose that made humpy mounds along the path and provided shelter for the small and squeaking animals of the forest.

The light levels grew no less as the edge of the forest swung south-east and they rode parallel with the boundary for an hour or so, their horses carefully picking a path through the trees and leaf litter. Recognising the three elves as denizens of the forest with a right to be there, the trees did not impede their way. In fact, if anything, they moved and swayed to permit the prince and his escort an easier path.

After several hours, Tharmeduil called a halt in a clearing. The light had steadily dimmed and decreased and now only the faintest of glimmers suggested sunlight above from a sun that was overhead in the sky.

‘Here’s where we leave the horses,’ he said. ‘Hitched to the low branch, not pickets, you might need to get us away in a hurry. If that happens, head directly out of the forest and follow it north. By now, the company should have broken camp and be somewhere on the plains.’

‘We can discuss that later,’ Thiriston said, swinging out of his saddle and reaching for his weapons. ‘Your bow, my prince?’

‘I can no longer draw a bow,’ Tharmeduil said sadly. ‘Take my quiver, I won’t need it. I can still stick a knife in things, though; I can look after myself. So. Due east, now, and when we come to that forest spring, that’s when we need to watch ourselves.’

They took a few moments to water their horses and prepare themselves with a last look at Tharmeduil’s notes before setting off into the eastwards gloom. Progress was slow, now, not only because Tharmeduil was halt and awkward, but because the forest floor was darker, deeper, less easy for them all to navigate.

Even so, it was home, and they slid from shadow to shade with silent confidence, hands on tree trunks sensitive to the vibration of the forest, sensitive noses tasting the chemical signals emitted by the trees. Silver birch became ash, became oak, thick and sturdy and strong and the air changed, took on a sour note, the shadows becoming not merely shade, but darkness, and suddenly the trickling tinkle of water from a rock face to their left and the forest spring signalled a change in mood from watchful to wary.

‘Ahead, five minutes. Up, to the south then. Fallen tree, trip strands.’ Tharmeduil reminded them. 

All three were practically mouthing words now rather than speaking, lip-reading each other, but Canadion nodded and replied to show he understood.

‘I wait with you. Thiriston goes up.’

Tharmeduil nodded, and they continued through the dark, stealthy now, tension beginning to build. The prince felt his heart begin to thud and thunder, and tried to calm himself. There was no reason for this anxiety, he knew how it ended… well, he knew some of it. Enough of it. Enough to know he really didn’t have to worry about anything after today.

Not for a very long time, at least. The darkness was coming.

As soon as he remembered that, he found a strange sense of peace begin to steal over him; something in the change of perspective was oddly freeing, as if he realised on some level that there would be a chance to rest, to recover from all that had happened. A time when he wouldn’t have to think or do or feel, but somewhere he could just be. Until then, he just had to follow the plan and look after his companions.

They halted. Ahead was the fallen tree trunk, and in a swathe of ivy dangling down, the shimmer and gleam of a spider trip strand could be occasionally seen. 

Canadion folded his arms around Thiriston, holding him tightly for a moment, disregarding his prince’s presence enough to place a kiss on the big warrior’s lips before releasing him.

‘Go up. Be safe.’

Thiriston went up.


	141. Quarters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas and Govon discover they have neighbours...

Legolas woke to find his fëa-mate draped across his body, even though there was plenty of space on the doubled pallets which formed their bed. He found he didn’t mind the proximity and wrapped his arms around his beloved with a satisfied sigh.

They had their pavilion back, their spacious, roomy, private pavilion which had been set up discreetly aside from the main body of the camp – not far from the rest of the court, but far enough away for Govon not to have felt the need to stifle any cries in the night.

Legolas smiled and held him just that little bit closer, revelling in the warmth and the weight of the contact.

He wondered idly what time it was… not too early to wake his fëa-mate, he hoped, but not so late that they would cause raised eyebrows and half-hidden smirks when they found their way to the cook fires.

It would be a shame to disturb him, though.

But Govon sighed and snuggled and Legolas smiled again. Govon was awake.

Well, part of him was, at least.

Legolas stroked the dark honey hair and allowed his fingers to drift all the way down Govon’s spine and the delightful body stirred further and arced interestingly against his own. Govon’s head lifted, his face smiling and his eyes languid, and suddenly the thought of raising eyebrows around the cook fire didn’t seem to matter any more.

‘Good morning, melleth,’ Govon said. ‘I think it’s time to get up.’

*

It was a good hour before they made it out of the pavilion to breakfast. Legolas left first and stretched, turning as he did so and saw that things had changed overnight…

‘Govon? Did you know about this?’

‘About what, melleth?’

‘We have… we have neighbours!’

Still fastening his jerkin, Govon came out into the bright morning and looked around.

To the left of their pavilion a new tent had been erected, almost as large as their own – Legolas thought he recognised it as the former command tent – discreetly set a little way apart.

‘These must have set up very quietly for us not to have been disturbed by the installation,’ Govon said.

‘Or,’ Legolas suggested with unease in his voice, ‘or we were too busy to notice…’

‘Ah.’ Govon shrugged. ‘But we are newly-avowed fëa-mates, after all. Any pitching their tents close by must have done so knowing their peril… Shall we to breakfast? I’m hungry.’

There were more than a few warriors around the cook fires, but nobody saw fit to smirk, possibly because Arwen and Feril were still at the fire. Erestor was sitting with them, and as Arwen moved up to make way for Legolas, he looked up and caught Govon’s eye and flushed.

Had Arwen not accosted his fëa-mate, Govon would probably not have commented, but as it was, he felt compelled to speak.

‘Good morning, my lord. It is a guess, but can it be that you and Lord Arveldir are our new neighbours?’ he said with a grin. ‘I hope we did not keep you awake – we really had not realised we might keep anyone up except ourselves…’

Legolas, who had just accepted tea from Arwen, almost doused the camp fire with it.

‘Indeed, we were so busy settling in that… I hope you have no objections to our proimity? It was a suggestion of my friend’s, we had formerly been lodging near the warriors and… that is…’

‘I know what you mean; some of the warriors can get a little ribald in their envy…’ Govon said, taking pity on the advisor’s embarrassment. ‘In truth, I find I am a little glad not to be part of the only acknowledged couple any longer… it is all very well for him,’ he went on with a nod towards Legolas. ‘He is a prince, and who would dare smirk at the son of King Thranduil? But for me, a warrior, new to my command? My company can hardly help but tease…’ He tipped his head. ‘Still I think they are getting used to us, finally.’

Arveldir strode up to the cook fire from the direction of the main camp, his expression fixed in a look Legolas recognised of old.

‘Have you just come from my father, Arveldir?’ he asked.

‘I have, in fact. He… No matter. Simply because his majesty is not in the peak of health at present does not mean he has ceased to notice what has been happening all around him… my prince, once you have finished here, he would like to speak to you and… and to quote his majesty precisely, his son-in-honour…’

Arveldir sat down beside Erestor and Legolas saw the change of position that suggested both had instantly relaxed. 

‘There really is no urgency, my prince. But will you let me know, when you have left his presence? He has said he would speak with Erestor and me once you have.’ 

Govon set down his plate and looked at his fëa-mate. 

‘I do not know about you, melleth, but I have quite lost my appetite… shall we see your father sooner, rather than later?’

*  
Thranduil was housed in his original pavilion and the opening had been held back to allow a little light and air inside. As Legolas and Govon approached, they noticed that as well as a buckler to kick against, there was a string of bells on a crochet chain hanging outside. Legolas ignored both and called out instead.

‘Adar? You sent for us?’

‘Come, ion-nin. And bring my honour-son in with you…’

Govon grinned as he followed Legolas in and bowed to the king.

‘What is the matter?’ Legolas asked, taking a seat at his father’s bedside.

‘Nothing, as such. I merely wished to enquire your opinion concerning what are already being referred to as the married quarters?’

‘I’m not sure I understand, Adar… Tinuon and Hador set us a little way aside, for privacy… this morning, we found Erestor and Arveldir on one side of us, but married quarters…?’

‘I am not entirely sure whose notion it was for the advisors to do so… If it had been suggested by the other commanders, for instance, to segregate you…’

‘I think Erestor and Arveldir chose to pitch near us,’ Govon offered. ‘But if it makes matters easier for the avowed lovers amongst us, and is tacit permission for such to be together, then I do not object to being in official – or semi-official married quarters…’

‘Unless you end up with half the camp on your doorstep!’ Thranduil said. ‘You may find yourselves with other neighbours.’

‘Undoubtedly, once Canadion and Thiriston get back,’ Legolas said. ‘That will be interesting.’

Thranduil’s mouth twitched.

‘Orders for the day, should you need them,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘It may already be in hand. Those who are able should continue weapons practice… the usual running of the camp… you do not need me to tell you, ‘las, you have it down to a fine art by now… Govon, don’t let Esgaron or Bregon poach your warriors for their own tasks… I understand they consider two warriors hardly enough to make a command…’

‘Interestingly, the only conversation I have had on the topic was to advise against adding new guards to my command while in the field… it seemed rather that the commanders were worried I would poach from them. It would seem that our position as Court Guard – as your personal warriors – not only makes us unassailable, but aspirational, also. I will be tactful, should the need arise.’

‘If required I will speak to Esgaron but it would be far better for your reputation, Govon, if I do not have to.’

‘Understood. It’s I who should fight your battles for you, not the other way around. Is there anything more I can do for you, Thranduil?’

If the king was surprised that Govon addressed him by name, he didn’t show it. 

‘Yes. Nestoril is worried about something and I would very much like you to wheedle it out of her. I will then leave it to you to decide whether or not I need to be troubled with it. That’s all.’

‘Except how are you today?’ Legolas asked. ‘You look like you need pain relief again.’

‘Nestoril promises something once my injuries have been dressed,’ Thranduil said. ‘But the pain, at least, keeps me awake. If Arveldir and Erestor are free, send them.’

*  
The healer was at work outside the pavilion which now housed Erthor and Calithilon. She had set up a table and seating, and was dressing the injuries of those walking wounded who still required it. She looked Legolas over with a professional eye.

‘There are just two or three to attend and then I can see to your arm, my prince,’ she said. ‘Please sit.’

‘I did not come to trouble you with work – I only wish to speak with you, and I have a message for Arveldir from my father which I should deliver…’

‘Do as the healer bids,’ Govon said. ‘I’ll speak with the advisors and come back.’

Legolas resigned himself to his fate and took a seat amongst the waiting warriors. In truth, all would have been happy to make way for him, but he shook his head.

‘No, it is pleasant to sit in the sunshine and have a reason not to be busy… so tell me, how are you all faring?’

Legolas listened to their stories of burns healing and better reveries, and in turn they asked him about his father and his brother. He had no need of Nestoril’s warning glance to know to be wary in his answers.

‘I have just come from my father… he is giving orders and instructions as usual; do not have any concerns about our king! I do not think he would want you to waste energy worrying about him. And Iauron is just the same, in no pain.’ He smiled to show this was just as was expected. ‘It is good to see you all in such heart.’

He watched Nestoril working while he chatted with the waiting warriors, noticing her deft, neat movements and the economy with which she cut some dressings to size… although he noted that others she wadded and padded around the relevant injuries.

Finally, all the warriors had been attended to and Nestoril smiled him over.

‘Once I have you sorted out, my prince, I can visit your father. How has your injury been?’

‘Better,’ he said as she slid the shirt off his shoulder and freed his arm.

‘Oh, this is new!’ she said, finding the dragon-scale token. ‘From Govon, I assume?’

‘Yes, a replacement.’ He smiled. ‘It should wear rather better than my first.’

‘How have you been getting on without caul silk?’ Nestoril asked almost casually. 

‘Very well; keep it for those in need…’ 

He saw her give a little start and made a guess.

‘Is that what’s bothering you? Are we running low on caul silk?’

‘Do not speak of it to anyone, I beg!’ she said quickly, her voice low. ‘It would have been fine… we would have had plenty, but then your father’s injuries reopened several times… and I do not for a moment begrudge him the silk… but we have Erthor and Calithilon each needing it almost as much, and three of the warriors who are not so badly hurt still must have it…’

‘Adar would be the first to say don’t use it on him,’ Legolas said. ‘Well, perhaps his face. But while we are here and he is not moving…’ 

‘Erthor must have it for his back… and of the other two, your father really is in most need but I do not want it to look like favouritism…’

‘I can make it a command, if it helps?’

The look she gave him was withering, but her mouth amused.

‘That will not be necessary, my prince. I am quite capable of making my own decisions. And arguing with your father, if needs be.’


	142. Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thiriston and Canadion seek out the nesting queens...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-graphic descriptions of spiders, so very sensitive persons and elflings of a nervous disposition should read from behind the sofa...

Thiriston prepared to go up.

He nodded to the prince and turned away to select a tree, finding a good, stalwart oak – if ever he found his fëa-tree in all the wild woodland, he knew it would be an oak – and placed his hands on the bark, getting a sense of the life of the tree and allowing it to recognise him for what he was – one of the guardians of the forest’s isolation, one of the keepers of its peace. As he did so, he sensed a softening in the air around him as the tree began to alter its chemicals, changing its signals and allowing him to read its mood.

The tree was alarmed, and the trees surrounding it were alarmed. It had picked up the warning signals from the next tree along, which suggested this one didn’t have any spiders lurking in its canopy or clutching its branches but that there were some nearby.

Good.

His hand found lodging in a bole, his foot rested on the joint between trunk and branch. Leaves folded around him, concealing, protecting, and Thiriston went up.

The tree helped him, supported and sheltered him, and he found he was almost pulled up the trunk, as if the great mechanisms that drove the tree to lift water and nutrients from the ground were lifting him also.

Presently, a certain fragrance in the leaves alerted him to changes in the forest around the tree, and he proceeded more slowly and cautiously. 

He reached the point where the trunk separated out into two main stems, heading upwards again, almost vertically still, and he took the one that leaned away towards the centre of the wood until he reached another branching point and could see the canopy thicken above. Now he looked for a horizontal branch, and one found him, it seemed, the tree complicit in his climb, and he eased his way along, moving slowly and easily, making his movements blend with the tree.

Finally he stopped and lay still, taking in all the information his senses could gather.

The message of the tree beneath him, the trees surrounding him spoke of the need for caution. Other things, big things, legs with shadows… Thiriston smelled the bitter, acrid note he associated with arachnids and his hearing began to pick up the chitter and click of spider mouth parts moving in what passed for communication between them.

And he looked, peering out between the cover of the canopy, letting his eyes rest where they would.

His gaze drifting, focussing, moving on, he soon recognised something through the foliage, a little way distant and lower than his present position, a long, attenuated limb, a limb which could be a black, thin branch but which had a gloss and sheen to it that betrayed its nature as a spider’s leg. Following it along with his keen eyes now locked on, he found the point where limb joined body… 

Making out the shape of the whole spider was easy now, its place on the branch. Its alignment suggested a direction for other spiders in the vicinity, backed up by more clicks and clacks as the creatures communicated. This showed him the strings and strands of the anchor ropes of nursery webs. Looking further, and harder, he located all the relevant details and began a slow retreat and descent.

Canadion looked at him with relief in his wide, amber-flecked eyes and Thiriston grinned and shook his head.

‘All fine,’ he mouthed before turning to Tharmeduil. ‘Some paper?’

Once the prince had handed him a piece of clean paper and a pigment stick, Thiriston began to sketch, outlining the placement and positions of the webs and queens.

‘Three queens, three webs, stacked. One queen to each web, taking a different corner each. Cauls attached to a second corner… each queen is over, or under, a caul and can see the other two.’ 

He waited for Canadion to nod understanding, adding the positions of the queens to the drawing.

‘Guards?’

‘Only two. Outriders.’ Thiriston added further marks to his sketch. ‘Here… and here. The oak says…’

He broke off. Tharmeduil was shaking his head. 

‘What, my prince?’

‘Three. I know there are three guards. And more spiders! I have seen them!’

‘I have been in the canopy… I have not seen them, my prince!’

‘Then watch your backs. There is a small nest nearby.’

Canadion shrugged.

‘Always,’ he said, but Thiriston scowled and reached for the paper.

_‘Spiders do not behave like that,’_ he wrote.

The prince took the paper back, adding his own note.

_‘They don’t behave like this, either, nesting together. But they are.’_

_‘But… a nest would not be right,’_ Thiriston scrawled. 

The prince snatched the paper back. His writing was bigger now, pressing hard into the paper.

_‘I am not saying this to show off!’_

_‘No, Prince, but nothing I have ever seen makes it likely for there to be a next.’_

_‘If you’re wrong, it’s not you they’ll bite.’_

Thiriston glanced across at Canadion who had been trying not to grin at the written argument.

_‘You win,’_ he wrote.

Tharmeduil shrugged and put the paper away.

‘Time to move, anyway.’ The prince began to make his way to his chosen vantage point, easing around the fallen tree. ‘This is where I direct you from. Go. Be safe.’

Thiriston reached out to take Canadion’s hand for a moment. Then he was gone, heading into the forest towards his starting point. Turning away in a different direction, Canadion melted into the undergrowth.

Tharmeduil consulted his book. It had taken longer than he had expected to convince the big elf and now he was readjusting, altering his timeframe, reconsidering. It would begin soon, and it would begin with Canadion… but if he called out too soon, the nesting spiders would be aware of his own position… except he was on the ground, they half way up to the canopy, near the sapience layer of the trees but not on it yet, hiding from awareness…

…Of course! That was why Thiriston had no sense of them, the acid smell of the nest lost in the more-pungent queens, and the trees’ sensors were only active at the sapience layer, that point where the growth was new and fresh and more sensitive. Above that point, the forest read all the chemical signals and scents around it with ease, but beneath… there had been enough taint in the air to pick up the queens’ nests, but not the other, more ordinary nest.

The whistled signal system they had arranged was not sophisticated enough to convey any of that. The best he could do was send out the ‘attention’ call and add the direction to it: ‘East, north.’

Presently he had an acknowledgement from both Canadion and Thiriston’s positions, and Canadion added on an ‘alert’ of his own. He began to count his heartbeats…

…seven and…

The hiss and thwock of an arrow and a high, screeching keen, rapidly followed by a second arrow, another screech. Tharmeduil shifted awkwardly to the side and a huge, bulbous shape hit the forest floor just a few arm’s lengths away from him; a guard spider, mouthparts still clacking open and shut, open and shut…

It stopped moving.

Overhead, more noise, and Thiriston and Canadion’s voices. They had been seen by the spiders and so there was no more need for stealth.

‘You could at least tell him he was right, melleth!’

‘Later. I’ll grovel later! Bit busy now, penneth.’

Tharmeduil grinned and then froze as he heard a rustle from the bushes behind him. Try as he might, he had been unable to connect with his visions to discovery the position of the three unaccounted guard spiders. 

Now he knew.

He drew his long knife with a slither and stumbled round to face the dark bushes. As the first of the trio leapt, his mind connected with the visions, too late, far too late and he tried to stop them coming but they wouldn’t, they would not and as his sight clouded and his head blossomed with pain and the shaking started, he saw the first ugly, many-eyed face leap towards him…


	143. Nursery Harvest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thiriston and Canadion engage the arachnids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Spiders, many spiders. Not described as graphically as in earlier chapters, but, still, spiders with mean intent. Descriptions of violence towards spiders.

Canadion felt the old, familiar dread rise up to take him by the throat and shake the strength out of him. He tried to quash it, reasoning that Tharmeduil had said they would be safe, that he saw Canadion and Thiriston afterwards.

Only he hadn’t said what he had seen about them afterwards, and that made him worry.

Never mind.

He must remember what Thiriston had told him about fear, once. Fear is dangerous, because it can make you weak. But it can also make you strong, because your reactions are faster and you see more clearly. If you can harness it, you can use it.

So, now, Canadion tried to use his fear, to make himself more aware of his strengths, remembering how swift he was, how lithe he could be. 

And now he had a new comfort; how much Thiriston loved him.

Knowing he had a protector, a guardian had always helped but he had never realised until lately, until after the dragons, until they had talked beneath the bridge about Canadion’s fears and Thiriston’s dread, until they had been almost forced into discussing vows, how much.

It empowered him and made him cautious, both.

Suddenly the scent of the air changed, curdled, turned his stomach over. That wasn’t the smell of queens, they were sweeter, somehow, still acid but with more depth than this acrid waft. He remembered the prince’s notes, his warnings, and he drew an arrow and nocked it, sidling into the cover of a tree which obligingly wafted its leaves apart and he saw…

He saw the bulging dark green abdomen of a regular spider, not so big as some, its abdomen hardly bigger than the circuit of his arms…not that he ever, ever wanted to hug a spider’s abdomen… He aimed, drew further, released…

The arrow shafted through to hit the creature and burst its belly wide as it screeled and scratched, and he was already knocking another arrow when he heard Thiriston’s bow sing out. Somewhere behind, a body landed with a thunk.

The element of surprise now gone, Canadion hurried up into the trees towards the main target of the day, the first, and lowest caul. The web was visible above and two trees along, springing and flexing, and more high, striating sounds proclaimed Thiriston was at work.

As soon as he began to climb, instinct kicked in, and he forgot, set aside his fear, becoming shadow, shade, death with a bow, pausing to take out two more regular spiders which had scuttled through the trees towards the queens’ nursery before he reached the lowest level. As intended, he was directly under the caul and could see the bumps of the eggs within. The queen on this level was nowhere to be seen, gone, or dead, and so he swung up to free his knife and stroke and slash at the strands binding the eggs in place. They tumbled free, rolling like translucent apples down to the centre of the web, making it dip and bounce them around while Canadion yanked the caul free and bundled it up, shoving it inside his tunic and turning just in time to face the maw of one of the chittering queens. She was incandescent with rage, her entire body vibrating as she lunged at him, her fury making her thoughtless so that instead of turning to sting she lashed out, and Canadion severed her two front limbs, pitching her down so that before she could hoist herself up on her second set of forelimbs he had driven his knife down hard into her head and used her as a platform to launch himself free and up to the next level.

He grabbed a helpful branch and swung up, his knife sliding easily free of the corpse, and ran along it to the next corner.

‘Ware, Canadion!’ Thiriston shouted, and he ducked just in time as a sticky strand of silk flailed over him.

Back to a lower branch and along that, then pausing to take another shot, piercing the shooter of the sticking silk and watching with satisfaction as it landed on the uncauled, rolling eggs on the lowest level, breaking through and dropping, already dead, to the ground. Time for the briefest glance around, and the web above began moving in odd, unexpected ways.

‘Thiriston?’ he shouted, and swarmed up to the next level where he saw his fëa-mate engaged with two spiders at once, guard and queen, and forgetting all about his fear, Canadion drew an arrow and threw himself at the abdomen of the guard, spiking the arrow into it while his knife cut at the joints of the queen’s rear limbs. 

A bubbling noise from the injured guard spider and Canadion turned back to rake his knife along its spiracles as Thiriston brought his axe down on the maimed queen’s head. She flailed and the guard spider, too injured to think beyond the pain, grappled with what it perceived as another assailant, giving Canadion the chance to bury his blade into its central node and end its misery.

Thiriston was already folding the caul, having emptied the eggs out onto the floor of the forest beneath. He glanced at Canadion with a proud smile in his eyes.

‘One more… Duck, penneth, quickly!’

Knowing better than to argue, especially as Thiriston was spinning his axe, Canadion threw himself flat on the branch as the axe whistled over his head to thwock into something that sounded as if it had been only just behind him. He turned to see the handle of the axe sliding out of sight as the queen it had just killed lost its hold on the branch. Reaching out quickly, he grabbed the handle and prevented the loss of the weapon.

‘Seems our prince was right about the other nest,’ Thiriston muttered, taking back his axe. ‘Thank you, penneth. Can’t be many left now.’

‘Three guards unaccounted for.’

‘Queens are all dead; they won’t be motivated to chase after us. Come on, let’s do your thing with the last caul and mop up the dregs.’

They spotted a change in the shadows and saw a little cluster of spiders – not guards, just nervous, edgy creatures from the near-by nest. They leaned on their long legs, swaying to and fro until one appeared to gather itself, preparing to leap.

Canadion fired first, shooting not the gathered spider, but one to its side, distracting the poised creature enough for Thiriston to fire into it. Both spiders twitched, falling, and Thiriston fired again, taking down the third.

‘Should be clear now, penneth. Don’t drop your guard, though.’

Canadion nodded and began to slink up to the top layer of the nursery web. The caul was on the far corner, and he glanced up into the canopy to make sure there were no lurking spiders before seeking an overhead branch and running lightly onto it. 

Below, Thiriston’s bow sang out once, twice, and a spider fell from but a few yards behind the last caul. Canadion paused, his courage starting to fail at last.

‘Are they gone? Is my way clear…?’

‘I’m coming across to you, don’t worry.’

The branch flexed beneath the weight of the bigger elf, bouncing slightly as he made his way towards Canadion. He could see his fëa-mate’s shoulders beginning to lift as his tension built, and he shook his head.

‘I’m just here, Canadion. Close enough to touch you in a moment. Reaching out my hand, now, to your left shoulder. Can I do so? Lay my hand on your shoulder?’

‘P…please, melleth. I find… I find my courage has ended before my job has…’

‘Well, almost done. Here I am.’

His hand touched lightly on Canadion’s shoulder, and the younger elf reached back to cover Thiriston’s fingers with a sigh.

‘I’ll step up to you now. My hand moving, my arm round you. Yes?’

‘Ai, yes…!

He moved in, cuddling gently.

‘There. Better?’

‘So better. Thank you, melleth-nin.’

‘Want you me to go ahead?’

‘No… I will be… not fine, no. But I can do this.’

‘I know, pen-cand-bain-nin. I know you can.’

Canadion gave a little wriggle of pleasure at the words and reluctantly let himself step away from the comforting arm.

‘I’m sighting over your shoulder, melleth, so if I tell you to drop, just leave the caul and do it, yes?’

‘Yes… Am I really your bold, beautiful one?’

‘You know you are.’

‘So, I will go and be bold for you.’ 

Canadion glanced over his shoulder with his laughing, loving look, and then ran along the thick brance towards the anchor point of the web, dropping to hook his knees over the branch and hang upside down to work at the caul, sawing at the thick attachment strands. A corner came free, and he shook the web to spill the eggs out. There were only a dozen or so here, sign of a young queen, or an exhausted one. Well, a dead one now… she would not breed again.

‘Canadion! Hurry! We’re needed below!’

‘A moment… you go, melleth, I am almost done…’ Canadion swung himself slightly, pulling the now-empty caul towards him and hacking through the last anchor… it came away with a spring, and he allowed himself to drop, trusting to the tree to reach out with a helpful branch for him to grasp and continue down more slowly. 

‘On my way… what is it?’

‘Draw your knife. I see the other guards.’ Thiriston paused, and Canadion heard the hiss and thud of an arrow. ‘The rest of the nest is advancing. And that was my last shot.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> Pen-cand-bain-nin: My beautiful bold one
> 
> ... at least that's what it's meant to be. Not a scholar of Sindarin yet...


	144. Surrounded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thiriston tries to protect his prince...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: SPIDERS. Many spiders, up close and personal. Extreme spider death, spider menace, spider smell... a very spidery chapter.

Tharmeduil flailed with his knife, unable to focus, unable to properly hold onto the weapon as he began to shake and convulse. Distantly, he thought he heard a thin, high keening, but it sounded too detached to be real. His sight darkened, clouded, and he was vaguely aware of ground beneath him, soft, deep leaf-litter and moss, and a strange, rank smell folded over him as something connected with his limbs. He remembered the knife and tried to move it again, but it was too much effort and instead he gave himself up to the welcoming darkness.

It would be a long way to the other side of it, he knew. But there really didn’t seem to be any better options at the moment.

*

‘My brave, bold one,’ Thiriston muttered, seeing the gift of that special, private glance from Canadion’s eyes as the young one moved up to seek the last caul.

He moved back towards the tree trunk, keeping one eye on Canadion and listening out for any more spiders in the area; the alleged three guard spiders were starting to worry him…

Somewhere below and behind him, towards where he had parted from the prince, he could hear a series of clicks and his blood froze in his veins. He knew enough of the sounds of spiders to pick out several different sound sources.

But why hadn’t the prince called out as he’d said he would?

A sudden bounce of eggs landing on the layered web; Canadion was busy.

Thiriston called to him to hurry, and began to make his way down towards the prince’s position. His tree flared with warning chemicals and he patted its bark absently. Canadion called down a question just as the leaves parted to reveal the shapes of spiders beneath and Thiriston fired, shouting back to hurry, he’d spent his last arrow… not daring to wait any longer, he dropped from branch to branch until he could see what he had been dreading… 

Three guard spiders. One looked to be injured. Four smaller, regular spiders, immature females, probably, helping with the nest; one dead now, the others crawling across its body towards something that shook and convulsed, something that was already covered in the drape of white strands of wrapping silk…

Thiriston freed his axe and jumped down with a yell, landing near the prince. He laid about him and the spiders backed away chittering, allowing him to stand over the prince’s body where he swung the axe in a circle.

He clipped the face of one of the guard spiders, severing one of its pedipalps and making it hiss, but he was surrounded, encircled, and had to turn to swing the axe again. His just-healed knuckle throbbed and he felt the weakness in his hand. He scowled. He wasn’t allowed to be weak.

The spiders had his range now, keeping out of the way of the sweep of the axe, extending long, tentative forelimbs and although he swung, there were too many of them, too many of their damn legs for him to do more than keep them at bay… and they were all around him…

…and he was tiring…

And his only chance of help was from an arachnaphobic penneth who had already reached his limit of courage once today.

Thiriston swore, and growled and kept swinging, circling, sweeping his axe. 

Two guards advanced, attacking simultaneously, almost flanking him, and he drove them back with an effort, although his axe caused damage to several eyes in one of the faces and that guard lost some of its eagerness. But he was still surrounded, still tiring.

Suddenly something small and round landed on the back of one of the smaller spiders. A shout from above.

‘Ai, Lhingril! Come and get your pretty eggs! Come save them from me!’ 

Another globe, a third, and the immature females scurried and scuttled to try and gather the eggs, distracted by the instinct to nurture. It gave Thiriston the respite he needed, only the guards to worry about for a moment or two, and fresh hope when he heard an arrow slice the air and hit an abdomen; not a killing shot, but an agonising one, and seconds later, Canadion had landed on the injured guard’s blind side and thrust his knife into the central nerve node, his eyes blazing. He jumped away, as the body fell, and fired at short range into the next guard spider’s head. The last guard flung itself at Canadion, and he shrieked like an elfling even as Thirston’s axe sliced its face off, and he shoved his shoulder at the body to push it away.

Breathing heavily and shaking now, Canadion tried to nock an arrow to send after the last two living spiders, but Thiriston put his hand on Canadion’s wrist and made him lower his bow.

‘Leave it,’ he said. ‘We’ve done enough. Our prince needs us.’

They knelt beside him on the ground and cleared the strands of wrapping silk away from his face, his body.

‘He has been bleeding, Thiriston!’

‘It is what happens to him with his gifts. Ai, what a time to have an attack! He wounded one of the spiders, did you see…?’

‘My prince? Do you hear us?’

Tharmeduil lay still, the fit having passed. Blood trickled from beneath his eyelids, from his nose.

‘His colour is wrong,’ Canadion said. ‘I am sure he has been stung!’

‘Let me see.’ Thiriston moved the garments aside from the prince’s throat, examining his neck. ‘Yes; two marks…’

‘Two! Are they close, are thy aligned…?’

‘Yes.’ Thiriston sighed. ‘Not a sting, a bite… the guard spiders… we have seen…’

‘We have, melleth. But will that help, knowing what we have seen?’

‘Can you take my axe? I cannot carry him and it. We must get back to the horses; did you get that third caul?’

‘Yes, all safe. Nestoril will have her three.’

‘I do not like to ask this of you, but will you despatch that injured spider?’ Thiriston lifted the prince over his shoulder. ‘We cannot leave it like that, and it may attract danger towards us in any case.’

Canadion steeled himself, feeling his gorge rise as he approached. But Thiriston was right; it would be cruel to leave it, and unwise. He brought the axe down into its head and it shrieked and twitched and died.

Suddenly he felt very tired and all he could think about was how he had shrieked, how ill the prince looked, how haunted Thiriston’s eyes.  
It seemed a very long way back to the horses.


	145. Callon-nin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canadion and Thiriston pause to take stock after escaping the forest with an unconscious Tharmeduil...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two warnings for this chapter:
> 
> 1) Reference to SPIDERS and their unpleasant physical attributes.
> 
> 2) Sandalwood Alert.
> 
> This chapter is not fit to be read in polite company. Or any company, probably.

Thiriston sat on a bedroll with his back to a tree trunk. Not one of the mighty, comforting trees of Mirkwood, but a smaller, lighter tree in a copse some half hour’s ride out of the forest’s edge and now he rested, a small campfire crackling for company not heat, and with Canadion leaning into him, his back against Thiriston’s chest, his head leaning back on his shoulder, his arms over Thiriston’s own.

Nearby, within reach if necessary, the prince had been laid carefully down and swathed in bedding to protect and comfort him, but right now, it was Canadion who needed comforting.

They had been sitting like this for a good few minutes, Thiriston giving Canadion time to recover. When he had first sat, and opened his arms, the penneth had been shaking and shivering by turns. That he had put his back to Thiriston, too, instead of snuggling in was also a bad sign; it meant he was probably trying not to cry.

Slowly, Canadion calmed, stopped trembling, and Thiriston pressed his lips against the soft chestnut hair.

‘After today, I have a new name for you, melleth,’ he began.

‘Another? As well as pen-cand-bain-nin? Or instead of?’

‘As well as, of course, for you are not just beautiful and were not just bold, you were – and are – callon-nin…’

Canadion’s laugh was bitter.

‘Me? Your hero? When my nerve gave out on the branch?’

‘It was but for a moment. To continue on, in the face of your fear, that is true bravery; do you not see this?

‘No,’ Canadion said sadly. ‘I only saw – imagined – more spiders with their too-shiny eyes all waiting…’

‘And you went, anyway. You were bold, for me. But you are my hero, melleth! You threw down those eggs to distract the immature queens – you saw it would be faster, you thought about what be the swiftest help…’

‘What I thought was… get away from my love, and I threw the eggs, yes. But I was scared to make the leap… I failed… and… and the tree… it pushed me, I am sure! And though there was ever a branch to slow my fall, it would not let me rest or stop, it kept pushing me down…’

Thiriston couldn’t help but laugh at the dismay in Canadion’s voice, but he cuddled him closer to show his sympathy.

‘Oh, my sweet, brave love! You know, you didn’t have to tell me that, you could have left me thinking you had been a brave fool…’

‘Well, I would not have the truth kept from you, even if it harms me, better than harming us… a fool?’

‘To have simply leapt would have been foolhardy. But, think. I was surrounded. You drove off half, then killed two guards…’

‘One was injured already…’

‘And so was more dangerous. Can you truly not see how you are my hero for that?’

‘The tree made me land too close, and all those legs… I had to get them away before they began scuttling, you know I cannot abide it when they scuttle…’

‘Callon-nin…’

‘And I screamed. Do not forget, I screamed like an elleth…’

‘You were startled.’

‘I was scared.’

‘You were my rescuer. Canadion, what would you say? Or, wait, what would the king say, if it had been any other? When I tell him the story, and I say, six or seven spiders, and I was failing, my strength going from my injured hand, and someone drove off three and killed two, do you not think the king would say, the one who did this, is a hero?’

‘Yes… but only because he did not hear the scream…’

‘Will you shush about the scream? Does it matter about the scream? Your knife was stabbing even while your voice was… yelling, it did not stop you. That is the whole of this, callon-nin. Nothing stopped you.’

Canadion sighed and Thiriston kissed the top of his head.

‘Come… Canadion Callon-nin… does it not sound well? Hmm?’

‘Perhaps… almost as good as Thiriston Thalionen sounds…’

‘Ai! How fortunate we are to both have names that alliterate!’

Canadion laughed and turned in Thiriston’s arms, cuddling in at last. He worked his fingers through the layers of his lover’s garments until he found warm skin to stroke and caress. Thiriston shifted, changed position so he could tip Canadion’s chin and kiss him, surprised at how hungrily the penneth kissed him back, devouring his mouth and pushing against him as if starved of affection.

Thiriston stroked the fine jaw line and broke gently away from the kiss to look into those amber flecked eyes and try to read the expression there.

‘Is something the matter, callon-nin? You look sad, I think.’

‘What you said. You were tiring, your strength failing… I do not like to think of you, failing, melleth-nin, I… it made me fear for you.’

‘There is no need. We are here, together. You are safe. I…’ Thiriston shrugged, smiling into the gold-brown gaze. ‘I have you in my arms. It would be perfect, if only I was wearing fewer clothes…’

‘Perhaps I can help you with that, then?’

‘Please. My hand is a little sore.’

‘Ai! I had forgot! Let me see…?’ Canadion sat himself back up and brought Thiriston’s hand towards him, gently examining the damaged knuckle. ‘It looks very painful.’

‘It is painful. I am sure you could take my mind off it, somehow…’

‘Let me help with your sleeves, then.’

Canadion assisted Thiriston out of his jerkin and tunic and shirt and, for good measure, undid his lacings and helped him out of his leggings and boots as well.

‘Better, melleth?’ he asked, feasting his eyes on his beloved’s strong, muscular body, dropping his eyes to where he could see evidence of Thiriston’s growing desire.

‘Better,’ Thiriston conceded. ‘But… I had assumed you would undress, too.’

‘I wondered if you might like to watch.’

‘That’s an interesting thought.’

Canadion found his teasing, playful smile and shifted back onto his knees. He slid off his jerkin and unlaced his tunic slowly, meeting Thiriston’s eyes, and ran his tongue around his lower lip before standing and turning in one fluid motion to present his back as he eased the garment off his shoulders and allowed it to drop, glancing round to catch Thiriston’s rapt gaze. Crossing his arms, he grasped the lower edges of his shirt to pull it off over his head, allowing his back to flex as he stretched upwards, exposing his tawny, flawless skin and discarding the garment so that it fluttered to the ground like a surrendered flag. 

Need and hunger filling him, making his heart thunder and his breath quicken, still he made his movements unhurried, languorous as he stepped out of his boots to stand barefoot on the grass just out of reach of his lover. He twisted to face him, making a show of tugging the lacings of his leggings loose, and then turned away again to bend at the waist as he slid them down and stepped out of them, hearing Thiriston’s breath catch in his throat. The sound aroused him further, so that when he turned back to Thiriston there was no hiding his arousal, and no need to, as his beloved got to his feet and reached to pull him close, pressing his strong, hard body against him, wrapping him in his powerful arms and fastening his mouth on Canadion’s throat. 

Canadion gasped and swallowed, feeling the hot swirl of Thiriston’s tongue on his larynx, throwing his head back and allowing Thiriston to take his weight, to drop down and pull him onto the bedroll. The teasing, warm touch of tongue ceased, his head was grasped tenderly and his mouth claimed in a breathless, moaning kiss where he found himself tumble around and over until he lay on top of Thiriston, his hair falling down to touch and tease across his lover’s face and the sensation of those big, strong hands sweeping over his shoulders, his back, cupping his buttocks and an insistent hardness biting into his hip as his own erection pressed against his lover’s belly.

One hand lifted away, the other resting on his lower back in a warm and somehow comforting way, Canadion was vaguely aware that Thiriston was no longer entirely engrossed in the kiss. He lifted his lips away and pushed onto his elbows so that he could look into his beloved’s face.

‘What is wrong?’

‘Not a thing. I am looking for… ah, here.’ Thiriston lifted his hand to show a small flask. ‘It was all I could find… some of that scented oil that’s become so popular for weapon care… I hope it will do…’

Canadion wrinkled his pretty nose. 

‘If not, there are other things,’ Thiriston said quickly. ‘And I think you need a little tenderness today. So if you would rather…’

‘I need you, maethor-nin. If it has to be blade oil, it has to be blade oil… I think, if you kiss me again, I might not mind it.’

Thiriston flicked the top off the flask with his thumb, and Canadion sniffed at the oil within. He took the flask and grinned, tipping a little of the oil onto Thiriston’s fingers and gently spread it around before closing the lid once more.

‘It smells not too badly,’ Canadion admitted. ‘And it feels slick enough…’

He licked his lips and dipped his head for a kiss, squirming his hips eloquently, and Thiriston brought his hands back to fondle the perfect globes of Canadion’s buttocks again, his oiled fingers sliding down into the secret place between to glide in interesting ways over the sensitive opening, to press and tease and ease his way in while Canadion shuddered with arousal and pushed his hips harder against Thiriston’s erection. The movement pulled the muscles tight around the questing finger, making Canadion moan and rise to take more inside as Thiriston slipped another digit in and began to move inside his lover’s secret place until he was all but writhing and bucking against him.

‘Saes! I love you, melleth, take me, fill me, I need you, I need you to claim me…’

‘I want to see you.’

Thiriston eased Canadion up and reached for the oil, and his lover sat back with wide, dark eyes made huge by desire, taking the flask from him and pouring some into his palm. The deep, exotic scent of sandalwood drifted about them like a cloak as he grasped Thiriston’s erection and silked his hands over him, spreading the oil, before positioning himself over his melleth and slowly, slowly impaling himself, gasping as he stretched around his lover, filling himself and closing his eyes as he took more and more of Thiriston into his body until finally there was no more to take and he gave a little wriggle that made Thiriston convulse and begin to move, thrusting into him, slowly at first, but as his need grew, as Canadion continued to gasp and cry, his own erection a hot, hard weight on Thiriston’s body, he lost his caution and began to push harder and faster, reaching to take Canadion in his oiled hand and lock eyes with his callon-nin, his bold, beautiful hero until he tipped over into an explosive orgasm that had him clutching and grasping even as Canadion cried his name and spilled across him, tightening to pull the last moan from him and falling down, spent, across his body to sob his pleasure and release as Thiriston enfolded him in his arms to hold him safe and sound against him.

Canadion felt his heart subside, Thiriston’s settle, and he pressed his cheek against the scarred, strong chest to float in the peace of completion while his beloved held him close, closer, closest.

He could have stayed there forever, but after a few moments, he sighed and began to disengage.

‘This is lovely, just to be like this. But our prince…’

‘Our prince needs care,’ Thiriston agreed, reaching for his clothes. ‘I will hold him, if you will give him water.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Callon-nin – my hero  
> Thalionen – my hero  
> Maethor-nin – my warrior


	146. A Long Way to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thiriston and Canadion tend to their prince...

Their camp was near a stream, and they took turns to watch the prince while the other washed before coming back to attend him. 

Canadion sighed as he prepared the water flask.

‘It seems wrong, somehow, to have just bundled our prince up and left him sleeping for an hour… And there has been more blood…’

‘It is not much,’ Thiriston said as he lifted the prince’s head so that Canadion to wipe away the traces of blood. ‘And, see? The inner lid is clear. That means the fit is past and it is safe to give him to drink now. If he were not unconscious from the bite, he would be simply sleeping now.’

‘Then let me see if he will take some water.’

It needed time, and care, and Thiriston, raising the prince against his side, wondered at Canadion’s patient ease as he dribbled water gently into Tharmeduil’s mouth, watching as the long fingers stroked the prince’s throat to encourage him to swallow.

‘Where did you learn that, penneth?’

‘My brothers’ elflings. I sometimes would help, when they were tiny.’ 

Canadion smiled a tiny, tender smile Thiriston had never noticed before. Somehow, it made his fëa ache to see it.

‘There. Half a cup, better little and often.’ He set the water down. ‘We can let him rest now, and try more later.’

‘We should move on soon.’ Thiriston glanced at the position of the sun in the sky. ‘Our night camp should be further from the forest. I think we will make better progress, sad to say, with our prince as he is.’

‘Where is his book? It might tell us what to do next.’

‘It might. Except that we know what to do next; care for our prince and get the cauls back to Nestoril as quickly as we can.’

‘I will saddle the horses. You should bind your hand, maethor-nin, that knuckle is swollen again and a little caul silk… you have earned the right to use it, after all.’

‘Perhaps I will. I do not like being weak in my main hand.’

*

They did, as Thiriston had expected, make better time with the prince unconscious. Thiriston rode with Tharmeduil set before him in the saddle, supporting him easily with his strong body, while Canadion led the prince’s horse behind his own. 

After something more than an hour they stopped so that Canadion could once more give water to the prince, and Thiriston swapped horses to rest his own mount, continuing on Tharmeduil’s steed until they reached their previous night’s campsite.

‘And here we are again,’ Canadion said lightly, dismounting and spreading a bedroll for the prince. ‘Let me help with him.’

He steadied the prince while Thiriston dismounted and together they laid him down.

‘I’ll see to the horses and then get the fire going,’ Thiriston said. ‘Can you manage alone?’

‘I think so, if you pass me the water.’

Canadion knelt so that he could rest the prince’s head on his legs, raising him so he had two hands free to work. Tharmeduil’s eyes had closed, and he wondered whether that was a good sign. Fingers at the prince’s throat showed his pulse was steady, slow and perhaps a little shallow, but strong enough not to be a worry. He unstoppered the water flask and began to painstakingly drip a few drops at a time into the corner of Tharmeduil’s mouth.

‘I do not know much about spider-sickness,’ he said softly. ‘Or about your other affliction… your gift, my prince. But Hador and… and our lost brother-in-arms talked of the effects of guard spider venom. They said it was like being wrapped in heavy blankets, swathed so they could not move, but they could hear, and knew what was happening. But if that was all the time, or once the worst had passed, I do not know. I did not ask.’

He sighed and took a moment to stroke the prince’s throat to trigger the swallow reflex.

‘I should have learned more about your condition, once we knew you would want us. It was thoughtless. But…’ He shrugged, and delivered another dribble of water. ‘We did not know, how could we know? If you had told us before we went into the forest… but perhaps you did not know?’

The prince said nothing.

‘If you were sleeping, your eyes would be open, I think. If it is the spider sickness, why were your eyes not closed earlier? I think… that is, I do not think you are still sleeping. So, I think you may be able to hear me, at least. More water, now.’

He lifted his hand towards Tharmeduil’s throat, but before he touched he saw the slide of larynx that showed the prince had already swallowed without prompting. A rush of relief gusted through him and he found a smile on his face.

‘Oh, my prince…! Well, let me tell you, we got them. You will be glad to hear, we got three cauls and we are fine… well, Thiriston’s hand is swollen again, but that is all, we were not harmed… but we should have had more care for you! I suppose this happened because you could not get into the canopy… you were attacked, bitten by a guard spider, but we are taking care of you. You are safe now. More water, you have not had very much yet…’

Thiriston came over with a bundle of firewood and looked curiously at Canadion.

‘Is all well, callon-nin?’ 

‘Very well, I think… I think our prince is awake.’ 

‘Well, that is good news. My prince, we got the cauls, destroyed three queens, five guards and almost all that little nest… Canadion was very daring…’  
‘But you were the real hero, Thiriston! My prince, he protected you from three guards and four immature females…’

‘And then where would I have been had you not thrown down the eggs to distract the young queens…?’

They broke off as the corners of Tharmeduil’s mouth lifted ever so slightly.

‘Well, we will leave you to rest now,’ Canadion said, setting the water down. ‘We have a long way to go tomorrow.’

*

_Tharmeduil was wrapped in the warmth of darkness. It enfolded him, comforted him, and he knew this was how it was meant to be._

_It was what he had foreseen and written and drawn so many times and there was almost a sense of relief that it had come to pass. After all, who liked being wrong? And there was something on the other side of the dark, he knew that. It was just a long way through it._

_He was distantly aware of his physical form, that the fit had left him broken and something else had left him numb and with a sort of freezing fire creeping through his body so that he was glad to be adrift from it…_

_…time passed._

_He heard voices and silences and then a moment’s reconnection as he felt the cool of water in his mouth, and a voice he knew, Canadion, talking, chatting, reassuring. Safe now. Yes. Then Thiriston, and they were arguing about how the other had done more, been bravest, and it made him wish he could smile…_

_Safe now, and with a long way to go, Tharmeduil drifted…_


	147. Riders on the Plain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the returning elves are spotted and Govon makes an uncomfortable discovery...

It was still early when the shout went up that riders could be seen on the plain. All those who could abandon what they were doing did so, straining their already-keen eyes to their utmost and staring out towards the small shapes on the landscape.

Nestoril, working on redressing Thranduil’s face with the last scraps of caul silk, lifted her head as she heard the shout, but didn’t stop what she was doing until the king raised his hand to interrupt her.

‘Will you be long, Nestoril?’

‘I will be quicker if I am allowed to continue, my king.’

It did not seem as if she hastened about her work, but soon she moved on from the caul silk on his face to the regular dressing on his hip and leg; the day before she had squandered the last large piece of silk on his shoulder which was not healing as well as it should.

‘I will leave your other injury for the moment, then,’ she said, glad of an excuse not to admit she would have to put an ordinary dressing pad on. ‘Here are your robes… let me assist… there.’

‘Could I trouble you to pass my boots, Healer? I would wait for one of the guard to help but I fear they will be distracted by whatever has caused that racket outside…’

‘Of course, my king. Would you wait, and have my arm as well?’ 

‘That will not be necessary.’

The buckler outside the tent rattled loudly, and a shadow passed in front of the opening.

Thranduil nodded to Nestoril as he pulled on his boots and she went to pull back the entrance panel.

‘Commander Govon! I am just done, if you wish to see the king…’

He nodded.

‘My thanks, Healer. Don’t go far, will you?’

He waited until she had gathered her things and left before bowing to the king.

‘My king, riders have been sighted on the plain and, although an absolute identification has not yet been made, it is almost certain that Prince Tharmeduil is on his way back with his escort. Hador and Tinuon of the Court Guard have been ordered to ride out to meet them.’

‘Thank you, Commander. Where is my son?’

‘Prince Legolas is currently in discussions with Lords Arveldir and Glorfindel.’

‘No doubt the camp is in uproar. Govon, how far away are they?’

‘They have only just been sighted. It will take a while even to reach them.’ The commander sighed. Use of his name, not his title, had taken the formality out of the meeting, so he allowed himself to shrug. ‘Legolas wants to go with the guard. Arveldir thinks he should stay here.’

‘Tell Legolas I need his help. Interrupt his meeting with Arveldir if you have to. Speak with Lord Glorfindel, ask him if he would consent to ride with the guard… as a personal favour to me, if you must. I would like someone with healing skills there, but I do not want Nestoril worrying… she is already frowning most of the time… and on that note, I seem to remember asking you and Legolas to find out why recently?’

‘You did… and you said it was up to us to decide if you needed to know or not.’ Govon paused, but the king was looking at him with steady intent, his gaze somehow intensified rather than diminished by being from just his one uncovered eye. ‘We thought you didn’t. Now – it doesn’t matter. It’s just that the healers are almost out of caul silk – only a few little bits left, no big pieces.’

‘I see. Erthor and Calithilon, they are still quite badly injured, I understand. I hope the healer has not been prioritising my injuries over theirs?’  
‘This is why she didn’t want you to know, I think. Is there anything else I can help with?’

‘Pass me my staff and then if you will rescue my son…’

*

Legolas was looking harassed when Govon interrupted his meeting with Arveldir and Glorfindel.

‘Your pardon my prince, a message from the king. He has asked for your immediate attendance.’

The prince sighed, but the look he gave Govon was grateful.

‘Very well, Commander. My lords, excuse me.’

‘And, Lord Glorfindel, a message for you also…’

Arveldir bowed.

‘Then I will leave you and be about my own business.’

Govon inclined his head and turned to where Glorfindel was waiting.

‘The king requests that you ride out with the escort to meet the prince, just in case there is need of someone with healing skills... it is not an order, you understand.’

The seneschal nodded.

‘Nestoril is busy with the injured of the camp, still. Of course I will go, and gladly.’

‘I will seek my guard and tell them to wait for you.’

*

By the time the escort rode away, some order had been restored to the camp. Since everyone wished to watch the approach of the riders, Arveldir arranged with Esgaron to appoint three of the guard to do just that, watch the riders’ advance, and instead of shouting out anything of significance to the entire camp, to report it to Esgaron first. The rest of the guard had been ordered to weapons practice or camp maintenance, which they did with one eye to the plain, earning those on target practice reprimands for their suddenly worse-than-usual aim.

Legolas, freed from a meeting with the king which seemed to have no purpose other than to get him away from the tedious argument with Arveldir and ensure he didn’t ride out with the escort, shook his head with a smile as he headed back towards his pavilion to get out of sight of anyone who might try to ask him for information he didn’t have.

There were now six tents and pavilions in what had been renamed ‘Lovers’ Row’ once it had been pedantically pointed out that while most of the couples were avowed, not all were, and none were formally married (‘Yet’, Govon had added with a wink that made Legolas blush). That there was a large clear space to one side of their own pavilion was down to the quick thinking of Govon, who had laid out a large rectangle of guy ropes and announced that the space was reserved for Thiriston’s tent, and if anyone didn’t like it, they could take it up with the big warrior in person on his return…

Legolas glanced around to see no-one was looking in his direction and slipped inside the tent to find Govon sitting on the bench and adjusting the fletchings on his arrows.

‘Are you hiding too, melleth?’

Govon set aside the arrows and propped his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands as he sighed.

Legolas was beside him in an instant, his arm around his fëa-mate’s shoulders.

‘What is it, Govon? What’s wrong?’

‘I… I looked in Tharmeduil’s book. Seeing the riders on the plain, I wondered what they’d been doing. I’ve resisted for so long, I thought, now won’t hurt… scratch the itch…’ He lifted his head, his expression bleak. ‘It was a mistake.’

‘Why? What happens?’

Govon reached for the book and flicked through a few pages, Legolas looking on. He saw what looked like a fight with all the spiders in Mirkwood, an axe-wielding elf standing over the body of someone who looked too much like Tharmeduil, and when Govon turned the page, blackness. Leaf after leaf in the book was coloured solidly in black, no let up, no alleviation.

‘I do not know for a fact what it means,’ Govon said softly. ‘But it doesn’t look good.’


	148. Fourth Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion sights the camp and has a conversation with Thiriston...

Canadion leaned across his horse’s neck, staring across the wide expanse of open ground westwards. 

They had retraced their route, pretty much, during the previous day, a long, frustrating ride with the need to stop every two hours to tend to the prince and for Thiriston to swap horses, and their night camp had felt all too brief. But they had discussed it between them, and agreed it was better to get the prince – and the caul silk – back to Nestoril as quickly as possible.

Breaking camp while the early dawn still hadn’t quite broken, they had already been riding long enough to stop once to give water to the prince. Already, that seemed like an age ago, although it could not have been much more than an hour…

And then he saw it, a broken line of darkness, a smear of occupation on the far plain, the silver snake of the Langflood beyond.

‘Thiriston! Do you see?’

His fëa-mate reined in awkwardly around the prince’s body and came to a halt.

‘Valar be praised! The company!’

‘It must be!’ Canadion turned towards Thiriston, a smile of delight on his face. ‘We have done it, melleth-nin! You should tell the prince!’

Thiriston rolled his eyes and grimaced. Although he understood that, possibly, Tharmeduil had moments of awareness, it felt strange to talk to the vacant, blank face, to look for and find no acknowledgement in the pale blue eyes. 

But Canadion saw the look and smiled, nudging his horse close to Thiriston’s so he was near enough to reach out and touch the prince’s hand.

‘Good news, my prince!’ he said gently. ‘We are in sight of camp. It is still a long way off, more like to two hours’ ride than one, I think. But if we can see them, they will see us. I do not doubt they will send someone to meet us. You will be there soon, my prince, where they can take proper care of you.’

‘Shall we break for a rest?’ Thiriston suggested. ‘Attend our prince’s comfort now and we can ride straight for home… if we are met, our escort won’t want to wait, will they?’

‘True.’ Canadion dismounted and held his arms out to steady Tharmeduil while his fëa-mate dismounted. ‘You look tired already, melleth. Your hand?’

‘It’s aching. I’m more worried about dropping our prince than anything.’

‘Well, when we start off, I can take him, if you like.’

‘You? On a horse with a good-looking ellon in your arms? Do you really think I’m likely to agree to that?’

Canadion laughed as he supported Tharmeduil’s head on his knees, preparing to give him some water from the flask.

‘Well, why not? Since you and I are betrothed now, at last…’

‘Perhaps, then. Besides, I will be watching you…’

It looked, for a moment, as if the prince’s mouth was about to smile, but his eyes, open and with the nictitating membrane across, looked as empty as ever.

‘So, my prince, I am giving you water again… it is soon, I know, but it is so that we can press on for the encampment…’

Focussed on his task, it was a few minutes before Canadion realised Thiriston’s eyes were on him. He looked a question, but his fëa-mate shook his head and so Canadion carried on, delivering a few dribbles of water, stroking Tharmeduil’s throat until he swallowed, repeating the process until he felt the prince had taken enough.

‘There. And I will turn you to your side for a moment to rest while I speak to my thalion…’

He settled the prince and got to his feet, brushing off his hands and going to where Thiriston was now pretending to be engrossed in the harness of his horse.

‘You know I love that you look at me,’ he began, taking Thiriston’s damaged hand carefully in his. ‘But there was something in that look… have I done something? Or not done something? Or what is it?’

‘It is just seeing you care for Tharmeduil. You are so patient with him, so… so soft. Are you sure you are in the right job?’

‘It seemed a good way to meet lots of interesting people.’ Canadion shrugged. ‘And it is where you are.’

‘Did you ever want elflings of your own?’ Thiriston blurted, his voice rough.

Canadion frowned and gave a tiny shake of his head.

‘I do not understand… unless there is something about your anatomy, melleth-nin, that I have somehow not noticed yet, it is not going to be possible…’

‘No. I meant… You said that you looked after your brother’s elflings… I wondered then… and seeing you with him just now reminded me.’

‘But, melleth – if I were to have an elfling, I would have to stop behaving like one…’ He sighed, knowing from the expression in Thiriston’s eyes that he was not about to be deflected. ‘You know the meaning of my name, yes? ‘Fourth son’, I was called. Do you know why?’

‘Unimaginative parents?’ Thiriston suggested, but Canadion shook his head.

‘My oldest two brothers have real names… Then came Melion Third Son and then me.’ He sighed heavily. ‘My parents wanted a daughter… and I lived most of my life knowing I was their last disappointment, for after me there were no other elflings. When I grew up to be… as I am, my adar and naneth were horrified. They thought I was a judgement on them, I think, for wanting to choose. But at times, I used to feel as if I should not be here… so, I have always thought, to have elflings of my own would not be right. And that is aside from the fact that ellyth are involved…’

‘Yes. It is a problem, having to involve an elleth.’ Thiriston bumped shoulders with his fëa-mate. ‘For me, I am glad you do not wish them. My own young days… I did not have my parents long enough to learn how to be a parent, so I have never wanted to bring forth a child to such uncertainty.’

‘I suppose now we will many conversations like this. Now that we are promised, it will all matter more than it did.’

‘And yet it will not matter at all, for we will be avowed and so we know there is enough between us without anything more.’ Thiriston rested his chin on Canadion’s shoulder for a moment. ‘I, for one, am glad that Eru saw fit to bless your parents with a Canadion. Now, come. Mount up, and I will bring the prince to you.’


	149. Envenomed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the prince is returned to the camp and Nestoril examines him...

Glorfindel had been riding for a mile or more when he noticed something about the riders far away on the plain. He frowned and stared, making certain, and then called out.

‘Captain Tinuon! Do you see?’

Tinuon raised his hand to warn Hador to slow, and himself moved closer to Glorfindel.

‘What is it, my lord?’

‘Three horses, one has no rider… one horse has two…’

‘Indeed… that is not good… the spare horse does not look halt, its gait is smooth… which means the problem is with one of the riders… we should hasten, Lord Glorfindel.’

‘Agreed, Captain.’

They rode on at an easy trot that hurried the miles without tiring the horses overmuch but still managed to shorten the distance between themselves and the returning riders. Soon they were close enough to see that the prince was on Canadion’s horse, and was being held upright by him. The other rider, Thiriston, raised an arm in greeting.

‘Mae govannen, my lord,’ the big elf said as Glorfindel rode up. ‘Well met indeed.’

‘Greetings, Thiriston. It is good to see you all. What happened to the prince?’ he asked, dismounting and handing his reins to Hador. ‘Was it another vision-fit? Let me see.’

Thiriston dismounted and took the prince from Canadion, lowering him to the ground so that Glorfindel could look him over.

‘Yes, an attack. And a guard spider bite while he was in the fit, two days since. We have been following Nestoril’s instructions for both, as well as we could out here.’

‘Has he woken at all?’

‘Once or twice, but not to speak. Only to show he understood we were helping,’ Canadion said. ‘Sometimes, he swallows the water unaided. And when we’re chatting, he will smile at our jokes.’

Glorfindel felt for the pulse, lifted Tharmeduil’s eyelids to look into his eyes, placed a hand on his forehead with closed eyes and murmured a low chant, changing tone and cadence as he sent his healing awareness seeking the prince’s mind. Presently he drew back with a sigh.

‘He is there, I know it. But he is not listening…’ Glorfindel sat up and looked down at the prince whose eyes had closed again. ‘Still, his fëa feels at peace. Do you need to stop for a while, now we are here?’

‘No,’ Thiriston said. ‘The lead horse is fresh, hasn’t been ridden today. I’ll mount up and take him. How are things in the camp?’ 

‘We moved off the eyot and back behind the battleground,’ Tinuon told him, riding closer to be heard. ‘Weapons practice has started again… our king is recovering, but Legolas is acting for him as regent. We begin to be eager for home.’

‘Well, there are fewer spiders in Mirkwood to worry about than when we left the camp,’ Canadion said.

*  
Not usually given to impatience, Nestoril paced. She had done all she could for the wounded of the camp, had tidied away her supplies and now was at a loose end. Desperate to watch the two little groups of riders meet on the plain, to see them creep ever nearer, she stayed in her pavilion with grim determination, knowing that if she stood watching, others would wish to do so too.

Arwen came to bear her company.

‘I could show you how to crochet, if you like,’ she suggested. ‘It is very restful, and you can make gifts for the people you love… and for those whom you wish to really annoy, too…’

Nestoril smiled.

‘Thank you, but I do not think I could take it in. I wish they would get back! This is unbearable!’

‘The waiting is hard, I know,’ Arwen said. ‘At home, my brothers were forever riding off into the mountains after some orc incursion or other… those times were ones of dread. I could make you some tea?’

The bells outside Nestoril’s tent jangled and she saw Govon in her doorway.

‘Commander? What is it?’

‘Our escort and the prince’s company have met on the plain. I am come to bring you word, it seems that one of our people is injured…’

‘Who? Not the prince?’

‘They are too far away to be certain. But…’ Govon shrugged. ‘From things the prince was predicting before he left, it seems probable.’

Nestoril got to her feet with a gasp.

‘I must seek Feril at once… Govon, I am grateful to you. Carrying messages should not be your duty.’

‘I have no-one else to send at the moment. Besides, I thought you would prefer to hear it from a friend than from a guard.’

‘Yes, thank you… it’s very kind… I must prepare.’

By the time the shout went up, Nestoril was ready. Being sure in her heart that it was Tharmeduil who was injured, she had decided the best place for her to treat him would be in the pavilion where Iauron lay. She would have space to work there, and the prince would have some privacy from the eyes of the camp.

Leaving the pavilion where her treatment table and a bed was now waiting, she hastened to join the welcoming party; Thranduil was a dignified presence, leaning on both his staff and his youngest son. Govon, too; his warriors were returning, he had every right to stand and greet them. She could see poor Tharmeduil, held carefully in Thiriston’s arms (and who knew the big, rough elf could be so caring and gentle?) his head lolling back and his body limp.

Hador nodded at something Tinuon said, and the two urged their horses forward into a canter to bring them up to the king.

‘My king… your son lives and Lord Glorfindel says he is in no danger…  
’  
‘Thank you, Tinuon, Hador. You may report to your commander… later. Have them see to your horses first. And where is my healer? Nestoril?’  
Summoned, she went to him and dipped a curtsey.

‘No need for that, Nestoril. Have you had chance to prepare?’

‘In part… but, oh, my king! Your son…’

‘I know, Ness.’ Thranduil’s voice was almost a breath, so soft it was. ‘But let us hope it is not so bad as it seems.’

Movement now, the horses stopped, people dismounting, Glorfindel advancing with raised arms to take the prince and Thiriston pretending not to notice, holding on until Canadion eased between the seneschal and the horse to hold up his own arms to steady the prince. His fëa-mate dismounted and took Tharmeduil into his arms and made towards the king, leaving Canadion to bow to Glorfindel and shrug an apology.

‘We have been managing like this for two days; Thiriston has made the prince his own responsibility.’

That said, he unpacked the caul silk and followed in his fëa-mate’s wake.

Thiriston bowed his head to the king.

‘Your majesty, here is your son. He led us to a nest where he assisted us to recover three cauls for the Healer.’

Thranduil’s eye roamed his unconscious son’s body, looking for any sign of awareness. Something he saw there made him reach out and lay his hand on Tharmeduil’s head, stroking back the hair from his face.

‘Welcome back, ion-nin. Nestoril will care for you now.’ 

He looked at Thiriston and nodded. 

‘Follow the healer. I will have your report personally later today. You will be sent for.’

‘Yes, my king.’

‘This way, please, Thiriston.’

Nestoril gave a sigh as she led the way to the pavilion. Three cauls, had he said? Three? Such a help as that would be, but oh, at what cost? Her poor prince…

Tharmeduil was placed on the bed and Nestoril nodded thanks, noticing the small dressing on Thiriston’s hand as he relinquished the prince.

‘Your hand again, Thiriston? Get Feril to look at it for you. And… I am sure there is a story here and I will need to hear it all from you later, but for now, what happened?’

‘Our prince was directing us in a sortie against the spiders. He had one of his attacks. Before we knew, before we could get to him, he was bitten by a guard spider on the neck. Canadion has taken care of him mostly. He said he was sure he was awake at times and I should tell you.’

‘That is most useful… thank Canadion, too. Now, go, get your hand seen to.’ 

She sighed and once alone, sat on the edge of the prince’s bed. Before she did anything else, she took his hand and stroked it and made herself smile, because even in you couldn’t see a smile, you could hear it in a person’s voice.

‘Well, and you are back in my care once more. Welcome home, Tharmeduil. Let me look at you now.’

The bite wound made two little red circles on his neck, inflamed and angry, and she dressed them with a scrap of caul silk. She tested his pulse and breathing, looked into his eyes and smiled as she did so, just in case he could see, and made soothing noises as she moved his limbs.

‘Canadion has taken good care of you; there is no dehydration, although I am sure your body is hungry, even if you are not aware of it. But that can be soon remedied. I have one more test to do, but I will give you something to help against the spider venom first.’

She smiled and stroked his hand again before going to her table to mix up the remedial potion, trying not to worry. His limbs had been heavy, which was to be expected with the venom, but the left side of the prince’s body had felt particularly unresponsive and she found her fears growing so that it was with an effort she made herself smile for him as she raised his head to give him the medicine.

‘Here is the potion. Just a little… there. It does not taste too vile, I do hope? Nevertheless, you must take it all… come, drink it down, my prince.’  
She saw his throat move at her bidding and relief engulfed her; he could hear, he was aware of her, he could even swallow when she asked him; this was a good sign, an excellent sign. The venom, of course, made it difficult for its victims to move, and she needed to know how sever was the extent of the poison’s paralysis.

The draft was drunk, and sleep would be on him soon. She had but a few moments for her last test, but it was the best time to do it, as his body was relaxing under the effects.

‘So I must now take liberties with your body, my prince. It is important to know how far the numbness has spread as that will tell me how far along in the process of purging the venom you are. I am going to press a point gently against you; forgive me.’

Numb as he was, his body would still respond to a pin-prick sharpness. A touch behind his right ear, near the bites, showed a response; she sensed the outrage of his skin. His right shoulder and arm, too; the tiniest of twitches. His left side; arm, shoulder, leg… nothing.

Not venom; logically, the area around the bites would have been worst affected and still should have been unresponsive; in fact, it seemed as if he was on his way out of his envenomed torpor and would pass into the next stage of the process soon with photosensitivity and nausea and pain all showing he was actually healing. But if that were so, then his limbs would not have felt so heavy and unresponsive, there would have been more outrage from his flesh at her delicate pin-pricking.

Tharmeduil gave a deep sigh as the draught took effect and his weakened consciousness slipped into sleep and Nestoril tried to understand what had happened.

And when she did, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed as if her heart was breaking.


	150. Dismay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the sounds of weeping from the prince's tent is investigated...

Govon hesitated as he approached the king’s pavilion.

All he was doing was bearing a message as he had done many times before and no doubt would on many more occasions in the future. But it was more than that this time, and although Arwen had made the initial discovery and spoken to Feril, and Feril had sought Glorfindel, none of them had thought it fitting to deliver this message themselves.

Even the mighty balrog-slayer had decided to err on the side of caution and defer to Govon’s family ties.

‘It will be better coming from you,’ Glorfindel had said. ‘You are almost part of the family.’

And so, with that phrase rattling around in his head, Govon clattered against the buckler and waited for the languorous permission to enter.  
The truth was, the king was still not himself. Recovering, yes, from the dragon fire, but not recovered. And mentally he seemed on the edge of permanent disconnection, so that people were being just a little cautious around him.

In Govon’s opinion this was wrong. Treat a person like an invalid, and that is how they will respond, because that is how you make them feel. Similarly, if you were to treat the king as if he were some fragile force of nature about to break free and rage in destruction, then that was pretty much what Govon imagined you would get.

Govon decided, if Glorfindel thought it was time to play the family card, then maybe that would be as good an approach as any.

He still bowed, though.

‘Sire, if you are not too…’ Tired, he had been going to say, but that would be the wrong word. ‘…busy, you are needed.’

‘Govon?’ 

The king’s single gaze was somehow far more dangerous than when both his eyes were looking at you.

‘I do not know exactly what it is; I had a third-hand message saying there is something amiss in the princes’ infirmary and no-one else would come to tell you, and no-one else will go… if you wish, I can go there myself…?’

But Thranduil had already reached for his staff.

‘Accompany me, Govon.’

Placing himself at the king’s side, Govon walked with him towards where Iauron and Tharmeduil lay. As they approached, the sound of weeping – of almost hysterical sobbing – was distressingly obvious from within the tent and a little cluster of interested persons were starting to gather.

‘Commander, deal with this crowd. See none interrupt.’

Thranduil’s face became an impassive, regal mask as he withdrew into his formal self. Only someone who knew him well would have guessed his emotional control was barely held in place despite all his millennia of discipline. Govon, if he noticed, chose not to comment or enquire as to the king’s well-being. Instead, he simply acknowledged the order and set about his duty at once, moving amongst the assembling guard.

‘You heard our king. Return to your tasks and practice… allow our princes some privacy… no doubt all will told when all is known… come, do not make this any more difficult for his majesty, we have all seen how much he has had to bear, if this is some new woe we will learn it in time…’

He placed himself as far from the pavilion as he could while still being near enough to keep the curious at bay, and tried not to listen to what was happening at his back.

*

Thranduil entered the pavilion and closed the opening behind him, taking in the scene.

Nestoril was curled in on herself as she sat on the edge of Tharmeduil’s bed, her hands covered by her face, head bowed, her blue head-rail falling forward to hide her further. She shook and shuddered as her weeping continued, a flood of ceaseless grief.

But what had caused it? Iauron lay, as ever, peaceful and breathing. Tharmeduil… his chest rose and fell softly and his open eyes looked dream-filled and restful, as if he was only sleeping. 

Then what had caused this outpouring of distress?

‘Nestoril?’

He placed his hands on her upper arms, disregarding the pain from his injured left shoulder, and raised her to her feet to bring her against his body. Her hands dropped from her face to clutch at his robes as she sobbed against his shoulder and he rubbed soothing circles on her upper back as if she were a crying elfling. At first her grief increased, as happens when one finds, after weeping alone, that there is someone there to provide comfort, and Thranduil, more than eager to know what had caused this, if it were something to do with his sons, had to call on all his reserves of patience until the worst of Nestoril’s emotional storm had passed.

It seemed to take a very long while before she subsided enough for Thranduil to stay his hand and loosen his hold.

‘When you are feeling better, perhaps you could share with me the reason for your apparent distress?’ he said calmly.

She gave a little gasp and began to push away, so he relinquished his support of her while she tried, absurdly, to curtsey, and he realised she had not known it had been he who had lifted her to sooth her distress.

‘M… my king, forgive, I…’

‘Hush, Nestoril. Sit.’ 

He guided her to the edge of Tharmeduil’s bed and himself sat down beside her. From the pocket of his robe he took a small flask and unstoppered it, handing it to her.

‘Winter wine. Drink. You are over-wrought and need something to calm yourself.’

She sipped, her shoulders hitching, her breath still sobbing as she came down from her excessive crying, and passed the flask back.

‘I am s… so s… sorry, my king, I…’

‘Do not waste breath in apology. Tell me, what is wrong? Is it my son?’

She gasped in a few more breaths, shaking, as she attempted to compose herself, trying for her usual dignity of manner. Her voice became stilted, formal as she tried to convey the enormity of her discovery without feeling the dismay of it once again.

‘It seems the prince has been bitten by a guard spider. This we knew, and in itself it is debilitating but no cause for real concern, unless it were to happen again… but at the same time, or very close to it, his visions took him. We know that he needs to talk and draw and record his insights in order to process them and properly organise his thoughts. But this could not happen while unconscious from the venom.’

She halted and Thranduil offered her the flask again. She refused with a shake of her head.

‘I will need to speak to Thiriston and Canadion to enquire about the details, but this… something I think went wrong. There are times when Tharmeduil’s visions change and he chases after them, and if he does not get the answers, then the attacks return and are worse and that is when… when the paralysis spreads… it is impossible to be certain, but I feel… I believe… that this was such an attack, and now he is more… more damaged than ever! And until the venom wears off, there will be no chance for him to communicate and process his vision and if he is this badly affected, then I doubt he will be able to do that, to speak or write or follow through the insights and it is only that process, that chasing down what went wrong, that clears his mind and brain and allows him to begin to heal and the longer that process takes, the less complete is his recovery and I am afraid, Thranduil, I am very, very fearful that we may not be able to break this cycle and he will stay like this forever!’

Her lip trembled as she finished speaking and Thranduil sighed, his head falling to his chest as he tasted the healer’s despair for Tharmeduil in his fëa. But after a moment, he raised his head again and looked at his second son.

‘I cannot give up on him. I will not give up on him. We will not lose him.’ He allowed his gaze to rest on the healer, taking in the watery dismay of her eyes, the tremor, still, around her mouth. ‘Whatever it takes, Nestoril, somehow we will bring him back.’


	151. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thiriston notices things have changed while he's been away...

The expression on Thranduil’s face when he emerged from his sons’ tent was brittle, and it looked to Govon as if the were carrying a heavy weight on his shoulders which had not been there before.

‘Attend the healer, Commander,’ the king said, his voice distant, faint. ‘Then let it be known Legolas has the duty today.’

‘Of course, my king.’

He waited respectfully for Thranduil to leave before approaching the pavilion.

‘Healer, may I come in?’

‘Yes… I… if you must…’

Nestoril was turned away from the entrance, doing something to her little work table.

‘The king sent me to you,’ Govon said. ‘Where’s he up to, our prince? I remember everything being very numb for days… then the sickness began…’

‘He is not yet at the nausea stage… we’ll need to take great care…’

‘And you? Are you all right?’ 

Nestoril gave a little sigh.

‘A little embarrassed. I… perhaps I am overtired, I became a little… distressed and the king… Oh, Govon, he found me crying like an elfling and I did not know it was he and I am rather afraid I wiped my face on his robes of office and we will not be able to clean them and…’

He laughed, not unkindly.

‘He’s a father, Nestoril. I’m sure he’s had worse than a little snot on his clothes in his time…’

‘Govon! The correct term is ‘nasal mucus’! And I meant my tears…!’ she protested, but she was laughing as she spoke.

‘Come on, look at me…’ he said, taking the liberty of putting his hands on her shoulders and turning her at arm’s length to look at him. ‘Your eyes look a little red… you might want to wait a few minutes before you leave.’

‘I have work here in any case. Iauron needs a drink.’

‘Should I hold him up for you?’

‘Thank you. It is easier to manage, with help. Arwen is usually most conscientious in assisting, but with Tharmeduil coming home…’

‘And the king had me keep everyone away while you were… talking.’

‘I see.’ With the ease of long practice she touched the pressure point on Iauron’s jaw to make his mouth open and began to trickle liquid into his mouth. ‘This is a mixture of water and nutrients, distilled from a variety of plants. While he is simply sleeping, his energy needs are very little, and so this will keep him hale until such time as another course of treatment is available.’

Govon took care not to catch Nestoril’s eye; there was something in her tone that made it seem as if she didn’t believe her own words.

‘We turn him, and move him so that his limbs do not waste, and we talk to him. Arwen always has a lot to say for herself. I think her devotion is touching.’

This last was said with a hint of defiance, and he wondered how much she had heard about his and Legolas’ attempts to help Arwen consider her options. He decided not to mention it, since things hadn’t gone as he’d expected.

‘There, Govon, we are done. If you will hold him while I put another pillow beneath his head… it just changes the angle of his body and I will lay him down again presently… my thanks.’

‘If there’s nothing more I can help you with, I have other mattes…’

‘Just one thing… I will need to talk to Thiriston and Canadion about what happened and wondered when they might be free?’

‘I need to speak to them myself. You could join us; that way, my warriors do not have to repeat their story too often. No doubt your questions will differ from mine, but we may both learn something extra. Shall I send for you?’

‘If you would. I will sit with the princes for a little while, I think.’

*  
Outside, Govon looked around. The camp seemed to be returning to what passed for normal, with weapons practice taking place to the west and the usual cluster of walking wounded around the cook fires. 

He spotted Thiriston over towards the main run of tents with an armful of poles and fabric, and went across.

‘Thiriston!’

The big warrior halted and grimaced. Govon pretended not to notice.

‘Commander, just setting up the billet for tonight…’

‘Yes, not there, though!’

‘What? That is, why not, Commander?’

Govon kept his face carefully neutral.

‘While you were away, a certain… reorganisation of the camp has taken place. There is a space reserved for you… is that just one of the regular tents, is there nothing a little more spacious…?’

‘I don’t know. After… everything, I lost track of my own stuff. That’s why I have to share…’

‘Really? Well, you might like this… Come with me.’

On the way towards Lovers’ Row he spotted Hador and hailed him.

‘Can you see if there are any more of those half-pavilions left? Eru knows how an elf this broad gets into one of those tiny bivouac tents… If you can find one, bring it over. And if you see Canadion, tell him he’s wanted…’

The commander set off again, leading a bemused Thiriston around to the avenue of pavilions of tents set a little way apart from the rest of the camp. He nodded towards the pavilion at the far end.

‘That’s where Arveldir and Erestor are pitched… used to be the command centre and they appropriated it once we moved off the eyot… next to them is where Legolas and I have our pavilion – the large space next to us we kept for you and Canadion. Besides…’

‘Me and Canadion?’ Thiriston echoed.

‘Yes. Beyond, Triwathon and… well, I don’t like to say who, it all seems to be rather clandestine… beyond Triwathon’s tent is where one of Bregon’s and one of Esgaron’s guard are camped… this area was nicknamed the Married Quarters at first, but since not everyone is avowed or intends to be married, it’s known as Lovers’ Row, now. Everyone tries to be considerate of the neighbours – I hope you understand – and there’s the need for a certain degree of discretion.’

‘Are you saying we’re now permitted to…?’

‘The king was worried at first in case it was a form of segregation… but really, it just happened by itself. Arveldir and Erestor were being ragged a bit by some of the guard so they moved across and then it became a bit of a success… you wouldn’t believe the trouble we had keeping the space free for you…’

‘It’s kind, but can I ask why?’

‘We knew you were going to be away for a while.’ Govon shrugged. ‘It meant at least four days without having to worry about who was next door.’

Hador arrived, bringing Canadion with him and both carrying various bits of canvas and rope and pole.

‘Excellent. Hador, will you help Canadion set this up? Thiriston, you should rest your hand until that bone really sets… when you’re done here, we need to go through the story of your expedition; I’ll send for you.’

Canadion was gawping at Thiriston.

‘We’re meant to be here? Together?’

‘It seems so,’ Thiriston said.

‘But… everyone will know!’

Hador burst out laughing as he began to organise the makings of his friends’ billet.

‘Everyone already knows! This… we’ve only had a few days to get used to it and it seemed wrong at first, as if we’d gone from turning a blind eye to seeing too much… but it seems to take the sting out of the jokes. Besides, see who’s sharing with Triwathon, nobody dares sneer at the guard any more…’

Govon stood back and made his escape. The buckler was outside Arveldir’s tent, so he clattered it. Erestor came to see who it was.

‘Commander… can I help? Or did you want Arveldir? He is about the camp…’

‘No, you are the king’s advisor, too. It’s just to pass the word that his majesty told me to make it known Legolas is in charge for the rest of the day.’

‘I see.’ Erestor thought for a moment and then dipped his head. ‘Thank you. For not expecting me just to pass the message on to Arveldir.’

‘By all means, if you see him first, tell him… have you seen the prince?’

‘I think he went to sit with his brothers.’

*  
Legolas was, indeed, in the princes’ tent, sitting at the bottom of Tharmeduil’s bed.

‘Nestoril’s gone for a rest. She looked exhausted, her eyes were so red and tired…’

Govon didn’t explain the real reason for Nestoril’s red eyes. Instead he took a seat on the edge if Iauron’s bed so he could look at his fëa-mate.

‘Legolas, Tharmeduil’s going to be fine.’

‘No, he isn’t. I’ve seen the books.’

‘Yes, he is. So have I.’ Govon reached across the gap between them to lift Legolas’ chin. ‘It’s not all certain yet. There’s a bit of give in the pictures. And in all the notes and images, eventually, he’s fine. Trust him. And if not, trust Nestoril.’

He relinquished his touch with a sigh.

‘Official business now, my prince. Your royal father has said you’re in charge today.’

‘Thank you, Commander.’ Legolas sighed and found a thin smile. ‘I don’t know how my father does all this, all the time…’

‘The answer to that is simple; he doesn’t.’

Legolas fixed his eyes on Govon, looking for an explanation.

‘Well… today… he’s turned it all over to you. Usually, he has Arveldir to make suggestions and give the orders. But for some reason, when you’re in charge, you have to work everything out for yourself.’

‘True. I think Arveldir has been my father’s advisor so long they know automatically what needs doing… I wouldn’t want to mess that up by asking for him to work for me…’

‘Isn’t his proper title something like ‘Advisor to the King and the Kingdom of Greenwood the Great’? Besides, if you don’t want to ask Arveldir, you could ask Erestor instead…’

‘There’s a thought. If it gets too much, I might. But… I have you. Is there any more official business to get out of the way?’

‘Half-official. I need to talk to Thiriston and Canadion, Nestoril wants to be there to hear the tale…’

‘As do I.’

‘Yes – but I make a formal report to you each evening, remember? I haven’t anywhere to talk to them, except in the open, not now Erestor and Arveldir have swiped the command centre tent…’

‘Draw the curtain across the sleeping area and use our pavilion… you might like to leave one of my knives out on the bench with the cleaning cloth, so if they smell the sandalwood…’

Govon grinned.

‘I’ll do that.’


	152. Report

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Govon hears from Thiriston and Canadion

It took Govon half an hour to prepare to receive Thiriston and Canadion’s report. Ten minutes to tidy and organise the public section of his pavilion, and twenty minutes to argue with various interested parties as to why they shouldn’t be present. Of these, Legolas’ argument – that it was, after all, his pavilion too – was the hardest to refuse, coupled as it was with an appealing smile and an added suggestion that, out of sight behind the privacy curtain, listening from the bed, who would ever know Legolas was there…?

‘I would,’ Govon had replied. ‘And I would find it very distracting! No, it is better that you are where you can easily be found, should the camp have a sudden crisis.’

Arveldir, less appealing to Govon’s eye, but more reasoned, was also difficult to deflect.

‘I am, after all, advisor to the king!’ he said. ‘If your warriors know anything about how the king’s second son came to be in this state, then I should be informed.’

‘No doubt you will find out everything you need to know about the meeting in due course,’ Govon had replied. ‘But our king has put his regent in charge today and, as you know, it is part of my duties to report to our prince on a daily basis…’

Bregon, Esgaron, arriving together to mutually support each other’s claim…

‘We are both commanders, and Esgaron has particular responsibilities for the camp…’

‘And Command Bregon and I would both like to know all we can about spiders moving through the forest, particularly when we will be heading home soon…’  
‘Rest assured, whatever you need to know I will make sure is passed on. But this is a small pavilion and I have been told to allow the healer to sit in on the meeting; it would be too cramped with any more people. Indeed, Thiriston by himself is big enough to fill the space!’

And, finally, arriving after Nestoril had taken a seat and his two warriors had arrived and appropriated the bench, just as Govon was bringing in the buckler to signify privacy was required, Erestor cleared his throat to draw the commander’s attention and insinuated himself into the tent.

‘Would you like someone to make notes for you, Commander? I would find it a very useful exercise in my training… I would not presume to question your warriors, simply to record the meeting…?’

Govon looked at Thiriston and Canadion, wondering whether they would mind, but Nestoril was nodding enthusiastically.

‘Oh, that is an excellent idea, Commander – if your warriors do not mind it? That way we can focus on what we want to say and trust Erestor to keep it all organised…’

‘You’ll have to sit on the floor…’

‘Oh, I think I can manage that,’ Erestor said. 

*

The commander spent much of the meeting in a state of stunned disbelief as it dawned on him how much credence everyone was actually giving to the prince’s gift of prophecy... embarrassing when he realised he, too, had been drawn under Tharmeduil’s spell. But, specifically, the expedition had taken food for three days as that was all Tharmeduil had seen… because he had forgotten, or not realised, that he would be unconscious on the way home and they really should have taken twice as many provisions… no tents, because Tharmeduil had not seen any rain. Well, he’d been right, but what if he had not been? The two warriors had followed him confidently into the forest because he knew where the spiders were to be found… and, yes, he’d been right again…

‘Of course, that was when we had to stop so he could rethink,’ Canadion said. ‘It had changed.’

‘What’s that?’ Nestoril asked. ‘Forgive the interruption, but this is the sort of thing that could be key to his recovery… what had changed?’

‘He’d seen everything from the point of view of being in the canopy with us.’ Thiriston explained. ‘But he was too weak to get up into the trees.’

‘He redrew it, though,’ Canadion went on. ‘And it all looked clear. But I wonder if that was why he couldn’t call out where the spiders were as he’d said he would…’

‘No, that would be because it took him an hour to work it out and by then they would have moved,’ Thiriston said. ‘So I think…’

‘Can we go back to what actually happened first, please?’ Govon said, interrupting. ‘We can follow up the possibilities later. But that’s where it changed – Tharmeduil couldn’t get into the trees, so you left him on the ground?’

‘Right where he told us to.’

‘But you should not have…’ Nestoril began.

Govon spread his hands.

‘Healer, they were following the direct orders of their prince. My warriors would have had no choice.’

‘Besides, he said he’d seen he’d be fine,’ Canadion said.

‘Very well. Three nesting females? Together?’

‘Yes. We told him – they don’t do that. But it seems they do sometimes. Their webs were stacked over and under.’

‘Well… If their breeding cycle is interrupted by earth tremors and then their escape march is compromised… perhaps they have to learn new behaviours…’ Govon shook his head. ‘At least you knew where to find them.’

‘Three cauls. Tharmeduil insisted we had to get them all, two wouldn’t have been enough.’

‘I am very grateful,’ Nestoril put in. ‘And the silk is fresh, so its healing properties are stronger.’

‘Healer, how is our prince?’ Canadion asked. ‘No-one has thought to tell us…’

‘He is progressing through the spider-bite well,’ Nestoril said. ‘You took good care of him, I could see. We will not really know how he is until after he has purged all the poison… on which note, Erestor, may I interrupt you in your secretarial endeavours and speak to you in your advisor’s persona? Please recommend to his majesty or to our regent that it would be against Prince Tharmeduil’s best interests if we were to break camp before he is clear of the toxin…’

Govon ran his hands over his head and saw the side of Erestor’s mouth lift in a smirk. He pretended he hadn’t seen and tried to take back control.

‘Thiriston, would you continue, please…?’

Three queens. Three cauls. Three guards on the web, other, lesser spiders… three more guards spiders converging on the prince… it sounded inescapable…

‘Wait… seven spiders, Thiriston in the middle of them, swinging the axe? And then…?’

Canadion shrugged.

‘I know, how unlikely is it that I could save the day? I do not believe it myself, and I was there!’

‘Wait. I was going to add, and is that when Thiriston’s hand became injured again?’

‘In fairness, the tree pushed me out and I sort of fell into the fight… it doesn’t matter, we drove them off…’ Canadion looked to Thiriston for confirmation. ‘I think one, maybe two immature females escaped?’

‘One. We gathered up the cauls and the prince and went back to the horses. Then we headed home as fast as we could.’

‘Anything else of note?’ Govon asked.

‘We thought the prince was awake, sometimes,’ Canadion offered. ‘He seemed to smile. So we talked to him, let him know what was happening.’

‘Thank you,’ Nestoril said. ‘It is good to know. May I ask further questions of you both later?’

Thiriston glanced at Canadion and then shot a quick look at Govon.

‘I do not know what more we can say. And I think our commander has other duties for us?’

Govon was tempted to say, on the contrary, give Nestoril all the time she wants, but it would have been unkind.

‘I do indeed have orders for you both. Stay to hear them. Erestor, if you can have a copy of your notes made I will be grateful. Healer, do not let me keep you from your work.'

He got to his feet and gently ushered the healer and the advisor out of the pavilion.

‘Orders, Thiriston, Canadion…’

‘Yes, Commander?’

‘Take the rest of the day to yourselves. Settle into your new quarters. Thiriston, get your hand seen to when Nestoril does the evening session. Dismissed.’ He allowed himself a smile. ‘And thank you for bringing the cauls and the prince back safely.’


	153. Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril misjudges a visit...

Arveldir’s firm jaw dropped and he stared in admiring astonishment at Erestor.

‘You talked your way into the meeting? After Govon had refused me admittance? I can see why Imladris was so loath to part with you, mellon-nin, your powers of persuasion are magnificent… I can only hope you never wish to do anything I have my heart set against for I fear you would change my mind whether I wish it or no!’

Erestor shook his head modestly.

‘In this case it was simply a matter of timing. And luck. I made sure Healer Nestoril had arrived and then phrased my suggestion in such a way that it sounded simply like an offer of help and a valuable experience for me as I learn to understand my new role. Had Govon declined my ‘offer of help’ it would have left him feeling awkward in front of her. She values him highly and I do not think he wants to lose her good opinion.’

‘Congratulations again. Was there anything of importance discussed?’

‘I will let you see my notes once I have copied them out.’ Erestor smiled. ‘One thing – Nestoril asked that this be passed to whoever is in charge of such things – the king, or the regent – her considered opinion that we cannot break camp until Prince Tharmeduil is clear of the effects of the spider venom without risk to his health.’

‘Today, it is Legolas who should be told… no doubt Govon will pass it on.’

‘Well, yes, he will – but I wonder whether he should?’

‘I am not sure I understand you?’

‘It probably would not cross your mind; you are King Thranduil’s advisor, not his son’s. But who does advise Legolas, when the king gives him the duty? Govon is his fëa-mate, and even as Commander of the Court Guard, his responsibilities are limited; he could not officially advise the regent, only try to support his beloved…’

‘If the prince asked me, of course I would help him, just as I do his father… but he is not the king…’

‘Yes. He is not. And while they have much in common, their approach is different… Perhaps Legolas needs a different style of advisor?’ 

Arveldir looked at his dark-haired lover with new respect.

‘Such as yourself? You could learn the job together, train him just how you want him and avoid all those awkward misunderstandings that can so easily creep in once one of you knows more than the other…’

‘As it is, the regent and I, this early in our acquaintanceship, have the opportunity to establish a proper working agreement…’

‘Exactly. And with the added advantage that on those occasions when the regent takes over from the king, and the king from his regent, there is no dropping of the ball, not when there are two advisors who can liaise so well with each other…’ Arveldir smiled. ‘It is a good thing we have their best interests at heart, is it not?’

*

Nestoril practically hummed to herself as she worked that evening. The new, fresh cauls made an almost visible difference to Erthor’s back, and he sighed as she laid the lace of silk over his wounds.

‘Ai, Healer! Such relief!’

‘Well, good! And let me see if it will work the same magic on Calithilon’s injuries… come, Calithilon…’

From there she passed Feril, taking the evening duty with the minor injuries, and went in to Thranduil.

‘Good evening, my king.’

‘Healer. I trust you have had a better afternoon than you did morning?’

She flushed, having tried very hard to forget her emotional outburst of earlier in the day, and decided to pass over the question as a mere courtesy and therefore one she could disregard.

‘It is time to attend to your wounds. I would ask how the pain has been but I can see from your expression you have been troubled today. Did you take the draught…? Ah. I see it there, untouched.’ 

She steered the king up from his seat and down onto his bed, deftly removing his robes of office and the dressing on his shoulder and upper arm. What she saw made her frown.

‘Ai, I knew I ought not to have left without dressing this today! Still, here I have fresh caul silk…’

‘Save it for those whose need it greater, Nestoril.’

‘There are three cauls; Prince Tharmeduil insisted our warriors get all just so that there would be enough for all. Now there is plenty; Erthor will not need it after tomorrow and Calithilon really is almost recovered…’ 

‘I do not need the silk.’

She sniffed and spread caul silk liberally on his arm, her eyes defiant as she over-wrapped the injury with clean bandages.

‘You do need it. I can see the beginnings of infection and you will heal more swiftly, and more cleanly…’

‘Nestoril, I am your king!’

‘Stand for me… thank you… this, too needs more silk… and I am your healer.’

As he stiffened, about to protest, she cut him off with a stern glance and shake of her head.

‘I do not tell you how to king us, do not you tell me how to heal… there… and let me wrap this over… stand again… now you may sit and I will look at your face.’

Authority restored, she carefully removed the dressing and decided not to notice the lift of Thranduil’s mouth as he tried not to allow himself to smile.

‘In truth, I am very glad to have fresh silk… this will heal much more easily now… what is it, what is wrong?’ she asked as he made to lift his hand. ‘Have you pain?’

‘No.’ Thranduil’s open wound gaped disturbingly as he spoke. ‘The light… is uncomfortable…’

Nestoril gave a little gasp and covered her work lamp immediately.

‘But that is excellent news – it means that your eye is not so badly damaged as I thought it had been. I will not check now, but in the morning… Let me cover this again… there. Is that better?’

‘Thank you, Nestoril. Do you know? I think perhaps you really do know how to heal…’

‘Perhaps not quite as well as you know how to king.’ 

She mixed up a new draught and handed it to him, watching him drink before she cleared away her equipment. 

‘Goodnight, Ness.’

The informality made her raise her eyebrows as she turned away, but she couldn’t help smiling.

‘Goodnight, Thranduil,’ she said.  
*  
From there she went to the princes’ infirmary where Arwen was feeding broth to Iauron and who kept her company while she attended to Tharmeduil. His colour was paler than earlier, suggesting he was moving into the nausea phase of his recovery. Well, ‘recovery’ was a loose term…

As she patiently gave him water and checked all else was no worse with him, she began to ponder whether there might be anything more she could do when it occurred to her that a look at Tharmeduil’s own drawings might fill in some of the inevitable blanks left from Thiriston and Canadion’s report.

By the time she was finished it was still not late, the evening beginning to dim as she left the princes’ pavilion and returned her supplies to the store. Not so late that people had retired for the night, there were still people at the cook fires taking supper, so she made her way towards the edge of the camp, intending a quick word with Commander Govon.

Lanterns were already lit along the row of tents and pavilions. Focussed on her purpose, she never thought to rattle the buckler, or, indeed, to see if were even outside the pavilion.

‘Govon! Govon, do you have Tharmeduil’s drawings?’ she called out as she entered. ‘I need to…’

*  
Legolas and Govon broke apart as they heard Nestoril’s voice. Govon rolled his eyes and Legolas, greateful the privacy curtain was drawn at least, reached for the nearest thing to bundle around his midsection.

‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded as he pushed through the curtain. ‘Is something amiss?’

‘Oh!’ Nestoril took a step backwards, feeling the blood rush to her face as she realised, belatedly, that what this morning had been a formal meeting-space was now once more part of a private residence… ‘No, there is no emergency… forgive me, I forgot to… you should have a string of bells, Arwen would…’

‘No bells,’ Legolas said through gritted teeth, clutching at the bunched fabric at his midsection which was threatening to come adrift. ‘You had a reason to be here?’

‘My prince, I… Your highness,’ she tried to continue. ‘I… I wanted to borrow Prince Tharmeduil’s sketches and notebooks, if…’

‘And I wanted to spend a little time at the end of a tiring day’s duty in private with my fëa-mate. It would seem we’re both out of luck.’  
She sighed and bowed her head.

‘I can only apologise again, my prince. Do, please, forgive me…’

‘All right, Nestoril. Tomorrow. I’ll have them brought to you tomorrow. Will you be so good as to tie the outside openings of the tent together on your way out?’

Govon was grinning at him when Legolas returned to the privacy of their sleeping area.

‘I’m glad she didn’t get here ten minutes later! Poor Nestoril! You sounded so like your royal sire just then that I could almost feel sorry for her!’ he said, folding back the covers and welcoming his fëa-mate back into the bed. ‘Who ever would have guessed you had such a wicked tongue on you, melleth?’

Legolas slid back under the covers and pulled Govon towards him.

‘Well, I thought you might have noticed by now,’ he said.


	154. Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas feels remorse...

Govon came out of reverie to find he was sole occupant of the bed. He didn’t feel alone, however; soft, shifting sounds told him Legolas was working nearby.

Turning over, away from the canvas side of the pavilion, he saw his fea-mate, dressed only in leggings and tidying a stack of papers and scrolls of parchments. His hair was not yet braided and lay upon his bare shoulders like the finest filigreed gold and in the filtered daylight his skin looked burnished, perfect, the armband of pewter scales gleaming dully in contrast to the sunlight of his skin. Govon touched his own, carved armband in wonder and love, filling his eyes with the sight of his beloved and his heart with the perfect beauty of the moment.

His soft sigh of contentment drew Legolas’ attention and the golden head turned, the ultra-blue eyes found his, and the prince smiled.

‘I disturbed you. Sorry.’

‘No, not at all.’ Govon propped himself on one elbow. ‘How long have you been up?’

‘A while.’

‘You seemed to have trouble settling to reverie last night. Did you get any rest?’

‘Yes.’ Legolas shrugged as Govon continued to look into his face. ‘Well, some. I kept thinking about Nestoril, and my brother, and… Govon, I feel terrible! Poor Nestoril! She looked so… crestfallen, I suppose. Mortified. And then I was unkind to her when I really didn’t need to be…’

‘I don’t think you were very unkind, melleth. We’d brought the buckler in, so it was obvious we weren’t to be disturbed except for an emergency…’

‘That’s it, though. I knew from her tone of voice there wasn’t a problem but I still let her think I thought there was…’ Legolas sighed. ‘I’ll ask Feril to dress my arm today, I don’t think I can face Nestoril… I’ll have someone take the papers to her and…’

‘Are you going to braid today?’ Govon shifted to the edge of the bed. ‘Come, let me do that for you.’

Legolas relaxed as Govon’s fingers worked his hair. It still felt odd, as an adult, to have someone do this for him, to trust his head into another’s care, but he was getting used to it. There was a sense of rightness, though, that the fingers which undid him should also remake him. And the intimacy of the attention was special, private, blessed.

‘It’s no good,’ he said presently. ‘I’m going to have to face Nestoril at some point anyway. And if I ask Feril to dress my arm, it might make things worse…’

‘Well, Nestoril had a rough day, all told.’

‘She looked tired when I saw here with Tharmeduil in the morning…’

‘Tired? That’s one way to put it… You don’t know, you didn’t hear…?’

‘Hear what?’

‘Arwen and Feril and Glorfindel all knew… Arwen heard someone crying in the princes’ tent and eventually they fetched me to get your father… turned out Nestoril was having a little moment… the king calmed her down and sent me in to make sure she was all right. I didn’t say – she was embarrassed enough – and, anyway, a story like that usually walks around the camp all by itself…’

‘No, I’d no notion… I would have been kinder, had I known.’

‘No, you wouldn’t.’ Govon stopped braiding to gather Legolas into a swift hug to take the sting out of his words. ‘You would have said just the same things because you were tired and we’d been interrupted. But you would have felt much, much worse after.’

‘Poor Nestoril. It sounds as if she’d had an overdose of royals yesterday. I should apologise… somehow.’

Govon returned to his work, plaiting a wide strand of hair at the crown of Legolas’ head into a braid to keep it out of his face, fixing the clasp in place.

‘Why not take her the books and notes yourself? Maybe offer to go through them with her; she’ll like it if you offer, even if she feels too shy to take you up on it at present. If you wait until she goes to your brothers’ tent, you should have her to yourself. Apart from the princes, of course.’

‘That’s a fine idea, Govon! Thank you.’ Legolas turned and rested his arms on Govon’s thighs, looking up at him with affection. ‘Whatever would I do without you?’

‘I do not like to think, melleth. But I am pretty sure your hair would not be quite as neat.’

*

Presently Legolas returned to the task of sorting out Tharmeduil’s notes, Govon helping once he’d dressed for the day.

‘Of course, these are only what my brother wrote before he left on his expedition,’ Legolas remarked. ‘And should I include the pages where he’s marked everything as being completed?’

‘Nestoril asked for them all. I’ll speak to Thiriston and see if he knows of any other… hold on, not that book.’

‘You said she said ‘all’…’

‘Yes – but Tharmeduil told me, specifically, not to let Nestoril see this one. In fact, he told me not to use it unless we were stuck…’

‘That’s the one with all the black pages in, isn’t it? Here, then.’

‘Yes… thank you.’ Govon put the little book away and got to his feet. ‘I’m on duty soon. Overseeing target practice this morning, it will make a change… I’ll find Thiriston first. And… don’t feel you have to apologise too much to Nestoril. You’re the prince, after all.’

‘Which means I should be above reproach and ought to apologise more…’

‘I’m sure it will be fine.’

*

Nestoril turned Tharmeduil onto his side and put rolled-up blankets behind him so he couldn’t fall onto his back. She explained why to him, even though she didn’t think he was properly aware of what she was saying.

‘It is simply that, if the sickness comes on you, it is safer for you thus. Whilst I know there is very little in your body, still, it is as well to be wary.’

A rustling behind her, the opening to the tent parting and she frowned. None were supposed to enter while she was here and she had spoken before she turned.

‘I am supposed to have privacy while I work…’ 

She floundered. Standing there with his arms full of scrolls and parchment and notebooks was Legolas, and he had the temerity to grin at her.

‘Sorry. I suppose that makes us even, then.’ And before she could speak he stepped forward and laid his armful of papers down on the ground-covering, folding into a cross-legged position as he sat. ‘About last night, I was out of sorts. Govon told me after I sounded just like my father…’

He ducked his head away.

‘I never thought anyone would say that about me. Not when I wasn’t trying to be like him.’

‘It really was my fault; I had too much to think about and forgot it might be your personal time…’

‘Anyway… perhaps you could carry some of Arwen’s bells with you to jangle outside next time you come calling…?’

This made her laugh, breaking the last of the tension, and Legolas grinned and gestured at the papers and books.

‘I brought everything I could. Govon spoke to Thiriston – he was looking after the notes Tharmeduil made while he was away. I’ve got a thing this morning with Adar and… that is, I have a formal meeting with the king and his advisors soon, but if you’re free this afternoon I could help with these?’

‘That’s very kind but I really couldn’t ask…’

‘I offered, remember? And, while I’m here, just to remind you I helped Govon and his lieutenants through venom sickness, if you need anyone to sit with Tharmeduil for a time.’

‘I… you are determined, are you not, to make me feel worse by being so pleasant and helpful?’ she asked, smiling.

‘I hope I’m always pleasant and helpful… except when I’m surprised in my private quarters and I will try harder in future…’

‘Oh, very well! We are friends again, then.’

‘And… amongst the items Thiriston brought, there was this.’

He handed over a small piece of paper which had been folded and refolded, one end tucked in so that it couldn’t unfold and reveal its contents accidentally. 

Nestoril’s name had been drawn on the outside of it and she took it from him with a sort of reverence.

‘Well.’ Legolas made to move. ‘I’ll let you read it in private.’

‘No – please stay.’ She glanced at him. ‘I might not share the contents, of course, but… I would prefer not to be alone… with him while I do.’

‘If it helps, then.’

He settled back again while she unfolded the paper and cast her eyes over it. Her breath caught in her throat and she sniffed, but sat up straight and resolute and managed a smile.

‘It is… it is written on the morning that they found the spiders. He says… the darkness is coming soon, but it is a safe darkness, not to be afraid for him. He says it will be like the night of the dark of the moon, but that there will be stars. Silence, but sounds. That he knows he will not be alone, that he will never be alone. He says it is all right and that he has seen a bright day after.’  
The healer swallowed and then tilted her head.

‘He says that if he has not shown signs of wakefulness by the time we reach the enchanted river on our way home then I have to ask Govon for the other book.’

‘The other book?’

‘Yes.’ Now she managed a smile. ‘He also says you will utterly deny its existence, if pressed, and so not to press you unless I have to. That he made Govon promise. You may see, if you like.’

He shook his head.

‘It is intended for you. Keep it, until we reach the river. Then, if you need to ask for an alleged book, you will have the proof you need to show my fëa-mate.’ Now he got to his feet. ‘If you want me to sit with my brothers, or to go over the parchments with you, have them send for me.’


	155. Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arveldir explains the politics of meetings, Mirkwood-style, to Erestor...

‘I do not know if this is something you used to do in Imladris,’ Arveldir said as he gathered his papers. ‘But I have found it easier, when I have an audience with the king, to have a meeting before it, too, with any other important persons who might be required to attend or be affected by it. So I will bring the commanders and we will talk to them first; they will then have no reason to protest that they were not included in the meeting with his majesty.’

‘Sometimes. If it was an important matter where we felt Lord Elrond might need persuasion…’

‘That is not the case today. It is mostly matters of logistics and routine and the practicalities of the journey home, things the commanders think should be brought to the king’s notice. We will convene outside Nelleron’s enclosure.’

‘It seems an unusual location.’

‘Well, since there is no longer a command tent – as several persons have taken pains to point out to me – it is the most private spot I can think of. I will see you there soon.’

When Erestor joined Arveldir, though, he was surprised to see that only Commanders Bregon and Esgaron had turned up and even more so when Arveldir commenced proceedings without any mention of Commander Govon. Too well-versed in the intricacies of interdepartmental politics generally to mention it, still he noted it and after the meeting – mostly a discussion of supplies and practicalities and giving the commanders chance to make a strong point for heading home as soon as possible. 

The entire thing lasted no longer than a quarter of an hour, and Erestor was left wondering at the necessity of the meeting in the first place.  
‘Especially,’ he added as they spent a few minutes with Nelleron afterwards, ‘as Commander Govon was not present…’

‘Ah. I wondered whether you would notice…’ Arveldir sighed. ‘No, I knew you would notice… I wondered if you would speak out. The fact is that Commanders Bregon and Esgaron, while acknowledging Command Govon’s undoubted capabilities, are not used to working with him yet. They argue that, since they both have more men under their command than does he, it is more important that their views are represented to the king than his. I do not think they intend to exclude the commander, but that is how it may appear to those unfamiliar with the situation… more to the point, they have been at pains to make sure I am aware of their opinion…’

‘And is Govon likely to attend the formal meeting with the king, particularly as he is Commander of the Court Guard?’

Arveldir looked at his friend and lover and saw a twitch of amusement in his mouth. As for himself, he struggled to hide a smile.

‘You know, I rather think he is, suddenly. Particularly as the other commanders have not bothered to let you know what their thoughts are on the matter.’

*

If Govon was surprised to find Erestor bowing to him part way through his overseeing of target practice and bearing an invitation to an audience with the king, he hid it well and turned over control to his lieutenant without so much as a pause.

‘Lead on, my lord.’

‘I understand there has been an assumption that what the regent knows, the commander of the Court Guard knows… but I am used to more documented proceedings…’

‘I think you’re right. Usually, by the time Legolas and I meet up at the end of the day, he’s stopped being regent and I’ve set aside my command… do you know what the meeting concerns?’

‘Minor matters, I believe.’

The minor matters did not seem that minor to Govon. He listened with some concern as Arveldir read out a list of recommendations to the king and the regent.

‘May I ask for opinions?’ the advisor finished.

‘I have… not an opinion yet,’ Govon said. ‘ A question: Who will break the news to Nestoril that the other commanders think we should set out immediately for home against her express advice that we stay until Prince Tharmeduil passes out of his venom sickness?’

‘There is some concern as to how long our supplies will last, I understand,’ Arveldir told him.

‘Isn’t it better that we march on short commons for a day or two than our prince possibly suffer more serious effects? I happen to know that Commanders Bregon and Esgaron, while they have seen the result of guard-spider venom, have not directly endured it. The prince is likely to be made very uncomfortable if he is moved too soon.’

‘Commander, you have personal knowledge,’ Thranduil said. ‘We will take Nestoril’s advice and wait until she deems it safe.’

Arveldir bowed and made a note in his book.

‘There is also the matter of whether or not we should inform Mirkwood of our situation,’ the advisor went on. ‘Two riders could be despatched on horseback. They could reach the nearest outpost within a week and help could be with us in two…’

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Legolas said. ‘Too many things could change between now and then… and who would go?’

‘The commanders suggest the Court Guard.’

‘When I have extra demands on my warriors, fewer of them than I set out with, and additional personnel to guard?’ Govon protested. ‘I don’t think we could do our job if we were two down.’

‘One of you must remind the commanders that I have already expression my determination that we will not be divided.’

‘I will do so forthwith, my king,’ Arveldir said with an inclination of his head. ‘And, if you permit, I will also reassure the healer that we will not be breaking camp against her advice.’

‘Good. No doubt Bregon and Esgaron will wish to see me to make their points in person – if so, then liaise with Nestoril so that they arrive while she is changing my dressings this evening; I would remind them that I am not yet restored to full health.’

‘It will be a pleasure, my king.’

‘Legolas, I will take the duty today; you intended spending time with your brothers, I understand?’

‘Yes, sire. And… could I stay for a moment? There’s something I’d like to tell you…’

‘Is it not fit for general hearing, ion-nin?’

‘It is not secret, sire. I thought you might prefer it… Tharmeduil sent home a letter with his escort…’

Thranduil sat a little straighter in his chair.

‘Very well. You may all go. Arveldir, please let it be known that Legolas is not to be disturbed with organisational matters today.’

‘Yes, sire.’ Arveldir bowed and glanced at Erestor and Govon. ‘After you, mellyn-nin.’

‘What is it?’ Thranduil asked once they were alone. ‘What does Tharmeduil say?’

‘I don’t know; it’s addressed to you, Adar.’ Legolas handed over a folded page similar to the one he had delivered to the healer earlier. ‘He left one for Nestoril, too. She shared some of it with me, Tharmeduil knew this was coming, he says he’s not alone in the dark…’

‘Open it and read to me.’

With a glance to make sure his father was serious, Legolas did as he was bid. A wry smile crossed his face.

‘He says: Ada. Trust Ness. She knows what she’s doing. So do I. Remember, not alone. Never alone.’

‘Indeed?’ Thranduil extended his hand to accept the note which he folded and put away close to his heart. ‘How cryptic of him. Thank you, ‘las. When you see Tharmeduil, be sure to thank him also.’


	156. Scrawl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas speaks to his brother...

‘You look better,’ Legolas told his brother, sitting on the ground beside the bed. ‘I remember Govon’s illness, once he was that colour, he got well quite quickly. Of course, it was easier to take care of him, he only had the venom to cope with. Well, not easier. Simpler, maybe.’

Tharmeduil said nothing. Still propped on his side, he was facing his brother and Legolas grinned.

‘And your eyes are clear, so I think you’re awake and can hear me, if your other thing will let you. It’s hard going, you know. Wanting to help, not knowing how. Nestoril thinks you’re stuck in your visions… that until you work out what’s changed or changing, you can’t shake off the after effects of the attack. She wants to go through all your notes. All of them. From the start, right back to the first ones.’ He tried not to sigh. ‘I guess that means a lot of time talking them over with you listening in… if it was me, though, I’d want to know what happened while I was away first. Shall we start there, no pictures, no notebooks, just what happened while you were off chasing cauls? Sorry, it must be frustrating to be asked a question when you can’t find an easy way to answer… Well, we moved off the eyot… better for the warriors… they decorated a bridle for Nelleron with scales from the grey dragon… Erestor and Arveldir decorated his antlers with them, too, decked him out like a celebration tree… I think Adar was impressed…’

He grinned as he saw – thought he saw – Tharmeduil’s lips move towards a ghost of a smile.

‘Oh, one thing that might be important. Before we moved over, just after you left. Arwen was having a rough time so… I don’t know now if we should have but we meant well… your drawings… well, she was in some of them and, since they weren’t in the secret book… we showed her. It’s just she was so upset about Iauron and we thought, if she knew she was going to be happy again, if she realised there might be someone later on, it might help her…’

Legolas paused. He waited, watching his brother, and finally he sighed.

‘Well, I hoped… I’ve seen how it works, sometimes, I sort of thought that this might have been one of those things that changed things and maybe would free you, but… well, all that happened with Arwen was that she thought about it and decided she wasn’t going to make her future decisions based on your pictures. Sorry. I suppose, if nothing’s changed for her, then why should it change anything in the visions? Apart from that… Erestor and Arveldir had declared themselves in a quiet way – swapped rings but haven’t drawn attention to it, Govon noticed… sees everything, my melleth… those of us with fëa-mates or special friends have our own area of the camp, now. Adar is better, I think. Still recovering, Nestoril is less worried about him than she was, though. And…’

He broke off as he heard someone approaching, and Arwen appeared in the opening of the tent.

‘Oh, Legolas! Will I be interrupting if I sit with Iauron for a while?’

‘Of course not. I was talking things over with my brother. But I don’t think he’ll mind if you join us.’

‘Well, I usually talk to Iauron while I help with his meals and such, so that’s all right. Could you just help me sit him up a little?’

He helped as requested, supporting Iauron while Arwen fed him thin broth.

‘Nothing for Tharmeduil yet?’ Arwen asked.

‘Just water today. Nestoril and Feril are monitoring; it’s that stage of the spider-sickness, I’m afraid.’

‘What have you been talking to him about?’

‘Catching up with things in the camp. You, and how we showed you the pictures… I’ve been wanting to say, sorry about that. We really thought it would help…’

‘Well, it did help. It made me think about what I wanted. And it helped me realise, we had the makings of something very special. Glorfindel thinks Iauron will only find healing if he sails. Well, then; I will sail with him, if that is so. I love him and he me, and as long as I can believe in our future, I will stay at…’

She broke off as Tharmeduil began to move and thrash about on his bed. Legolas lowered Iauron as carefully as he could in haste and went to his other brother.

‘Arwen, will you fetch Nestoril, please? I’ll stay with him… Tharmeduil? It’s all right, be calm…’

Tharmeduil’s body was lurching and Legolas thought at first that his brother was having a fit. But he swiftly abandoned the idea once he realised Tharmeduil was actively attempting to move. Lying on his right side, his paralysed limbs uppermost, his brother was struggling under the burden of his useless weight, his face set and grim as he fought to change position.

‘Come, just relax; let me help you. Do you wish to sit up?’

Legolas heard Tharmeduil’s breath hiss swiftly between his teeth and he put an arm around his brother’s shoulders, helping him into a sitting position. He pushed pillows behind him as Tharmeduil’s right hand flailed out, searching, reaching.

‘Of course. After the clarity, you draw. You talk and we write and you draw. Here; paper, pigment stick.’

Tharmeduil’s hand was a claw, and Legolas had to put the charcoal into his brother’s hand and guide it to the paper. He felt the tremor and shake of the strain of it, and nodded encouragement.

‘Doesn’t have to be your usual quality, just… a ship? It is a ship with big sails… you talked of such, I remember, the silver sails after the dark…’ Legolas tried to read his brother’s eyes. ‘Not that? What, Iauron? And… is that Arwen? It is… So, she just said, if he sails, she sails…’

Tharmeduil’s hand spasmed across his stick-figure Arwen in a scribbling out.

‘Arwen will not sail, or must not sail. Is that your meaning…? Excellent. What, more? Very well…’

‘Legolas? What is going on?’ Nestoril appeared at the entrance, Arwen and Glorfindel visible behind her. ‘Oh, Tharmeduil! You are awake, at last! How do you…?’

She broke off as Legolas shook his head at her and Tharmeduil tried to speak, failed, and grimaced frustration, aiming the drawing stick at his page with renewed ferocity. 

‘Let us give them a moment; I do not wish to disturb this,’ the healer said softly, backing away. ‘Legolas, when you are done…’

‘I’ll call you.’

A rough outline, a face with downcast eyes and tears, and Tharmeduil stared at Legolas. 

‘I don’t know who that is, I’m sorry. Is he… she… someone I…?’

The prince traced a line beneath the weeping face, a line that looked like carved wooden links in an armband.

‘Govon?’

A line drew back towards the boat and Legolas began to shake his head.

‘He will not sail, you cannot mean he will…? No. Then…? Who is this, now…? Iauron, in a bed. Is that Arwen again…? No, it’s another person… not Govon, but… Govon is linked to the person at the bedside… not linked with, I meant, are you showing they are connected somehow? Yes… But why is he…?’

Tharmeduil dropped the stick and his back arced. He began to convulse as a vision blossomed behind his unseeing eyes and everything crowded in again…

‘Nestoril! Ness, we need you!’

She was there in a heartbeat, Legolas gathering the pages out of her way and backing off to let her work, Glorfindel there also, placing a hand on Tharmeduil’s forehead and chanting a string of lyrical phrases until the fit passed and the prince lay still.

Nestoril bowed her head for a moment and then lifted her gaze to Glorfindel, still focussed on the prince.  
‘Well, at least he has woken. He is coming out of his darkness, at last.’

Glorfindel shook his head and his sorrow was graven into his handsome features.

‘Lady Healer, that is not so. He has fallen further into it.’


	157. Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the king asks for opinions...

Still clutching the paper he had been holding for Tharmeduil, Legolas struggled to his feet. His mind was whirling, giddy with visions and drawings and Glorfindel’s assessment and he only barely took in the dismay on Nestoril’s face.

The pavilion suddenly felt very crowded and he realised that the only thing he could do to help, right now, was making more room for the healers to work. 

He made his way out and took Arwen by the arm, leading her towards the practice area where a score or so warriors were shooting at targets.

‘Come on, come away.’

‘Oh, Legolas! Your poor brother…!’

‘Yes. Yes, poor Tharmeduil.’

‘We should tell your father.’

Legolas shook his head.

‘Not until we know something.’ 

By now they were out of earshot of the main camp and finally Legolas stopped where a few boulders made a convenient place for Arwen to sit. He cast himself onto the ground beside her, hoping that Tharmeduil’s sudden fit and relapse would cover all of his distress and so she wouldn’t ask what was up. Across the plain he could see Govon leading the archery practice. The sight reassured him, grounded him.

‘We’re sort of used to it, we know what to do when he gets the visions,’ he said after a few minutes silence. ‘Talk, make notes, sort it through with him. He can’t do that now. He saw… something, I tried to go over it with him, but… there was something at the end, a new insight, I think, that’s when he takes the fit, with fresh visions. It seemed to me that we were making progress, but something else seemed to happen and a new thing… whatever it may be, he will not be able to speak of it until he wakes.’ 

Here he ducked his head, staring at the grass beneath him.

‘For weeks now, Tharmeduil has been talking about a long darkness and what comes after it. Nestoril thought he was coming out of this long dark today. But Glorfindel seems to think otherwise. He said that he was going down into it.’

‘So… what now?’

Legolas shook his head.

‘I do not know. We must trust to the healers to make him comfortable, and trust to his vision – that he will be safe and not alone in his darkness, and that he will come out of it. Please…’ He looked up and saw only sympathy in her eyes. ‘Arwen, please, don’t say anything yet. It’s for the healers to tell my father, not us.’  
‘Of course. What about you, though? Are you all right?’

‘Yes, fine.’

‘I don’t believe you, but it would be rude to say so.’

He smiled and rolled onto his knees, looking out towards the practice range where the archers seemed to be packing up. Some were gathering equipment, others heading away from the camp towards the north. 

Turning to look towards the encampment, he saw activity there, someone heading towards them.

‘We should head back,’ Legolas suggested. ‘It would appear a messenger has been dispatched from the camp. I may be looked for.’

They intercepted the messenger a little way out of camp.

‘Triwathon? What’s up?’

‘O my prince,’ Triwathon began, out of breath from the run. ‘His majesty the king requires your presence. And that of the commander, as quickly as may be.’

Legolas glanced back. ‘I think he is still on the field. I’ll walk Lady Arwen back and wait for you at the camp.’

When Govon and Triwathon joined them, Legolas gave Arwen over to the warrior.

‘Will you escort Lady Arwen to her quarters, Triwathon? Thank you.’

‘Is something wrong?’ Govon asked once they were alone and heading towards the king’s pavilion. ‘I wondered why you were on the plain?’

‘Yes… I wanted to see if I could spot you, I just wanted to make sure you were there.’

Govon would have laughed, but the tone of his fëa-mate’s voice was strangely muted.

‘And…?’

‘Tharmeduil woke up a little. Enough to attempt a drawing.’

‘Good.’

‘Then he crashed off into another fit…’

‘Ah. Not good.’

‘We left him with the healers, giving them a chance to work… I’m guessing, but it’s fair to assume they’ve taken the news to my father.’

The two increased their pace and hurried towards the king’s pavilion. Glorfindel was outside, pacing, and held the entrance open for them to precede him.

The king was on a high backed chair, Nestoril at his side, her face troubled. 

Glorfindel followed Legolas and Govon in as Govon dropped to one knee, his head bowed, and Legolas dipped his head. 

Thranduil’s face was smooth and expressionless, still and fixed, but Legolas saw something in the shine of his eye, the set of the mouth which disturbed him; it looked as if the king had received bad news.

‘Rise, Govon, you are here as honour-family and not as Commander. Legolas, I have just heard that Tharmeduil is worse. Opinion is divided as to whether we should immediately send him, and his brother, to the Havens, or to take them home with us. I need all available information in order to properly consider the matter. You were there?’

‘I was, sire, talking things through for him. He suddenly tried to move, so I helped him sit up. He didn’t speak, he couldn’t. He wanted to draw, I helped…’

‘My prince, how much movement did he have?’ Nestoril asked. ‘I need to know, if I am to help him.’

‘Not much. His right hand and arm, a little. But his fingers didn’t want to hold the drawing sticks and his control was very poor.’ 

Thranduil looked at Nestoril.

‘Does this help, Healer?’

‘If I could ask more questions later? Could my prince spare me some time?’

‘Whatever you need, Nestoril,’ Legolas said quickly.

‘Now?’ she asked, her voice hopeful.

‘Not now,’ Thranduil said. ‘Legolas, Govon, stay. The rest of you… thank you for your service. You may leave. I will send my son to you, Nestoril, once he has finished here.’

There was a bench set near the king’s chair and he waved towards it.

‘Sit, both of you. Tell me what you think. Bearing in mind that I will not split the company.’

‘I think, sire, that your advisors might be more use here than I…’ Govon began to say, but a lift of Thranduil’s fingers cut him off.

‘They advise. If they have personal opinions, they tend not to express them. I want to know what you think, Govon.’

‘Had we boats, we could float down the river to the mouths of Anduin and sail from there to the Undying Lands, and that would be the easiest way. Otherwise we would have to bear your sons over the High Pass, sire, and then probably we would have to ask for help at Imladris… but I think I do not want to go near Elrond for a goodly while yet, and we do not have boats anyway.’ Govon shrugged. ‘More to the point, I think, in all of Tharmeduil’s notes he sees that we go back home first.’

Legolas carefully unfolded Tharmeduil’s last drawings.

‘One of the last things my brother tried to make me understand is about sailing… Arwen was there, and she and I were talking, briefly. She said that if Iauron sails, she will sail with him. That was when Tharmeduil reacted, and he drew a ship and Arwen next to it and… and he crossed her off the page… I questioned his meaning, I think he was showing that Arwen doesn’t sail with Iauron, she isn’t meant to. But if… if we went now to the Havens or to the Mouths of Anduin, she would board the ship, I think.’

‘I have no love for Lord Elrond for the mischief he has caused,’ Thranduil said. ‘But I would not wish to take the blame for depriving him of his only daughter.’

‘There are more pictures showing Arwen later on, with… other people,’ Govon said. ‘So we know that Tharmeduil sees a future for her where she doesn’t sail on that would unravel the entire other future. But that is not the point. Surely the point is what is best for your sons, sire?’

‘This is true. Of course, I have three sons. Imladris is not an option. Tharmeduil wishes to go home, first. Iaruon is not able to express an opinion, but if both must sail, then it is futile to make two separate journeys requiring two ships. Very well. Thank you. You have both been of great assistance. Legolas…?’

‘Yes, Father?’

‘Nestoril will be waiting for you outside. Tell her to find Lord Glorfindel and bring him to me; I wish to speak to them both at once.’ He sighed, suddenly looking as if he wore his pain heavily. ‘That will give you time to attend whatever is bothering you, but you will not have more than ten minutes, I think.’

‘Adar, thank you. There is something… Govon? It concerns you.’

‘Of course it does!’ Thranduil murmured. ‘Legolas. Go and talk to your fëa-mate.’ 

Govon bowed to the king and waited for the nod of dismissal. Outside, as the king had said, Nestoril was waiting close by and when she realised she was not going to get Legolas to herself but instead was being sent on an errand, her face fell.

‘You know my Adar, Nestoril,’ Legolas said with a shrug. ‘Come and find me in my quarters when you’re free. Don’t worry – I’ll be expecting you.’

At this a trace of her sense of humour returned and she winged an eyebrow up at him, but he was already on his way to his own pavilion, Govon with him.

‘So. You know I love you, that I would never hurt you?’ the prince began, taking a seat and spreading the paper on the table.

‘Yes… and I hope you know the same of me, but you are worrying me, melleth, and if there is something wrong…’

‘It is only this… well, I say ‘only’… what could make you look like this?’

He opened the last fold and Govon found himself looking at a very scrawly representation of a face. The unhappiness in the little sketch, rough though it was, and the worry in Legolas’ eyes alarmed him into choosing a light, teasing tone to reply in.

‘A couple of decades in the wild and some very unfortunate encounters?’ Govon said as he turned his head to examine the paper. ‘How can you tell it’s meant to be me?’

‘The arm band – carved wooden rings. And there’s something about the nose, that it’s not quite straight…’

‘Oh, thank you for noticing!’ He glanced at Legolas, but the attempts at lightness weren’t really working for either of them. ‘Melleth, I do not know what you could do to make me weep, but there is nothing to be done about it now. It will happen, or it will not. But I know you would not wish for it…’

Govon broke off as outside, Nestoril’s voice announced her approach.

‘Fold that up and put it away somewhere,’ he said, getting to his feet and dropping a swift kiss on Legolas’ hair. ‘I will go for a walk to give you privacy. But then I will return, and you will give me some.’


	158. Different

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Govon takes up the matter of his nose with Legolas...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandalwood Warning. Do not read in public if there is any danger someone could read over your shoulder or at a breakfast table in a restaurant. No, really.

It was getting towards twilight before Govon found his way back to the pavilion.

Truth to tell, the rough drawing had upset him far more than he had let show; Legolas had been worried about it enough without him adding to his melleth’s concerns.

So he avoided Nestoril after she left the pavilion, knowing she wouldn’t think to have a messenger sent to say she was done, and walked some way from the camp in an attempt to clear his head.

For while it was undoubtedly true that Prince Tharmeduil’s visions had proven useful, accurate and enlightening, it was also true that sometimes Govon felt the camp was too dependent on the insights and predictions of the prince.

The drawing about which Legolas was so worried was a case in point.

It didn’t even look like Govon, not really, and the likelihood of Legolas doing anything to bring him to tears – except of laughter when he was being a particularly spectacular pe-channas – extremely remote. Unless… unless he were to die?

No, impossible, Legolas wouldn’t, couldn’t die. Govon would simply not permit it. And, besides, there were other drawings that showed he and Legolas in the far future together, not that he fully understood those. If he was going to accept one vision, he ought to accept them all and, similarly, if he was going to deny one, then he should hold all equally suspect.

Well, one thing was sure; if he was worried about the drawing, Legolas would by now be brooding. It would be unkind to leave him alone much longer, and in any case, there was something Govon wanted to say to him on the subject of the comments concerning the straightness of his nose…

The thought turned him towards happier ideas, and he headed back to towards the pavilion lighter in heart.

He was walking near the king’s pavilion in time to see the other commanders leaving, and it made him frown. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Bregon and Esgaron tended to exclude him at times. Individually, they were supportive, helpful, professional. But put them together and they didn’t want anyone else rocking their particular command boat… he supposed he understood. From their point of view he must seem like an upstart, a pretender, trading on his ties with the royal family for advancement. Except he hadn’t, he had been promoted with Esgaron and Bregon’s support and he worked hard to be good at his job. Very hard.

To complain, or even to seem to complain, however, would not do him any good in anyone’s eyes, not least his own. And from the looks on their faces – for some reason, Bregon was ashen-faced – it didn’t look as if it had been the sort of meeting with the king Govon would have wanted to be part of anyway.

*

Legolas was seated at the little table where he could look through the opening of the tent and pretend to be working. He got to his feet as Govon brought in the buckler and secured the opening.

‘Are you all right?’ the prince asked. ‘I was worried.’

‘I think so. Are you?’

‘Yes, friend captain… are you certain?’

Govon stepped forward and linked his hands around Legolas’ waist, tilting his head back and looking at his melleth under half-lowered eyelids.

‘Well, my fair elf… there is one thing…’

‘Oh?’ 

Legolas found himself unable, unwilling to look away from the promise in the half-hidden amazing hazel eyes.

‘The matter of the straightness of my nose…’

Legolas’ mouth curved into a smile.

‘It is a very fine nose, beloved.’

‘It was better before the back of your brother’s head connected with it…’

‘It is now a more character-full and still very fine nose.’ 

Legolas linked his hands around Govon’s neck and pulled his face down so that he could gently kiss the bridge of the self-same very fine nose.

Govon smiled and closed his eyes, taking advantage of Legolas’ proximity to turn in and kiss the soft skin of his neck and fasten his mouth over the swell of the larynx, sliding circles with his tongue as he felt Legolas sigh and swallow and his arms go around to hold him close.

‘There is one thing…’

‘The buckler is in, the tent secured.’

‘Ai! I do not think tonight I would care!’ Legolas swallowed again, finding his breathing hastening in his chest. ‘It is that we are still dressed…’

‘And vertical.’ Govon pulled his unresisting lover through to the sleeping area, pausing to draw the privacy curtain. ‘But this will soon change.’

He tugged at the strings of his fair elf’s tunic, unlacing, and Legolas cast it aside, too impatient to wait for Govon to help. His shirt followed, and the commander stood back to sate his eyes on the lean, lithe body revealed. The prince’s Sindar skin was pale, milk or moonlight, the sweep and sway of his archer’s muscles enticing, and Govon found himself lost in admiration, heedless as Legolas stripped him of his own clothing; uniform jerkin, tunic, shirt… it was only the pull at his lacings that broke the spell and enabled him to move, to step out of his boots and leggings and free Legolas of the rest of his garments.

‘Now…’

‘Now, yes. First…’ 

Govon pushed Legolas down onto the bed, swept his eyes over him, noting the swift rise-and-fall of his chest, the flare of his ribs under the satin skin, how red his lips had suddenly become, how wide and deep his eyes… how obvious the desire and need in the prince and how urgent the response in his own flesh.

As Govon stood watching, Legolas reached out swiftly to take his hand, to pull him down, and he joined his fëa-mate on the bed, kneeling astride him, bending his head down so that bright, moist mouth could claim his in a kiss. Hands entwined, locked in Govon’s hair as he filled with sensation at the touch of skin on skin, the locked mouths, the gentle tug at his braids. He sighed into the caress of tongues, barely aware that the hands had left his hair and then a fresh, clean fragrance filled the air and he gasped into the mouth of his lover as he felt the slide of wet, glazed fingers drifting between his buttocks to tease and graze and caress the entrance to his body and plunge swiftly in, causing him to jump in surprise at the suddenness of it.

Legolas stilled his questing fingers and pulled away from the kiss, his eyes concerned, but Govon shook his head and pushed against his fair elf’s hand, his lips seeking that so-red mouth.

The kiss lasted barely a heartbeat before suddenly he was overthrown, rolled over, and his fair elf was astride him, his face pushing into the pillows, those fingers breaching his secret places again and something more nudging against him, pressing against the sensitive ridge and he could feel the silk of oil against his skin and Legolas was over him, mouth on his ear, licking, nipping, then whispering, suggesting, asking… 

‘I need you, need to fill you, to feel you, to know you… saes, melleth, must I wait?’

Govon gasped and groaned and lifted his hips. 

‘No… I want you, want you now…’

Legolas bumped against him, lifted up, paused and with a grateful sigh claimed his beloved, pushing slowly, slowly home as Govon shuddered and stifled his voice in the pillows. For a moment Legolas was patient and gentle, but his friend captain was so hot around him, pushing back, gripping tight, trembling and needing and his own love and need and the fear of loss coming back to haunt him again, he buried himself in his lover’s body as if it was the only way to purge himself of the dread, and something unexpected rose in him to mingle with the love in his fëa as he folded his arms around Govon’s body and brought his mouth to his neck, teeth no longer nipping but biting, his hips rocking and plunging as he clutched Govon to him, finding his lover’s erection with an oiled hand and as he bucked and thrust and held on with his teeth. and Govon felt the sweet joy of his body’s response mingling with the pain of Legolas’ bite so that the pleasure was heightened and the pain nothing, and he cried and moaned his bliss into the pillows and shuddered and spasmed around the implacable, loving onslaught and to Legolas it felt like homecoming and forever and safety and his moment of release was blinding and desperate and wonderful as Govon convulsed and tightened around him and spent his own climax with Legolas holding him tightly and whispering words of love and promise and gratitude.

Govon moved first, limbs heavy from exertion and heavier from the weight of Legolas over him, and he turned and slid so that Legolas was beneath him and he could stroke the damp hair back from his so-fair face and look into eyes full of amazement.  
‘Well,’ Govon said once he got his breath back. ‘That was different…’

‘I… did I hurt you, friend captain?’ Legolas asked, contrite. ‘I did not know I would lose myself so…’

‘I do not think so… not much…’

‘I am sorry, I don’t know where that came from…’

‘Hush.’ Govon kissed him, a soft and tender kiss as loving as before it was impassioned. ‘No more do I, but it was quite wonderful…’

‘I think you are bleeding where I bit you…’

‘Another mark for me to cover with warrior paint.’ 

Legolas laughed and Govon smiled.

‘What’s this new oil you had tonight?’ he asked presently. ‘And why?’

‘Ah.’ Legolas grinned, self-conscious. ‘It is what Nestoril gave me for my arm to keep the new skin in good condition. It felt nice, so I thought… and, besides, I did not want the scent of sandalwood to be remarked now we are in such close proximity to other couples…’

Govon began to laugh.

‘What? Melleth, I am glad to provide you amusement but what have I said?’

‘Ai, fair elf! Every tent along here smells of our oil now! In fact, I have heard it being called ‘Sandalwood Alley’… there really is no point trying to hide behind a different blend… we will just have to get used to the fact that other people might think that we are behaving like any other newly-avowed couple…’

‘Come. Let me see how badly I have marked you… oh, it is not so bad, I suppose. I could go and ask Nestoril for some caul silk…’

‘Yes, why do you not do so, melleth? And be sure to remember what the look on her face is like when you tell her it is for me because my lover bit me!’


	159. Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil goes for a walk...

Glorfindel bowed to the king as he entered Thranduil’s pavilion. He carried with him a tray of items; caul silk, bandages, the antiseptic Nestoril brewed from wild plants, a bottle of some kind of medicine.

‘Your majesty, good morning. If it is convenient, I would like to attend to your injuries.’

‘Good day, Lord Glorfindel.’ 

Too well-mannered to ask why Nestoril was not here, as was her wont, as he would have preferred, the king waved Glorfindel to approach.

‘May I ask how your majesty’s pain is today?’

‘You may. Glorfindel, while we are alone, it is quite proper for you, as my healer, to refer to me as ‘sire’. It will save time. I think the most significant improvements are to the hip. Pain levels are… within tolerances.’

Glorfindel gave a grim smile.

‘Yes; Healer Nestoril has already told me you are prepared to tolerate far more discomfort than is necessary… May I see?’

‘Do so.’

It was an entirely different experience, having his wounds dressed by Glorfindel. The Balrog-Slayer was as adept, as conscientious and capable, indeed, but the exchange of opinions was of a different level and somehow Thranduil was left vaguely dissatisfied with the experience.

‘As you are no doubt aware, sire, there is considerable improvement to the healing of the outer surfaces of the injury to your face; another dressing, or two, and there should be an entire covering of skin. The other injuries have healed over, but I will still dress with caul silk as it will hasten the healing and strengthen the skin.’

‘Good. Then you may pass me my real clothes. Have you attended Erthor and Calithilon today?’

‘I have indeed, sire. I understood that you preferred to be visited last?’

‘Indeed. That way I can enquire as to their progress.’

‘It is good, with this new batch of silk. There is no reason why Calithilon is not up and about now, except his courage is not with pain and he fears to set himself back. Erthor is eager to be back on his feet.’

‘As am I. Have someone arrange for them to be dressed and ready and waiting outside their quarters as soon as might be done.’

‘As you wish, sire.’

‘And get someone to ask Govon to attend me at once.’

‘Of course. Healer Nestoril left this draught for you. She says you do not have to take it, but she will be able to tell from your expression if you have not.’

Glorfindel set the bottle on the table at the king’s side, noticing Thranduil’s expression had softened a little. ‘She is with your sons, sire, or she would have come to you herself this morning.’

‘I see. My thanks, Glorfindel, for your help. Before you go… You must understand, it is not that I do not respect your advice concerning my sons. Healer Nestoril has known them all their lives; she helped at their birth and has nurtured them through all their childhood hurts. Her loyalty and service are exemplary and must be met with equal loyalty and respect in turn. Were I to send Iauron and Tharmeduil to the Havens now, leaving her remedies untried, it would show a lack of trust and faith which would serve only to harm her self-esteem and which would, in any case, not reflect my hope in her capabilities.’

‘Sire, I would not presume to take offence by your choice to follow one who has known you so long over my own advice which is, ultimately, only my opinion. Your healer has very different methods from my own, but that makes them no less valid.’

‘It is good that you understand. Your service is a welcome aid to us, Lord Glorfindel, do not think you are not properly valued. But now let me not detain you.’

Thus dismissed, Glorfindel gathered his materials, inclined his head and left the king’s presence. He appreciated Thranduil’s courtesy in suggesting he find someone to take the messages for him, but he didn’t think for a moment that the king expected him to delegate. Besides, Nestoril was with the princes and Feril with the lesser-wounded. It was always going to have been he who went to Erthor and Calithilon.

He could, and did, however, hail the pretty Canadion who approached with a friendly smile.

‘You wanted me, Lord Glorfindel?’

‘A message for Govon from the king. He asks he attend him at once.’

‘I’ll pass that on at once, my lord. He’s at the breakfast cook fire now.’

Glorfindel nodded and went on towards the infirmary tent which housed the two more seriously injured elves. Calithilon was reclining and staring at the roof of the pavilion while Erthor was sitting up, leaning forward – it was more comfortable for his healing back and shoulders that way – and looking out on the day.

‘You are back, my lord?’ Erthor asked.

‘Indeed. You are both ordered to dress – I will help, if you need it – and be outside your tent as soon as may be.’

‘Are you sure, Lord?’ Calithilon said, half-protesting. ‘I am not certain I am recovered enough…’

Erthor was already trying to pull his boots on.

‘Lord Glorfindel? Could I go without my shirt? Unless I could trouble you for more padding over the caul and I know we discussed it works better without additional coverings…’

‘I am sure that will be fine, Erthor. Calithilon, I am not your commander, I am merely passing on an instruction. I would strongly suggest you dress, at least, but then I am sure if you make your case in person to he who issued the command, you will be listened to.’

Calithilon sat up and began to find his clothes, muttering that Commander Esgaron did not properly appreciate his discomfort.

‘I do not think it is Esgaron you will need to convince, mellon-nin,’ Erthor said, hurrying to get to his feet, although he had to lean against the pavilion supporting post to do so. ‘For our own king is heading this way…’

Glorfindel smiled and stood aside.

‘I hope you have an interesting morning, mellyn-nin,’ he said. ‘Good day to you.’

*

‘Sire?’ Govon presented himself, as requested, to the king. ‘You sent for me?’

‘Govon, I am assured I am healed, more or less, and so have decided it is time I began to walk the camp. You will accompany me so that Nestoril cannot later complain I was unattended…’

‘So she doesn’t know about this, sire?’

‘Not yet. We will have to leave the plains soon, we cannot be forever waiting for Tharmeduil to recover… I wish to encourage our two injured warriors and so we are going to collect them and go for a walk. Might you pass my staff? Thank you, Govon. Do you think you might be able to find further such supports for Erthor and Calithilon?’

‘We have a few spare tent poles… I am sure they would do.’

‘Lead on, then. We will not go past Tharmeduil’s tent, I hear Nestoril is with him and I fear she may see my appearance as an accusation…’

‘She is very distressed. Indeed, she’s had a trying time lately. As have many here.’

Thranduil let loose a sigh as he set off sedately towards where Erthor and Calithilon could be seen outside their quarters.

‘Well, we must see what we can do to raise Nestoril’s spirits,’ the king said. ‘An unhappy healer makes for unhappy patients. Ah. People are looking at us, Govon.’

‘Indeed, sire. You are walking amongst us again, and I think we have missed that.’ He raised a hand, seeing Hador nearby, beckoning him over. ‘Hador? Could you bring us a couple of sturdy tent posts or similar, to use as staffs? We’ll be with Erthor and Calithilon.’

‘At once. A pleasure to see you looking so well, my king.’

‘Thank you, Hador…’ Thranduil waited for the warrior to leave. ‘It is going to be so all morning, is it not?’

‘You have been missed, sire.’

‘How gratifying.’

Hador came up with two staves and handed them to Govon.

‘Is there anything else I can do, Commander?’

‘Find the rest of the Court Guard, tell them to pass the word the king wishes for a little privacy. Let our prince know I am busy for the moment.’  
‘Yes, Commander.’

Erthor and Calithilon bowed as the king approached, Erthor almost losing his balance; Govon steadied him and passed him a staff.  
‘Our king’s going for a walk. You’re both invited,’ Govon said, passing Calithilon the other.

‘It is an honour,’ Erthor said.

‘Indeed, my king,’ Calithilon echoed.

‘We will make towards that small hill to the north.’

Progress was sedate, creepingly slow. Thranduil concentrated on walking, aware of discomfort from the healing skin and rebuilding muscles tight and stiff across his hip and thigh. Calithilon limped for the first few minutes until shame forced him to hide it for his pride’s sake. All of the camp that could do so appeared to be watching, Govon noticed, although none encroached.

Halfway to the hill, Thranduil stopped to rest, trying to make it appear he was simply taking in the vista, but Govon noticed the slight tremor as the king supported himself on his staff. Erthor was breathing heavily but his face was bright as he looked around.

‘Do you know, it’s good just to be outside for a while,’ he said. ‘Not to feel like an invalid.’

‘When you are ready, we should continue,’ Thranduil said presently. ‘We will rest again when we reach the hill.’

It took them almost half an hour to get there, all told, and at the end of it everyone except Govon was very much in need of a few moments sitting on the grass. Govon had the feeling some, if not all three, of his companions would need pulling to their feet, but for the moment he took his place beside the king and looked back at the camp. It wasn’t really more than ten minutes away, for him, and he began to realise that the walk home to Mirkwood might seem like a very long way indeed.

‘Govon, attend me. I wish to go over there.’ Thranduil nodded off to the right towards a patch of bright flowers. ‘Give me your arm. Stay, Erthor, Calithilon. Rest. I am really not so injured as either of you.’

‘Now he tells us,’ Calithilon muttered as the king walked away. 

*

‘What are these, Govon?’ Thranduil asked.

‘Wildflowers, sire.’ Govon shrugged. ‘I have always lived in the forest, these are not forest flowers such as I know. If they were bluebells or celandines, I recognise those…’

The plants were tall, with long and slender stems growing from rosettes of leaves in the ground and topped with round, many-petalled flower heads. These were mostly yellow, but towards the edges the colour changed to orange and finally to bright red at the fringes of the flowers.

‘I wish to gather some. There are many, it will not harm to take a few.’

‘Would you like me to help?’ Govon offered warily. Picking flowers with his Adar-in-Honour was not how he had expected to spend the morning.

Thranduil laughed briefly, the sound ringing out unexpectedly in the bright morning.

‘No, I must do it myself if it is to matter… I have not lost my senses, do not fear… and I need just a few…’ The king stooped to pluck five perfect blooms on long stems and gather them carefully, finding a safe harbour for them inside his long robes. ‘We will not make mention of this, I think, and we will head back now. Tomorrow I will repeat this exercise, perhaps bringing any other of the recuperating warriors too, if they need encouragement to walk. The weather will break soon, and it will be better to be under the cover of Mirkwood by then if possible.’

It took less time to return to the camp. All three injured were starting to loosen up, to move more freely after their enforced inactivity, so it seemed to Govon.

‘Keep the staffs, you will need them tomorrow,’ Thranduil said as they left Erthor and Calithilon at their quarters. ‘Govon, I will need something I can decant Nestoril’s healing draught into… water to rinse the bottle… would you see to it?’

‘As soon as I’ve attended you to your pavilion, sire.’

Thranduil had been back long enough to take off his robe and to sit for a few moments when Govon reappeared with the required items.

‘Excellent. Tip the draught into that bottle…’

‘Sire? You could just use this jar instead…’

‘It would not be the same… there. Rinse it, please and put more water in for the blooms…’

Govon raised his eyebrows while the king’s back was turned, but said nothing as Thranduil carefully inserted the few flowers into the neck of the bottle.

‘Good. One last thing, Govon, and I will not trouble you further with personal requests today… these are for Nestoril. If you cannot find her, take them to her quarters but make sure Arwen and Feril know they are for Nestoril, but do not say, to her or to anyone, that they are from me. Do you understand?’

‘Completely,’ Govon said, although he wasn’t quite sure he did.

‘Thank you. And try to keep them concealed until you find her.’

* 

It really didn’t take Govon long to seek outNestoril; she was sitting at Tharmeduil’s bedside holding his right hand and talking softly to him but looked round as she heard the jangle of the bells outside.

‘Commander?’

‘I have something for you, Healer,’ he said, and placed the little bottle of flowers on the stand beside her.

‘Why, thank you, Govon! How very sweet of you! I hope Legolas knows about this?’

Govon smiled and shook his head.

‘They are not from me, Nestoril; they are simply a gift I was told to deliver to you. They were hand-picked freshly this morning. If you’d like to take them back to your quarters, I could sit with the princes?’

She smiled.

‘No, I wish to be here myself for as long as I can. I think the fit is passing and I want to be here when he wakes from it… even if he doesn’t wake fully. But they will cheer me; please thank my mysterious benefactor… whoever it might be.

‘If I have the chance, I will. Have a better day, Healer.’

Nestoril was looking, not at the flowers, but at the bottle they were in. A jolt of recognition thrilled her, and she found her spirits lifting as she realised who had been out picking flowers for her.

‘I think I already am, Govon,’ she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those interested in such things, the flowers are a similar sepcies to Autumnal Hawkbit which in Britain grows in grasslands and flowers from June to October. Very pretty and used to be used as a diuretic.


	160. Beneficial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril attends the king...

Through the morning Nestoril fielded a stream of enquiries after the prince and each time she flagged, and felt helpless and unable, the small posy of flowers cheered her.

Legolas came to see her in the early afternoon.

‘How is my brother?’ he asked softly.

Nestoril looked up.

‘The fit has passed. The blood has cleared from his eyes, and I think that he is just in the following sleep. He will be fine.’ 

She tried for a reassuring smile that Legolas didn’t believe for a moment.

‘I know he will,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen the pictures and read the notes. But I know it might be a little while before he’s fine, Ness, but we’ll look after him until then. Do you want to go through any of his drawings today?’

She shook her head.

‘Today is for monitoring any changes in his condition. I think it would be too much to face them just now…’

‘I must admit, I’d find it difficult just at the moment.’

‘Will you – would you mind letting your father know how he is? I am sure he would like to enquire.’

‘Yes, of course. I’m in charge again today, apparently, so I’ll try to make sure you don’t get swamped with people.’

‘It’s not that I mind; it’s just that I like to have something positive to say.’

‘I know. It’s awful to have only bad news to share. Well, I can see Erestor heading towards us… he seems to have decided I need an advisor of my own… he’s trying very hard to be helpful and I think at the moment I need all the help I can get…’ He paused, making his voice gentle before he went on. ‘I’ve had a discussion with Glorfindel and as a result I’ve asked Esgaron to have his company make up a couple of litters so we can carry my brothers home. There are enough tent posts that have parted company with their tents and enough remnants of canvas to rig up something comfortable and sturdy, and the plains are the ideal place to find out the best way of carrying my brothers. I’m not saying we’re leaving tomorrow, Nestoril, but it will be soon.’

‘I know. It will have to be.’ She sighed. ‘I do not feel I will be able to make much difference now, until I get them home.’

*

Late afternoon, and Nestoril gave in to Feril’s gentle insistence that she understood Tharmeduil’s condition too and wanted to take her turn at his bedside.

‘Besides, I have grown to like him. I know he has been occasionally rude to me, but he has made sure to apologise afterwards’, Feril said. ‘And he is always most contrite.’

‘Very well; do not hesitate to call me if anything changes.’ 

She picked up her posy of flowers and Feril smiled.

‘I thought those were the prince’s, perhaps from Arwen.’

‘No, indeed; Govon brought me them,’ she said, not wanting to share the secret of who had requested he do so. 

‘Hawkbit. They grow in the meadows around Imladris, sometimes they are most beneficial in the treatment of kidney complaints,’ Feril remarked.

‘Ah, these have a far greater beneficial effect,’ Nestoril said with a smile. ‘They make me feel appreciated!’

*

It was a reminder she needed through the rest of the day as tiredness and despondency caught up with her. She found her head drooping and her mood sinking, but each time a glance at the flowers helped her, and her evening visits amongst the wounded braced her spirits further. There was talk, amongst the still-recuperating lightly injured, of testing their strength on the morrow by going walking with the king.

‘For we saw him, today, with Erthor and Calithilon, and word has come that we may, if we wish,’ one of the company told her.

‘Well, there is no reason why you should not go walking anyway,’ she told the warrior. ‘And if you were to join one of the fishing parties, there is a chance you could also add to our food supplies.’

The king’s companions seemed better for their earlier exertions, too, and both – not only Erthor – were keen for the next day’s expedition.

‘We will slow the company, if we have to walk home,’ Erthor said. ‘At least at first, I think. I do not know how it is with you, Healer, but I miss having the forest around me.’

‘That is why we are called wood-elves, after all,’ she said. ‘But yes. I will be glad to be home.’

From there she went on to the king’s pavilion, greeting him with a smile and a lifted eyebrow.

‘Everywhere I go I hear tales of how the king has been out walking today!’ she said. ‘Had I known such would be the result of Lord Glorfindel’s ministrations, I would have let him tend you days ago!’

‘Really, Healer?’

‘Well… no, not really. But I find it significant that you waited until I was otherwise engaged… and you did not take your pain-relief?’

‘How clever of you to work that out! I wonder how you did… I was bored, Nestoril, and saw the day endlessly unfolding with only such news as whoever was passing would see fit to bring me… as it is, I have had a pleasant hour in the fresh air and many intervening hours to repent of it…’

‘You are in pain as a result?’

‘It is more that I found that conversation with two fellow-invalids was rather tedious. Still, my honour-son had enough to say for himself to make up for it.’

‘You know I would have come with you, had you asked.’

‘I know nothing of the sort… but if you had, what impression would it have given the company? That their king is only fit to be out in company of his healer? I did not want that.’

‘Well, let me see if you are better or worse for the exercise… the shoulder needs another dressing, but the infection has cleared and all should be much better by the morning… the new skin is rather tight across your hip here; I will leave a salve which will help; it is a good sign, my king.’

She redressed the injury and turned her attention to his face, making sure her working lamp was turned down and shielded as she uncovered the damaged eye.  
The sight of the ruin of his face still shocked and distressed her, but each time the damage was less, was healing more, and it no longer appeared as if there was more void than flesh. 

‘My king, did Lord Glorfindel look at your eye this morning?’

‘No; I did not care to mention it to him.’

Nestoril hid her smile.

‘Will you let me see?’

‘If you must.’

Lifting her lamp high and to the side of the king so that it wouldn’t be uncomfortable for him, Nestoril leaned in closer to properly inspect the damaged eye. The nictitating membrane was tight across, its whitened condition showing the aftermath of the flame, and the skin and flesh around the eye itself was shrivelled and reddened and sore. 

‘Of necessity the caul silk has not been in particularly close proximity to this region, and as a result less reconstruction has taken place. But I can address that now.’

Setting the lamp down, she prepared a small pad of caul silk to place beneath the lower lid, noting as she did that the upper eyelid looked as if it was regenerating.

‘What about light sensitivity? Would you close your sound eye and then tell me if you perceive anything, my king?’

She moved the lamp nearer.

‘All is dim, but not dark… an increase of brightness… and now it decreases…’

‘I raised and then lowered my lantern… it would seem, my king, that your sight is not entirely lost.’

She made her pronouncement in her usual calm tones, and although she saw the king’s mouth change shape into a brief smile, he answered similarly.

‘Once more you prove your ability to heal, Nestoril. My thanks.’

She folded more silk to pad over the area once more, smoothing the edges to make it adhere to the king’s face.

‘Now, my king, you will need to take this draught tonight; I understand you do not like the side-effects it brings during the day, but after your exertions earlier it is important for you to have the ease it brings.’ 

‘Very well. How are my sons?’

Nestoril mixed the draught and saw the king drink it before she replied.

‘Iauron is as ever, no worse and no better. Tharmeduil is past the fit and sleeping. We have given him drinks today and he takes them as he needs them. I fear, however, he is more paralysed than before. But that may improve in the next day or so. I understand, my king, that we need to think for our onward journey. I ask only, not tomorrow, give me tomorrow to see how things are.’

‘Very well. Some of the company need another day to work on their practice in any case. Besides, if what you say is true, regrettably it will not matter too much to my sons when we move them, since in all probability they will not notice any difference.’


	161. Disruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an argument disturbs Lover's Row...

Raised voices split the air and startled Legolas out of reverie. Reassuring arms held him, comforted him and he relaxed into Govon’s embrace as the shouting continued outside.

‘It’s been going on for a while now, but it’s only just started to get really loud,’ Govon said quietly into his ear. ‘Of course, you can only really hear Triwathon; his lover is at pains to keep his voice down…’

‘Fear of recognition, do you think?’

‘Why else?’ Govon sighed and tightened his hold on Legolas. ‘It sounds as if the secret lover is ending the affair and Triwathon didn’t see it coming.’

‘Do we ever?’ Legolas burrowed his face into Govon’s chest, seeking respite from the sounds of angry pain that bludgeoned the night. ‘I have rarely witnessed the sound of lovers arguing before, it is… distressing.’

‘Poor Triwathon! It will be a long walk back for him with a broken heart. Of course, it was always going to end before we got home, but perhaps he didn’t realise how soon, perhaps he thought he would have time to make himself indispensable…’

‘You know who it is, then?’

‘Of course I know who it is. But Triwathon’s lover doesn’t know anyone suspects, and he’s fearful that once we’re in the forest and all camping crowded up against each other, he won’t be able to hide any more. That’s why the argument; Triwathon thought there was more to this, perhaps, but his friend was only ever going back to someone he left behind.’

‘That is so cruel! I cannot help but feel for him. What can we do?’

‘Other than to yell ‘shut up’? No,’ Govon shook his head. ‘Triwathon is in Bregon’s guard, his lover is not, nor is he one of mine; I have no right to speak to either about this. Of course, you could say something to Triwathon if you chose, but then you would have him clinging all the way home…’

‘Yes. He is a good fellow, but from one of those families that look to my father with more hero-worship than is required… I do not think I would be able to cope with so much need.’ He sighed. ‘And I cannot help but be reminded…’

‘Well, do not be.’ Govon stroked Legolas’ hair and began to change position. ‘Come, chase those memories away. Let me help.’

Presently the argument from the end of Lovers’ Row faded into bitter silence, but by that time, Legolas and Govon were beyond noticing.

*

In spite of the nocturnal disruption, Govon was awake and moving early. Nestoril having been granted her day’s grace to see if Tharmeduil might improve – he hadn’t, not really – they were breaking camp today and so many things needed doing.

Legolas was up, too, folding clothes into saddlebags and generally trying to pack as much as he could to make the job easier when the tent was disassembled.

‘I have to get my guard organised, melleth.’ Govon buckled his weapons case and laid it with his saddlebags. ‘I will see you at the muster, if not before.’   
‘Do not let the other commanders put too much on you!’ 

That was easier said than done, in some ways.

Bregon was waiting to pounce as Govon snatched a quick breakfast, standing at the cook fires.

‘Will your command see to all the court tents?’ he asked. ‘And what about the infirmary pavilions?’

‘Nestoril has her own system; some of Esgaron’s guard have helped her previously.’

‘This is true, but Esgaron points out that one of the infirmary pavilions houses only the princes…’

‘Esgaron would!’

The comment made Bregon smile in spite of himself.

‘True, and it is not your command’s duty to look after Erthor and Calithilon’s billet, in any case. But I think the commander has other things on his mind today. Well, leave it be and if Esgaron doesn’t sort it, I will have my command do so.’ Bregon shrugged. ‘Your guard has more people in their care now than previously; it seems only fair.’

‘My thanks.’ Govon finished the last of his food and was about to set off when Triwathon walked by with downcast, haunted eyes. ‘I don’t wish to speak out of turn, Commander, but…’

‘I heard. Half the camp heard. It couldn’t have happened to anyone less likely to throw it off, either.’ Bregon sighed. ‘We need to all work together now, but once we get home, I will be having words about this.’

Arveldir approached and inclined his head towards both commanders. ‘Commander Bregon, if you have a moment, it is the king’s wish that you attend him. Commander Govon, his majesty will see you presently; you will be sent for.’

‘Thank you, Arveldir,’

‘Thank you, my lord.’ Bregon inclined his head. ‘I’m on my way.’

The king was up and dressed for travelling and the contents of his tent being packed away around him.

‘Ah, Bregon, good morning.’ The king turned his head towards the packers. ‘Canadion, Hador, my thanks. You may take the campaign chest and the saddlebags away and return in ten minutes; this will not take long.’

Thranduil waited until the two had gone before turning to Bregon.

‘Do not worry, Commander. It is a good sign that this is not a lengthy meeting, not a bad one.’

Bregon allowed himself a smile.

‘Well, my king, a short interview is usually one or the other. How may I serve?’

‘A question – to which I believe I know the answer already, but nonetheless… do you have any regulations concerning whether your warriors may… fraternise, shall we say, amongst themselves?’

Bregon sighed. This had to be about Triwathon, although how the king had got to hear about it…

‘I discourage new relationships while on patrol, sire, but I permit established relationships as long as discipline and efficacy doesn’t suffer. I also try to see that senior officers do not impose themselves on the ranks… one of my command, it seems…’

‘Yes, an unhappy tale. And the other party is not one of your warriors, or my tone would be far less pleasant, commander…’

‘Be assured, my king, I will do all in my power to support Triwathon as he adjusts.’

‘I understand. Tell me, how would you feel were he to leave your command?’

‘I… would be sorry to see him go, he is able and competent, if a little too eager-to-please…’

‘I have a proposition. Your warriors and Esgaron’s share and overlap many duties. Triwathon will inevitably be brought into close contact with unpleasant reminders… I am concerned, not for his emotional well-being, but for potential disruption if he and his former companion are too much together. We will have difficulties enough without additional complications. I would consider him for the Court Guard… but if you are unwilling, I will hear your reasons.’

‘When you put it like that, sire… it would be unkind of me to hold Triwathon back from what is effectively a field promotion. And Commander Govon is short-handed. I can quite willingly endorse such a promotion as both deserved and apposite…’

‘And it also means you can let someone else worry about Triwathon.’

Bregon smiled.

‘Yes, my king. There is that advantage, too.’

‘Very well. No doubt Commander Govon will seek you out presently and you can both give Triwathon the joyful news. If you can manage to do so within earshot of the person responsible for Triwathon’s current distress, that would be additionally pleasing. Very well. You may go.’

If Govon had been surprised to learn he was gaining a new warrior, he was careful not to show it when he approached Commander Bregon a half-hour later.

‘Commander… I have not long come from the king…’

Realising why Govon was hesitant, Bregon smiled and shook his head.

‘I am happy to let Triwathon go, don’t worry… and that isn’t because he’s a nuisance, he’s very able… you’ve seen his target practice…’

‘I have indeed. Shall we improve his morning for him?’

Bregon looked across to where Triwathon was helping disassemble the tents, many others working nearby, Esgaron giving directions to his own warriors.

The warrior looked up as they approached. He straightened his shoulders with an effort, his unhappy expression replaced by one of worry.

‘I have some news, Triwathon!’ Bregon said loudly. ‘Good news, I hope! I have come from the king himself… Commander, will you speak?’

‘Indeed,’ Govon took over. ‘His majesty has been pleased to suggest a field promotion for you to the Court Guard. Alas, there are few privileges in the wild; there is a horse, theoretically, but while we have wounded, all the Court Guard walks so they can ride…’

‘Commanders?’ Triwathon’s tone was dubious.

‘Well done,’ Bregon said, stepping forward to clasp his former-warrior’s shoulder with a brisk smile. ‘It is much-deserved, and I wish you well.’  
‘So, follow me, and I’ll hand you over to Tinuon. You’ll start out doing exactly what you’ve been doing – packing tents away.’

Aware that the eyes of half Bregon’s command, several of Esgaron’s, and Esgaron himself were on them, Govon led his newly-acquired warrior across to hand him over to Tinuon.

‘You know each other, so good luck. I’ll see you at the muster, if not sooner. Welcome to the Court Guard.’


	162. Moving, Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil endures the first day's journey home...

‘Adar? They’re ready for us. Let me walk you to your elk.’

Thranduil inclined his head, his mouth lilting in acknowledgement.

‘Are you not riding, ion-nin?’

‘No; too many injured need the horses. Besides, I thought it might encourage the commanders to give up their mounts if they saw I was prepared to walk.’

Erestor had led Nelleron out of his housing and had carefully adjusted the decorations on his antlers to best effect. The results were not lost on the king.

‘I am glad to see Nelleron is suitably dressed for the occasion,’ Thranduil said. ‘Your work, Erestor?’

‘Arveldir too,’ the dark-haired advisor said. ‘We think Nelleron is as fond of the dragon scales as he is of the bells.’

‘Well, if nothing more comes of this expedition than Nelleron’s entertainment, we are well served. My thanks; he looks very fine indeed.’

Erestor looked away and smiled, keeping hold of the bridle as the king prepared to mount.

‘Can I help, Adar?’ Legolas asked. ‘Last time…’

‘There is no need, ion-nin,’ he said. ‘Last time Nestoril had filled me with her noxious potions and I was barely awake.’

Indeed, the king gained the high saddle with only minimal difficulty and his pride and dignity intact.

‘Thank you, Erestor. You may release the bridle now.’

It felt oddly comforting to be back on the elk. He had missed the warm solidity of the creature beneath him, its simple animal steadfastness. He dug his fingers into the fine coat and gave Nelleron’s neck a scratch. The elk grunted in pleasure as he dipped his head and the bells and dragon scales on his antler sang in response.

Govon stood before Thranduil and bowed.

‘We are ready, my king.’

‘Very well.’

Thranduil nudged Nelleron gently forward and Govon and Tinuon fell into step on either side. A little further back, Nestoril and Feril were each anxiously watching as Iauron and Tharmeduil, each in their own litter, were raised by members of the honour guard to be carefully carried on their way.   
Gathered around the healers rode those still unfit to walk far, the rest of the company ranged about as yet in no particular order with Esgaron, himself on horseback, circling to ensure the of-necessity sprawling party did not get too spread out.

They headed north-eastwards across the open plains for a couple of hours before halting for what Thranduil felt was a much needed rest. 

Ignoring his discomfort and stiffness, he dismounted and went to where the litters had been lain down and he could see the healers attending his sons.

‘Nestoril?’

The healer looked up into the face of her king and read his anxiety and fatigue.

‘The litters seem to work quite well, my king. Feril and I are merely taking the opportunity to give sustenance while we may.’

‘The commanders tell me we will be here for two hours. Will that suffice?

‘I think so. And, if I might suggest it, sire, you could benefit from refreshments yourself.’

‘You may be right. What of those who have been bearing the litters?’

‘We have a supply of willing helpers so none need work beyond their limits. When we reach the forest, it may become more difficult, but by then, I hope they will have hardened to the work.’

‘Should progress become troublesome, I will bear Tharmeduil before me on Nelleron as I did on our outward journey.’ 

Nestoril’s lips pursed although she said nothing. 

‘What, Healer?’

‘I do not know whether that will be possible. Prince Tharmeduil is rather more paralysed than he was when last you did so.’

‘I carried Iauron from the eyot when I myself was barely conscious.’

‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘Let us see how things are, then, once we are in the forest if progress becomes troublesome. I know you would not wish to put either of your sons at risk.’

This gave Thranduil pause. All he wished to do was to assist, to feel he could still do something for his children, and to be told – albeit delicately – that he could not was hard to hear.

‘And all is well with my sons?’ he asked instead.

‘Yes,’ Nestoril said firmly, hearing through the plural to his real question. ‘Although Tharmeduil does not stir, I am sure he has passed through the sleep that follows his fits. Since his own notes suggest he may be aware of what is happening, I am assuming he can hear what is going on around him.’

Tharmeduil did not look in the slightest aware, but Thranduil hid his doubts.

‘If you need any aid, Healer, send to us. We will ensure all your needs are met.’

She smiled and nodded and only sighed once the king was well out of ear-shot.

Feril heard her and raised an eyebrow.

‘And what would you have from the king, Nestoril, to make things easier?’ she asked.

‘A fleet of eagles to bear us all home, perhaps. Or to request tree-singers to ask the forest to ease away from the edges of the road home, so we can rig hammocks between the horses for our princes.’

Feril considered for a moment.

‘Would that not work anyway?’

‘Probably not. We would need to make harnesses for the horses and for the path to be three times as wide and…oh, I do not know! I have done harder things in my life than walk home with injured elves in my care.’

*

The next march lasted for three hours and at the end of it only force of will and Nelleron’s collaboration were keeping Thranduil upright in his saddle. Too much of his body ached, his shoulder burned from the pressure of fabric against the dressings, his leg and hip protested the unaccustomed riding position… even his head ached, the pain pulsing in time with the elk’s footfalls. He could only imagine how uncomfortable the ride might have been for Erthor, his back barely healed, or Calithilon, who had no-one to care for him and so nothing to stop him from turning his attention wholly inwards.

At his side, a constantly-changing rota of the Court Guard walked, there if he needed them, not interfering. Presently Hador was his right and Triwathon on the left, the newest member of the Court Guard, his face an odd mixture of pride at his place next to the king and deep sadness. Time would tell if his new responsibilities would lift him out of his sorrow, but Thranduil doubted it. Besides, that was not why he had given the order for the promotion; he had been solely motivated by a wish to keep the peace, such as it was.

‘O my king?’ 

What?

‘Your majesty? We are halting now.’

Triwathon’s deferential voice broke into his musings and he turned his head so that he could look at the ellon with his good eye, reining in.

‘Thank you, Triwathon. Would you take the bridle for me while I dismount?’

‘Of course, my king, it would honour me…!’

Thranduil made a mental note to have a word with Govon about formality and informality amongst the guard; he did not think he could quite look forward to the journey home with such deference at his side.

He managed to dismount but had to cling to the saddle surreptitiously for a moment until he gained his balance. Nelleron supported him until Tinuon appeared and passed him his staff.

‘If you’ve a moment, my king, Healer Nestoril asked for you.’

‘Thank you, Tinuon. Lead on.’

All around, orders and shouts as camp was struck. Tents began to go up, fires were laid, the horses and Nelleron taken to be unsaddled and by the time Tinuon bowed and left the king with Nestoril, her infirmary pavilion was already in place and his two oldest sons lying on their litters inside.

‘Have you news for me, Nestoril?’ Thranduil asked.

She indicated a chair.

‘I have a seat for you, and a draught.’

‘I will take it later.’

She counted out five heartbeats and handed him the beaker.

‘Technically, it is now later. My king, you need this now. It is not so strong that it will incapacitate you, but I would advise you to rest before supper if you are able.’

‘A suggestion. Once you have seen to the needs of my sons, I will bear them company. Thus you will know I am not exerting myself unnecessarily.’

‘Agreed, my king. If you wish, I will send to you.’

She dipped an elegant curtsey and saw him out of sight before turning to Feril.

‘Quickly, we must hasten with the drinks for our boys and then get a comfortable seat arranged for Thranduil’s return; we have less twenty minutes or so before that draught begins to work.’

Feril began to move, setting things up, seeking equipment.

‘I thought you told his majesty that the draught would not incapacitate him?’

Her friend had the grace to blush.

‘It is possible that I may have been mistaken,’ she said.


	163. Really on the Way Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end of the first day's march, Nestoril deconstructs events for Tharmeduil...

_‘…about ten miles or so today. Of course, that is a rough estimate. Now, let me think, what has been happening in the camp? I know you like to hear all the gossip… Triwathon has joined the Court Guard! Commander Esgaron was aggrieved he had not been consulted, for although Triwathon was not in his command, he is the over-captain here…’_

Thranduil jumped. He had sat down for a moment on the very comfortable seat Nestoril had prepared for him, so that he could spend time with his sons as he rested, and suddenly he found himself waking up from an unexpected reverie to the sound of Nestoril’s voice… what had happened?  
The voice continued, its tone conversational, amused, it subject matter somehow fascinating…

_‘…at first I think he blamed Govon, but in truth, it was not our dear Commander’s idea at all! Word has come that we will eat together, the Court Guard and the Court, and in order to include you and your brother, the cook fire is established not far from your pavilion, and we will all sit around where you can hear our talk…’_

Nestoril paused. A subtle alteration to the rhythm of Thranduil’s breathing suggested he was out of his unexpected reverie. No doubt she was in for a lecture, but she realised she did not care: Thranduil had needed deep rest and relief from his pain and she had seen he got it.

‘So, my prince, I had better sit you up a little… there. Is that better?’

She patted his hand and turned away to see Thranduil watching her with an accusatory glint in his good eye.

‘Nestoril…?’

‘My king, I hope your pain has lessened and that my voice did not disturb your… meditations too much? I always pass on news to the prince, such things as might interest him.’

‘Did you think to tell him you had effectively drugged his father the king against his wishes?’

‘Why would I do so?’ she asked, wide eyed. ‘I have some mint tea preparing; I will fetch you some.’

While she was gone, Thranduil looked about him. He felt restored, the pain gone or much reduced, his senses more alert than usual after one of Nestoril’s potions and he wondered what had been in it and if the somnolent effects had been known to her. Probably they were, he concluded; the seat arranged for him seemed to have been arranged with semi-reclining reverie in mind… it was that, and the fact that she had, in truth, had a difficult few days that made him decide against making any further remarks on the subject. 

For the present, that was; it was something he could quite easily store away to bring out against her later, if he felt the need.

Outside, a fire danced, flames tonguing the air, and dusk was beginning. He really should walk the camp and enquire after everyone’s day…

But Nestoril returned with the tea, and after he had drunk it Govon arrived to attend him to supper, and he found Legolas had done the duty for him, and the prince and Erestor between them turned a deconstruction of the day into a lively conversation and enhancing the flavour of an indeterminate stew with sharp with and pithy observations.

‘So it seems as if there is a little power-struggle going on, as Commander Esgaron tries to reorder the camp – in all fairness, it is his duty as over-captain – in the face of our determination to keep our nice arrangement of pavilions for at least as long as there is enough space – and he suggesting that the best place for the warriors is with the other warriors. Even if that means splitting couples apart,’ Legolas said. ‘Of course, that doesn’t affect Esgaron’s command at all, nor Bregon’s…’

‘He’s said nothing to me,’ Govon said. ‘Yet...’

‘Oh, I don’t think you’ll be hearing from him on the subject.’ Legolas nodded towards Erestor. ‘My new advisor-elect there simply pointed out that it’s the duty of the Court Guard to guard the court. As there are three members of the court – Erestor, Arveldir and I and three members of the Court Guard – Canadion, Thiriston and Govon, surely they’re just doing their job…’

‘It was my pleasure,’ Erestor said with a quirk of the lips that passed for high humour for him. ‘Of course, one would not wish to undermine Esgaron’s authority… but he seemed to forget not everything is his business.’

‘Triwathon,’ Legolas turned towards the newest member of the guard who happened to be seated next to him. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask. How was your first day?’

The one addressed almost choked on stew as he tried to simultaneously recover from the shock of being addressed by his Prince Regent and to frame a coherent answer. Legolas thumped him helpfully on the back, grinning.

‘Relax,’ he said. ‘It’s not a test. Just a question.’

‘O my prince it was… an honour… I do not know what I have done to deserve…’

‘No more nor less than the rest of us,’ Govon said. ‘We suffered in the line of duty. And our king saw fit to bring us together. Probably just so that Arveldir could keep a watchful eye on us…’

‘But, I am not worthy…’

‘Truthfully? That’s not the point. I can say that of myself, and so could others in the guard. But to do so would be to cast aspersions on our king’s judgement.’

‘Oh, but I would never…’

‘All right, Govon, stop teasing the poor fellow!’ Nestoril raised her eyebrow and patted Triwathon’s arm. ‘I remember when we all began to prepare for the journey – there were not a few little awkwardnesses at first. And yet it didn’t take long for us all to get to know and respect each other. That’s the thing with a field promotion, you’re just thrown straight at the job.’

‘I’m very happy to have you amongst us, Triwathon,’ Govon said. ‘If you have any concerns, don’t be afraid to bring them to me.’   
He set down his empty plate and drank off his water.

‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ve a report to write and then present. Goodnight, everyone. Sire.’

‘Goodnight, Govon. Legolas, when you are ready?’

‘Yes, Adar.’

The king and the prince walked together through the camp to Thranduil’s pavilion. Their progress was noted, their greetings appreciated by the warriors at the other camp fires. 

Legolas marvelled at Thranduil’s endurance although he said nothing until they were in the privacy of the king’s pavilion.  
‘It must have been a hard day for you, Adar, but you seem hardly tired at all.’

‘Ah. Nestoril drugged me, I believe. With only the best of intentions, of course… I think I was asleep for at least two hours. Perhaps I needed some respite from Triwathon’s excessive politeness…’

Legolas laughed. ‘Govon thinks we should start archery practice again – Court against Court Guard. That’s what helped us relax with each other to start with. Triwathon will soon lose his sense of awe once he’s heard Nestoril swear when she misses a shot.’

‘An excellent idea. Now, go, be off. You have a report to listen to, I believe?’

‘I do indeed. Goodnight, Adar.’

*

The rest of the court and its guard dispersed with quiet ‘goodnights’. Nestoril and Feril folded down the sides of the princes’ pavilion, and Nestoril smiled at her friend.

‘You go on. I will give the night drinks and sit with them a while.’

‘I will come at dawn, then. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Feril.’

Nestoril set down her lamp and raised Iauron to feed water slowly into his mouth. She hummed as she did, a soft sort of tune, gentle and soothing and fitted for the night, to lull into sleep… not that Iauron needed lulling, poor penneth…

Once satisfied his needs were met, she turned her attention to Tharmeduil.

‘You enjoyed the talk around the fire tonight, I could tell… I could feel your fëa smile, my prince… here is water… well, we are really on our way home now…’

Tharmeduil heard her voice and drifted, content, in the warm, dark sanctity of her reassurance.


	164. Orientation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the dangers of Mirkwood are explained to the unsuspecting elves of Imladris...

_‘…really on our way home now…’_

In the warm, safe darkness, Nestoril’s voice was an anchor, a harbour, a refuge. Tharmeduil listened and absorbed her words, allowing them to float through his mind. 

There was nothing else, nothing other than her words and the long, warm dark. There was no pain, no hunger… no discomfort, just the words in the blackness. The words were like stars, tiny points of illumination, reminders he was not alone…

They flickered and sparked, changing, arriving and leaving, marking the passage of time of which he was unaware.

_‘…will reach Mirkwood by nightfall. It has taken two days to cross the plains, and now there are trees around us once more. Not our own trees, not our beloved forest, but still, we feel better for them…’_

Tharmeduil didn’t feel better for having the trees nearby, of course. Nothing made him feel better. Not even when Nestoril read to him, from his own notes, described the pictures he drew, once, when his hands could move and his eyes see…

_‘The images you drew of our journey home…they show Erestor and Arwen and Glorfindel with us and we walk into Mirkwood in convoy… it is looking as if that will come to pass, soon, another we can mark off… do you remember, how we used to mark them off…?’_

The voice changed. Still female, still known and comforting, but not Nestoril. At first he wished for her, but then decided he liked this voice, too…

_‘Nestoril has asked me to sit with you for a little while… Indeed, I thought she would never ask! It is I, Feril… of course, you will know that, for who else might it be? There is a meeting of the three commanders and the Court Guard and all the household who can attend… I being a guest, and you needing your drink and some company, I will learn the details later. I do not mind, although if I were one of the court proper, I could call you ‘my prince’, which has a nicer sound than ‘your highness’, I think… perhaps you would not mind, in any case. Or you could always tell me, when you wake, if you think I am taking a liberty?’_

Tharmeduil wished he could tell her that no, he didn’t mind, that Ness even called him by name when they were alone, anyway. But he was deep in the safe, star-dotted dark and his mouth would not move.

_‘They are meeting because we are on the very brink of your forest and are taking thought to tomorrow’s progress... I must say, it makes me shiver, the trees are so tall. And the tales I hear of huge spiders and black squirrels… I have never trusted squirrels with those little twitchy noses and such fierce teeth…! Of course, everyone of Mirkwood is delighted, they have missed their woods. Only Lady Arwen looks a little pale, and Lord Erestor has taken to wearing his sword once more, a thing I never thought to see… Once this meeting is over, Commander Esgaron has asked to talk to all we Imladris elves so that he can prepare us, orientation, he calls it… so once Nestoril returns, I will go and hear all about your forest and perhaps that will allay my fears… ’_

*

Govon was visibly shaking as he walked into the pavilion he shared with Legolas. His hazel eyes were hard and his mouth was grim, and the prince was on his feet almost before he realised and coming to meet his fëa-mate, hoping this barely-controlled fury was not aimed at him.

‘What is it, what has happened?’

Govon shook his head, trying to still the anger that coursed through him, trying to be his normal objective self. But for once he was struggling, and he fell back on habit and duty to see him through.

‘My prince, it is time for me to deliver your evening report.’

‘Govon?’ Legolas asked, his eyes anxious, but the commander gave the smallest shake of his head and the prince didn’t press him. ‘Very well, Commander. Proceed.’

He took a seat and gestured for Govon to do the same, but his fëa-mate folded his hands together behind his back and delivered his report standing.

‘Supplies are adequate – not brilliant, but we will have enough for the journey home and there should be stores cached along the way, especially once we reach the line of flets. If all has gone to plan, Pedir will have advanced the flets into the forest at least a little further…’

‘That would be helpful, if so.’

‘The day’s journey has been smooth and uneventful. Many of our riders are recovered enough to walk, and so the Court Guard may go mounted into the forest once more…’

‘That’s good news…’

‘Yes, the healers are pleased.’

Govon fell silent for so long that Legolas was about to ask if that was it, could they stop being prince-and-commander now and have an evening together when suddenly his melleth seemed to give himself a little shake and took a deep breath.

‘Following on from the meeting we had earlier about our planned marching orders, Commander Esgaron has called all the elves of Imladris to what he has seen fit to call an orientation session. In this meeting he says he intends to make plain all the dangers of Mirkwood so that our friends know what to look out for. However, I fear he will not properly state the case and there may some confusion…’

‘What? Is that any of his business? The elves of Imladris are the guests of the court, that makes them the responsibility of the Court Guard and if anyone was going to warn them not to play with the spiders, I thought it would have been you, Commander?’

The use of his formal title made it easier for Govon to reply objectively, to make it clear he wasn’t complaining on a personal level and he replied equally formally.

‘Commander Esgaron is our over-captain, your highness. If he feels it necessary to explain the risks for himself, then it is not my place to argue with him.’

‘Of course. As Commander of the Court Guard, you’ll be the one to pick up the pieces, though… how are they taking it?’

‘The meeting has not long started; one might feel it was timed to take place during my report, almost, except that of course it is obviously the Commander’s least-busy time…’

‘But…?’

Govon sighed and lowered his voice. ‘Feril is already in tears.’

‘What do you want to do about this?’

‘There isn’t anything I can do, not without it looking as if I’m going against my over-captain. But I’d intended to talk with them myself and now…’

‘Nestoril will help Feril. Glorfindel isn’t afraid of anything, so you don’t need to worry about him. I can talk to Arwen. Arveldir will support Erestor.’

‘May I have permission to assign a member of the guard to ride beside each of them for the first few days?’

‘Of course, an excellent idea. The ones who know the forest best, who can explain it and make it seem… friendlier.’

‘I’ll think up suitable pairings – with due consideration for fëa-mates’ feelings, of course – and see to it in the morning, over breakfast.’

‘That would be an ideal time. Who do we think? Canadion and Glorfindel? Or do we think Thiriston might have something to say about that?’

Govon relaxed a little at Legolas’ grin.

‘Oh, Thiriston would have a lot to say about that! No, I thought to ask him to ride with Glorfindel – they respect each other’s strength, I think… Canadion and Feril, perhaps. That would allay Thiriston’s jealousies adequately. I don’t believe Triwathon is really confident enough yet, and I need Tinuon free to work… which means I’ll have to take a turn myself, either with Arwen or Erestor…’

‘I can keep an eye on Erestor while he’s keeping an eye on me. So if you put Arwen in Hador’s care, then you won’t have to spend all your time looking out for Erestor… how does that sound?’

‘Ideal, my prince.’

‘Good. Is there anything more to report, or can we bring the buckler in now?’

Govon smiled.

‘I’ll get it.’

He’d just reached down to pick up the buckler when he heard his name spoken anxiously. Cursing his timing, he put a courteous expression on his face before he straightened up, the buckler in his hands.

‘Lord Erestor, did you wish to see the prince?’

In the rich evening light, Erestor’s pale face was a ghostly mask, his eyes huge and dark, his hands grasping each other as if locked in deadly battle.

‘Could I?’ he asked. ‘It will take but a moment…’

Hoping Legolas hadn’t started to undress yet, Govon looked back into the pavilion, but it seemed his still-clothed fëa-mate had heard the exchange and had taken a seat.

‘Govon? Please invite Erestor in.’

Govon smiled at the advisor.

‘Be welcome, Erestor.’

‘I don’t wish to intrude…’

‘Don’t worry. Sit, please. Govon, have we still got that bottle of wine that Arwen found for us?’

‘Yes, indeed… excuse me…’ Govon ducked behind the privacy curtain to seek the bottle. While there, he took off his uniform jerkin, definitely off-duty now, and found cups for the wine. ‘I do not know what it will be like… it is from one of the northern vales…’

He proffered the bottle to Erestor, who seemed to grow more at ease as he looked at the markings on the bottle.

‘It is indeed. One of Lord Glorfindel’s preferred wines. A pleasant vintage.’

‘You will not mind if I say, Erestor, but I think you need the alcoholic content more than you need a pleasant vintage…’ Legolas held the cups for Govon to pour, and passed a beaker to the advisor. ‘Here. You look rather shaken, would like me to send for Arveldir?’

‘I… I do not want to take up too much of your evening…’

‘We have all night to ourselves, not just an evening, do not worry. What is the matter?’

‘There was an orientation meeting… we were warned about the forest and… your highness, how do you survive in there?’

Legolas grinned and refilled Erestor’s glass as Govon slipped out of the pavilion.

‘I expect Commander Esgaron told you about the dangers of Mirkwood… poisonous plants, venomous spiders, toxic black squirrels, enchanted rivers, yes?’

Erestor swallowed, then realised some wine would help. He took a great gulp of the tawny liquid in his cup and nodded.

‘Did he tell you what the deadliest thing in the forest is?’ Legolas asked.

‘It all sounded equally dangerous… I think not. No.’

‘It is us, mellon-nin. We elves are the most dangerous, most deadly, most to-be-avoided thing in all of Mirkwood. All the venomous creatures know it; only the spiders challenge us, the rest will try to get out of our way. Yes, there are dangers...’ Legolas drank from his own cup, gave Erestor another refill. ‘But I remember my visit to Rivendell. The Bruinen can rise in flood within the space of one breath and another to wash the unwary away. There is Deadly Nightshade in the woods, allowed to grow freely because Lady Arwen, so I was told, thinks it is pretty… you have wolves and wargs on the borders. Everywhere is dangerous.’

Erestor gave a rueful smile.

‘What you say is true. But the known danger seems less to be feared than the unknown…’

‘If you should find – you and any of your friends from Imladris – that you do not feel able to make the journey with us, we will understand. And if you have to go, then I will do everything in my power to persuade Adar to let Arveldir go with you…’

Erestor’s expression didn’t change, but there was a sense that something in him had relaxed, suddenly.

‘That will not be necessary, your highness.’

‘We are drinking wine, in private, as friends. Legolas, please.’

‘Legolas, then.’ Erestor smiled, and looked round as there was a little bustle outside the pavilion and Govon returned, bringing Arveldir with him. ‘My friend, I have just been hearing about all the interesting wildlife in your forest…’

‘Indeed, Govon told me…’ Arveldir sat on the bench next to friend. ‘Are you all right, mellon-nin?’

‘I would be better had we another bottle of this very fine wine…’

‘It is the last,’ Govon said and, with a rueful, longing look at Legolas, added, ‘I think I know where there might be more, though. If you’ll excuse me…’

Leaving the pavilion he made his way to where Arwen was sitting in her shared quarters with Feril, each trying, from the look of things, to console each other.

‘Oh, Govon!’ Arwen said, her voice startled. ‘I am so glad it is you!’

‘Is all well, my lady?’ he asked.

‘Do not mind us… did you want something?’

‘That rather fine bottle of wine you gave us… my fëa-mate wondered if you knew where we might find more..?’

‘I got it from Glorfindel in exchange for adding bells to the harness for his horse…’

‘Lord Glorfindel. Thank you, my lady. I will seek him.’

He did not expect Arwen and Feril to follow him, but they did, and when he mentioned his quest to Glorfindel, the famed Balrog-slayer grinned.

‘I happen to have not one, but a case of wine, purloined from my Lord Elrond’s kitchen by his own sons the morning I left and given as a parting gift by Elrohir and Elladan, most thoughtful boys indeed… well, when I say a case… most of a case… why? Is there a party? If my wine is invited, may I come, too?’

Govon bit back a sigh, seeing visions of a night of unbraiding Legolas’ golden tresses and lying in his loving arms evaporate before his eyes.

‘You may need to bring your own chairs,’ he said.


	165. Shielded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arveldir attempts to allay some of Erestor's concerns...

Erestor woke and shuddered. Immediately a warm hand stroked the hair back from his face, a warm body pressed against him.

‘You cannot be cold, and so it must be something more,’ Arveldir said gently. ‘It could not be, could it, that Lord Glorfindel’s wine has disagreed with you?’

Erestor sniffed.

‘Certainly not!’ he said, turning onto his back the better to meet his friend’s gaze. ‘It is rather the thought of today’s journey I find disagreeable.’

He exhaled slowly through his nose as he looked into those rich, dark eyes, thinking he saw sadness there.

‘Forgive me, dear one. These are your woods I am disparaging. Nor is it fair; I have never set foot in them and am basing my opinion only on the testimony of another.’

‘Mirkwood is perilous. But it is beautiful.’ Arveldir smiled and placed the tenderest of kisses on Erestor’s forehead. ‘As are you. Come, let me show you the forest through my eyes, let me give you my testimony of Greenwood the Great.’

‘Very well.’

‘Perhaps close-fitting clothing would be best? Not robes, they may catch awkwardly.’

Hearing this as a suggestion rather than an order, Erestor found something appropriately close-fitting and quirked an eyebrow as he saw Arveldir drinking him in with his eyes.

‘So, if this was not an aesthetically-motivated request, why are you staring so?’

‘Because, my dear Erestor, I cannot help it. However, I do have another purpose. This way.’

He escorted Erestor from the quiet of their pavilion across the early-morning campsite. The main body of the camp, off to the west, was beginning to stir, but nobody paid them any attention as they wandered through the dewy grass towards the edge of Mirkwood. 

Between the timbers of the plain and the trees of the forest was a clear break, making the differences between the two startlingly apparent. It was, Erestor felt, as if one were to put a sparrow and an eagle side-by-side and he felt his qualms of the previous night, lulled by wine and Arveldir, returning apace.

‘Stay beside me. You will be safe. I would not let any harm befall you.’ Arveldir reached for his hand. ‘Come. Let me show you what Greenwood the Great is really like.’

Erestor had not expected to feel so small amongst the huge trees. He had not expected the air to be so still and silent just a few steps from the interface between forest and plain. He felt his heart begin to pound and hammer, and then Arveldir squeezed his hand and pulled him to a stop.

‘Trust me.’ Arveldir moved to stand behind him, close, very close, and placed his hands lightly on Erestor’s shoulders. ‘I am right here at your back, your shield, your shadow. When you feel able, close your eyes. I will not let go of you, I promise. Just shut your eyes and listen. And breathe.’

It took him a moment, and he blinked a few times first, peering ahead into the green gloom, but then he sighed, and allowed his eyes to close…

The silence was peaceful, timeless, beautiful. It carried the slow song of the long life of the trees, and he began to glimpse the shared world of elf and forest… he felt his lips curving upwards and he filled his lungs with the soft, scented air…

‘There. Is that not better?’ Arveldir said softly.

‘Yes, mellon-nin. It is much better.’

‘Good. Now I think you are ready for the next thing. You will like it, I hope.’ 

Arveldir took hold of Erestor’s hand again, pulled him off the path and into the woods. Instantly he felt lost, confused, but Arveldir was there and he shook off his panic.

‘When we are really very little elflings, our parents bring us into the wood and let us touch the trees. In this way, we know them, and they us.’ Arveldir smiled, and laid his hand on the bark of the nearest tree. ‘This oak – I have not touched it before, but it knows me, it knows I am an elf, a friend of the forest, and if I need help, it will give it, such as it can. Here. Place your palm just here…’

Erestor laid his hand on the tree, feeling vaguely foolish, but then Arveldir’s hand covered his own and that made it right.

‘Now the tree knows you. And, if you had spent the first hundred years of your life laying hands on every tree around you, you would know it. You would be able to tell what makes it different from every other tree in the forest, what makes it special. But that takes time and practice.’

Arveldir ran his fingers over Erestor’s hand and stood back.

‘It is my intention to climb this tree, and for you to climb with me. Do not say you doubt that you can, for the tree will help.’

‘I was not about to say any such thing!’ Erestor said. ‘Although I begin to understand why robes might have been difficult.’

‘You see the branch just above our heads? That is our first stop. There are plenty of smaller branches and nodes and junctions… wherever you put your hand, you will find a support. I will be a handhold behind you all the way.’

Erestor looked at the tree. He reached for a branch, and it was there for him. Beneath his foot, a little ridge on the trunk. Up, and up, as easily as if the tree’s own life-force was lifting him, until he stood on the broad branch Arveldir had pointed out to him, waiting.

‘Well done,’ Arveldir said.

‘And just who do you think was called upon, in Imladris, whenever Elladan and Elrohir wanted to play in the woods of Imladris? I had to learn to climb trees just so that I could teach them how. Now what?’

Arveldir smiled and looked up.

‘The canopy,’ he said.

*

The climb seemed to take forever, and while a part of Erestor really struggled to believe he was doing this, another part of him rejoiced in the sensation of being borne upwards into the sky. Two more rests and they were amongst the thinnest of the branches and Arveldir looked at him through twigs and leaves.

‘Now. Up once more, and you will see a wonder…’

Together they pushed up, breaching the canopy like underwater swimmers breaking the surface to breath. All around was the gold of sunlight, the blue of the sky, and a sudden motion and commotion of wings and scores, hundreds of blue butterflies took the sky, glittering all around their heads above the tree. Erestor laughed, and Arveldir laughed, and it even felt as if the tree beneath them shared their delight.

‘But this is beautiful!’ Erestor exclaimed.

‘Indeed. And when I think of Mirkwood, the Greenwood, this is the image I carry in my heart. Yes, the forest has darkness and it has its dangers. But it has this, also. And now, this tree knows you so soon all trees will know you, and our other friends from Imladris, and the trees will shield you just as they shield us. Just as I will shield you, my dear, should you need me to. Now, we should perhaps descend.’

Erestor smiled, and was still smiling when he reached the ground once more. Around him the forest had changed; it was dim, but not gloomy, private, but not secretive. Now he could see tracks and trails, he could see life and energy. More importantly, he could see his path ahead.

Arveldir stood beside him and smiled, and together they returned to the camp to prepare for the day.


	166. Tharmeduil's Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which time passes for the unconscious prince and his carers, friends and family try to communicate with him...

For the most part, Tharmeduil continued to be unaware of his surroundings. Plain or forest, he could not see or smell or taste or feel the difference, and had he been conscious enough to realise that, he would have found it sad, for he thought of himself as very close in heart to the Greenwood. Not to be able to respond to it on an unconscious level would in some way have shamed him, made him feel he was not the wood-elf he ought to be.

But, then, his body was numb and his mind was dark and he had stopped feeling even the sensation of cool water trickling down his throat. Had it not been for the voices, he might have given up in, allowed himself to become lost, permitted his fëa to fade in spite of all his foreknowledge.

And yet the stories the voices told were so dear to him, the voices themselves belonged to beings he loved, the sound of them illuminated his darkness, and he could not but listen, and hold on to the words, and wait for the next…

_‘…first day in the forest. It did not start well, as one of the commanders did not like that we were all with your brother, drinking Lord Glorfindel’s wine until well after moonset… so perhaps that is why I felt so scared, the tiredness, for I must admit, I was very scared… so many dangers! But they gave me into the care of that so-friendly ellon, Canadion… he is such a charmer! Very reassuring, though to ride beside him and hear all his stories about the forest…’_

Feril’s voice, lively and bright, sparkled through Tharmeduil’s consciousness.

_‘…would appear that he is very interested in the healing arts, so we have talked about the beneficial plants of the forest as well as the harmful ones… he told me how, once, when he was an elfling, he was lost, and the trees brought his brother to him and so he got home safely… we spoke of the spiders and he said that he was not the one to ask, for he found them bad, very bad, even the little ones such as are everywhere. And yet I know he must be brave, for he and his friend brought back three cauls… I wonder if I will be able to ride next to him tomorrow…?’_

The stars in Tharmeduil’s darkness faded, reappeared. Nestoril’s voice alternated with Feril’s. Sometimes there was a deeper voice, modulated, refined – his father. Or Legolas, his tone invariably cheerful, whatever he said sounding joyous with love.

_‘…three days into the forest, now, and it feels good to have trees around us once more! Of course, camp is a little cramped and we’re almost on top of one another… I can almost hear Govon grinning when I say that, honestly, his sense of humour gets no better… but our friends from Imladris are getting used to the trees, at last. Each day, the Court Guard rides with them to answer any questions… poor Arwen got Hador, and when she asked, she got the whole story of how he was spider sick on the flet for so long… I don’t think she found it very reassuring… Adar’s injuries are much better, he’s still got the bandage over his eye, we tell him that’s why the spiders have kept away, he looks so terrifying with an eye-patch… got the most ferocious glare from him for that, proved our point, though… but his shoulder and hip are better, he can ride all day now without Ness needing to drug him afterwards…’_

Always, the lovely voices, caring voices, Nestoril or Feril instructing him to drink, to eat, telling him what was happening to him and around him. Friendly voices, pleasant, familiar.

_‘…and so, my prince, we have been travelling through our forest for six days…’_

_‘…ten days, now, your highness… Prince Tharmeduil… may I call you Tharmeduil…? Nestoril has said she is sure it is all right, and Legolas laughed when I wondered if it would be wrong…’_

_‘…ion-nin, two weeks indeed in the forest. Nelleron is content, although I have to take care lest his bells catch on the undergrowth… he has lost several, but Arwen, unfortunately, always has spares…’_

_‘…Nestoril has just shot a spider out of the trees, indeed she did! Not a half hour ago! We have all halted and scouts have gone up into the trees, and his majesty has called all his commanders together to ask why it fell to one of his healers to kill the creature, and how was it they did not spot it? Only Canadion tried to say, I know, for he was with me, and he had gone white, and told me there were spiders about, and to ride close to the guard, and he went and spoke to his friend Thiriston who spoke to someone else and if it was not attended to, how could it be his fault? When he came back, he said to have a care, he was sure he was right, the trees told him and, besides, he could hear them whispering, and then Nestoril shouted something about there, in the elms, and she had shot it before Bregon even had his bow out… so then I was sent for, and had to recount that yes, Canadion had said and… oh, it is very confusing, Commander Esgaron was sure I must be mistaken… and Erestor frowned that my word would be doubted, me, a Healer from Imladris, and Lord Arveldir took the commander aside and said the king was wondering if he might be feeling a little tired… I cannot begin to understand the politics, but the guard has shame that Nestoril has done their job for them, while she is just delighted she proved herself such a good shot…’_

Another voice followed swiftly after, Legolas replacing Feril.

_‘…must have heard about the excitement. Govon’s blaming himself… I told him not to be a pe-channas – my turn to say it for once! The truth is, we were all off our guard, we’re almost halfway through the forest now, and looking forward to home, I think that’s why we were a little slack… except for Canadion, who seems to be very sensitive to spiders… so now we have to mount a guard at night – Govon’s been wanting to start up the night watches for about a week now… as long as he doesn’t have to take too many turns… Wasn’t this in one of your books, anyway? I’m sure it was; I must check with Nestoril later…’_

Quiet and dark and soft and peaceful. Even though the stories were exciting, sometimes, they fell into Tharmeduil’s mind in just the same way the instructions to drink did. The pinpoints of brightness, the voices… for a while, he stopped hearing the words, just felt comforted. The days ticked off… sixteen days in the forest, nineteen… different voices telling the time into the night of blackness around him.

_‘…still teasing me about that shot I made, days ago now, and when I said to Legolas that you would be sorry you missed it, he said had I checked the notes, and there, indeed, I was! Oh, and today, about an hour ago, we heard strange bird calls above… we ran into a patrol which had been out, and they told us we are within a half-day’s march of the support flets, which has cheered us all immensely…’_

_‘…Arwen has been busy, I see. Let me describe for you, Tharmeduil. We have stopped for the night. The weather has changed and we had rain on our march, so that we all became a little wet – the trees sheltered us where they could – but an unfortunate mishap resulted in Iauron becoming rather more wet than he should when Thiriston, who was bearing him, lost his grip on the litter with his broken hand and deposited your brother in a puddle… Ion-nin? Do you hear me? I thought for a moment… No matter… so, much of his bedding needs cleaning and drying. There are spares, of course, but no sooner had Nestoril got your brother under shelter than there was Arwen with a blanket she has made. I am sure it was made with love but it has also been made with copious quantities of yellow and lilac wool and so Iauron, proud crown prince of the house of Greenwood the Great, is currently bedecked like a spring garden… yes. I knew you would find that entertaining… I must go, for here is Nestoril with some sort of potion in her hands and I am rather hoping it is not for me…’_


	167. Unmistakeably Arwen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril insists on seeing the Other Book...

‘Govon, please! Do not be difficult!’ 

Nestoril looked as close to annoyed as Legolas had ever seen her as she advanced on his fëa-mate with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face; the pavilion suddenly seemed very cramped and he wished he had an excuse to hide behind the privacy curtain… except he couldn’t, wouldn’t, abandon Govon…

‘The note I have from the prince said that if he hadn’t woken by the time we got to the enchanted river, then I was to ask for the other book.’  
‘What other book?’ 

Govon shook his head, trying for a mystified expression.

‘The secret book. The one he gave you to keep secret. The…’

‘But, Healer, if there were a secret book, why would I then give it to you? Considering its secret nature, that is?’

‘Oh, Govon!’ Nestoril looked as if she was about to stamp her foot. ‘Tharmeduil said that was what you would say! But he said if he hadn’t woken by the time we got here…’

Govon looked helplessly at his fëa-mate for rescue. The prince came forward and took Nestoril by the arm, ushering her to the bench near his work table.

‘I remember Ness reading the note aloud, Govon,’ he admitted. ‘And it did say all that… but… then… well, my brother woke up.’

She stared at Legolas, astonished.

‘I thought you would back me up, my prince! It seems I was mistaken!’

‘But, he did wake. He managed to scratch out those two drawings, I showed you, remember?’

‘I wasn’t there – it doesn’t count!’

Govon sighed.

‘I think I’m going to have to give in,’ he said. ‘Nestoril, I’ll show you the book. But some of it is… odd.’

‘In what way, ‘odd’?’ she asked.

‘You know how Tharmeduil’s drawings are. Some of it makes no sense. Some of it looks… unpleasant Sometimes there are contradictions. There are images of injuries, too, things that would upset you but you can’t do anything about them now…’

While Govon spoke, Legolas rose from his seat and retreated behind the privacy curtain after all, returning a moment later with a book which he gave to his fëa-mate. 

‘I’ll go and sit with my brothers for a while, I think. After all, Tharmeduil didn’t say I was to see it as well…’

*

Legolas didn’t have far to go. The current camp was within a few minute’s march to the crossing of the Enchanted River and there was no room to spread out as they had on the plains. Overhead were two flets, each holding three or four or lookouts, a reassuring presence, made him feel he was nearly home, at last, and he said as much as he sat on the floor next to Tharmeduil’s bed and talked about the events of the day… only it had come to be more than that of late. Somehow, if there was anything bothering him, telling Tharmeduil felt more like talking it through than just passing on news, and many small problems seemed to find their own solution once he’d had time with his brother.

‘Ness remembered about the book,’ he said. ‘Govon tried to talk her out of it, just as you said he would. And, really, you did wake up, so there’s no reason. But…’ He broke off, frowning. ‘But you said give her the book, not show… Govon is showing her… I left, but he… I hope it’s all right… he seemed to know some of what was in there, and… I’m worried now…’

He sighed and sat up a little straighter and looked at his other brother.

‘Iauron looks peaceful. So do you, for that matter. I see they haven’t swapped the blanket Arwen made… she came to me, you know, apologised… said she’d intended it as a gift for Govon and I for our quarters at home, but then it seemed appropriate to give it to Iauron instead. Of course, I said I didn’t mind… and I ventured to suggest what might be more appropriate for our colour scheme… Not that I hold out much hope that she will pay attention – she said if our room was mostly cream and natural stone and waxed wood, we might be glad of a few cheerful colours about the place… my one hope now is that she is too busy to continue with her hobby…’

Legolas smiled to himself.

‘We’ve got to that point in the march where people are starting to talk about what they miss from home. Not surprisingly, most people are saying family; parents, fëa-mates, elflings… but once you qualify and say, except for your loved ones, it tends to be food and wine we’re missing… I remember being stuck on that flet… once the business is attended to, once I have a free hour, I think I’ll take Govon on another picnic… bread and butter and cheese, and take our ease together on the greensward… And then, I really miss the bathing room… Of course, Govon’s sister will want to spend time with him, it’s only right and natural she would… well. Have they had long enough, do you think? Sorry, one of those annoying questions you can’t answer…’

*  
‘No.’

‘No.’

‘This cannot be right, Govon!’

‘Nor this; I told you, Healer – the things in this book… they are confusing, they may change, they may not be what they seem…’

‘But once one sees…’

‘…how can we ever unsee them?’

‘Look here… and here… both cannot be true, I cannot be here and there, too! In fact, it is not even me!’

‘In which one, Ness?’

‘In either. In both. Oh…!’

‘Look, this is the same person as in the picture here… and we know this has happened…’

‘Do we?’ 

Nestoril looked with doubtful eyes at the picture. It showed, rather improbably in her opinion, herself leaning against Thranduil, his arm round her.

‘The day you were so upset about Tharmeduil. Remember?’

‘Yes, but…’

‘Eventually they sent for me and I found the king patting your back as if you were an unhappy elfling.’

‘Yes.’ She pounced on that, relaxed. ‘Yes, indeed, I do. Thank you, Govon. That feels better!’

Govon tapped a picture and sighed.

‘I wish I could find as easy a reason for this one, Ness.’ 

She turned her head to see.

‘Oh… I can see why you might be a little concerned…’

‘A little concerned? That is my fea-mate, there! And he is holding hands with an elleth, and she is reclining. And also pregnant!’ Govon tried to control his voice. ‘Very pregnant!’

‘Well, on that score at least I can help. There were no pregnant ellyth in the palace when we left. Not even slightly pregnant ones. So this cannot be now, or even nearly now. So it must be at some point in the future, and as such, remember what you told me – these things may not come to pass, or they may change, or… or there could be any number of reasons, Govon! And, see, there is another elleth there, too…’

Govon shook his head.

‘I do not know, I am not at ease with this…’

‘I understand. But you have seen these before, surely?’

‘I tried not to look. If I had to, he said. If Legolas needed support. But… I suppose I flicked through. Still, now, seeing this, really looking at it… somehow it is different.’

‘I’m not at ease with these other images,’ Nestoril went on.

‘I cannot see why I would be doing that?’

‘I do not know. And, I am perhaps glad I do not know…

‘So… I had hoped these pages would give me some clue how to wake him, some hint… apart from one or two of when we are at home, obviously so, there is nothing that could have any bearing… have we put ourselves through such distress for nothing?’ Nestoril asked, her voiced hushed and hurt.

‘Why would Tharmeduil say to look in the book if he hadn’t awoken by now, except for that?’

‘But he said, he has seen himself on the other side of the dark, so I don’t think that’s why, not to find a cure for him. He is at peace in his darkness, he said so.’

Govon sighed, and flicked through the book once more, coming to a stop at two pages that had eluded his notice before as they were stuck together, the pigmented ink inside having seeped from the edge to act as a glue. Carefully, he separated them and was rewarded with two images that took the breath out of his throat so that he could not, for a moment, speak.

Nestoril came to his side to gently place her hand on his shoulder as she, too, looked at the images.

‘I think we were meant to see those last pictures he drew, and if he hadn’t woken – had not drawn them and we hadn’t seen them,’ she said, ‘then we were to see them here. This has to be why; they must be important.’

On the facing page, a portrait, superbly drawn, Govon was sitting on the greensward, eyes cast down and tears spilling down his face in an exquisite portrait of misery.

The other showed a ship with huge, billowy sails setting off from the harbour. Standing on the quay, waving the boat away, was an elleth who was unmistakably Arwen.


	168. Images

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas is worried about Govon's response to the Other Book...

‘What’s the matter, friend captain?’

Legolas snuggled in against his fëa-mate’s back, hoping for an answer. He’d returned from his visit to Tharmeduil to find Govon alone, the book gone, hidden away again and an expression of bleak dismay on Govon’s face. Understanding his beloved enough not to question him, trusting him to speak when he was ready, he was patient, talking about his visit with his brothers and the clarity of the evening now the rain had washed away, hoping that at some point, Govon would find whatever he needed to release his tongue.

But time came to retire for the night and yet Govon had said nothing. They had kissed and touched and loved, and while Govon had not been silent then, afterwards, when he might have found the way to start talking, he hadn’t.

A good hour had passed since then and Legolas was sure Govon was not asleep; he couldn’t find reverie himself, not with this huge silence between them. So now, finally, he had brought himself to ask, caressing Govon’s ear tip gently with his fingers.

‘My friend captain, what is it? It must be something in the book, is it?’

Govon curled in even more on himself, not quite flinching away, but holding tightly around himself, keeping silent.

‘Come, melleth? What did you see that’s upset you so much? If it’s this bad, shouldn’t I know?’ Legolas stroked over Govon’s hair with tentative fingers, brought his mouth closer to Govon’s ear so that his breath was a ghost of a kiss as he spoke. ‘Or shall I look in the book, too? Would that help? Should…’

‘No.’ Govon’s voice was small, hollow. ‘No, don’t…’

He sighed and turned over into Legolas’ arms.

‘I can’t… not see… the pictures. And it was all for nothing. The thing we were looking for… Nestoril hoped she would found something to help her wake your brother, but… it just… those last two pictures he drew, they were in the book, we were meant to see those pictures, the boat and the one where I’m… well.’

Legolas shifted so that he could fold his arms round Govon, holding him close, the fingers of one hand gently rubbing between his shoulder blades.

‘You wouldn’t be this upset just to see those again. What else, I am sure there must be something more?’

‘Tharmeduil said, when he gave me the book – not for me to look unless you needed help, some of the things might help, but…’

‘Govon…!’ Legolas grimaced in frustration. ‘If you can’t bring yourself to say, I’ll look in the book for myself anyway and then…’

‘Best not, really,’ Govon whispered, and then pushed himself up and away from Legolas to sit cross-legged and facing him, how Legolas tended to sit, when something was bothering him. There could be no easy answer, no simple reason for the image that was haunting him, why that one in particular, but… ‘One picture, that’s all. You, love. Holding hands with…’ 

He broke off, shaking his head and dropping his gaze.

‘And this is why I cannot believe what I have seen and why I am so… disturbed, with an elleth and she is pregnant and I do not und…’

Legolas reached forward to take Govon’s head between his hands and kiss him gently, a kind, reassuring kiss, a gift. Silenced, the commander stared into Legolas’ eyes and saw only love there as his fëa-mate sat back, mirroring his posture.

‘Are you sure it was an elleth?’ he asked.

‘What? Does it matter? Still it would be you and a female, one who looked about to give birth and…’

Legolas tipped his head.

‘Because if it is not an elleth, if it is a human woman, then it is Flora, about whom I told you ages ago…’

‘Did you?’

‘On the greensward, when we were talking, just after you were released from the healers.’ He paused to think back, shaping his thoughts with care. ‘We were discussing the rumours, and I said, one of the stories was about me and a human woman… and you almost choked on your wine…’

Legolas couldn’t help but grin at the memory.

‘Gave me an excuse to slap you on your back, not quite how I’d been wanting to touch you, but it was a start.’

Govon stirred, shifting position as he thought back.

‘Yes. I do remember… you went on to say you weren’t the father, but were taking on the responsibility…. I wondered why, but I didn’t know you well enough to ask… and then it didn’t seem… relevant…’

‘That’s right. It could be she, it might be Flora. In which case, well, she may be in need of a friend, melleth. But it would be no more than that, a friendly hand… Govon, friend captain, I love you, you are the words of my song, my fëa-mate: Now, tomorrow, forever… I would not. Could not, even if it were in my nature.’

Govon nodded, but the set of his shoulders was still unhappy.

‘I know, I know I’m being foolish, but then to see that other image where I was crying… and in the book, you can see where I am, I’m on the greensward, our place, where we first kissed. I think that was why it made the other image seem worse.’

Legolas caressed Govon’s face with his long fingers, tracing the line of cheekbone and jaw.

‘Let it fade from your mind, melleth. If it should come to be, then it will be something for when we are home, not for now. Let it wait until then, let it not spoil the now for us.’

Govon pressed his face into Legolas’ hand, turning so that his lips found the sensitive spot on the inside of his melleth’s wrist, and as he heard his fair elf gasp, he reached forward to draw close, to push him down onto the mattress rest over him, skin on silken skin.

‘Help me, then. Help me push it from my mind.’

Legolas smiled and stroked his hands over Govon’s sleek skin, and swept away the images with mouth and tongue and body, until finally reverie came to lie over them both with restful peace through the remainder of the night.


	169. Disbanding?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Govon hears a worrying rumour...

The following day was too busy for Govon to dwell on the images from the secret book. No sooner had they breakfasted than it was time to break camp and prepare to negotiate the crossing of the enchanted river, with all its attendant difficulties and associations.

‘At least this time there are no spiders to contend with,’ Govon was able to tell his command. ‘Scouts report all clear in the surrounding area. Make sure our friends from Imladris cross safely – as foot passengers on the raft, we’ll take the horses later – Thiriston and Canadion, I want you to stay with them once they’re across, the rest of you come back to escort the court… I’ve already reminded our guests about the dangers of falling in, feel free to repeat all the warnings, we don’t want to have to carry anyone else home on litters, do we? Dismissed and I will see you on the other side of the river.’

They grinned and laughed, as he’d intended, and dispersed to speak to their charges. Since Govon had made himself responsible for Erestor, but knowing that the advisor from Imladris was used to spending time these days making himself useful to Legolas, he wasn’t surprised to find them together.

‘What is it, Commander?’ Legolas asked, looking up from Erestor’s sheet of notes. 

‘It is simply we are ready to cross the court over and I am prioritising our guests…’

Legolas handed the paper back to Erestor.

‘I suppose that means you, first, Erestor. Thank you for this; I would think your estimates of distances and supplies are very accurate and can only be thankful we are within reach of cached rations… Did anyone warn you about the river yet?’

‘Oh, and so the river is dangerous, also, your highness? I suppose I ought not to be surprised!’

‘Well, if I tell you that Nestoril took two small flagons of river water and from that distilled enough soporific to drug all the injured to sleep from the eyot home and she still has plenty left… if you fall in, and we drag you out swiftly enough, you might wake up again. Eventually. But…’

‘I think I understand you,’ Erestor said hastily. ‘Commander – lead on.’

The entire court crossed without mishap on the raft, except for Glorfindel, who was determined to take the makeshift rope bridge across.

‘And if I fall in, leave me there!’ he said. ‘I would deserve no less!’

But all went well, and soon the equipment and the horses were ferried across and they waited for the king, for Thranduil insisted on being last over, Govon equally insistent on waiting with him for the raft.

‘Do not fear, Govon, I am not about to try whether Nelleron can make the leap,’ Thranduil said. ‘There is no need to stay.’

‘But remembering on the way out, how insistent Prince Tharmeduil was that you didn’t cross alone… just in case he meant this time…’

‘Very well. Take the other side of Nelleron’s bridle, will you? He is fine once he is on the raft but…’

Govon was not the only one to give a silent prayer of thanks to the Valar once the king and Nelleron were safely disembarked; Legolas let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding and stepped forward to help lead Nelleron away from the river bank.

‘Thank you, ion-nin,’ Thranduil said. ‘Govon, are we moving out at once? Or are we idling here all day?’

‘The plan is to get straight on up the trail and break for lunch in an hour or so, sire, there’s a clearing where we can stop. I’ll go and speak to the other commanders, but I think we should be underway shortly.’

Indeed, it was no more than a few minutes later that the order came to get into line, and they set off homeward once more. Spirits were high, and Bregon’s warriors fell into their favourite marching song to speed them along. 

Reaching the clearing in good time, they settled into their usual groupings; court guard and court, honour guard, Esgaron’s command taking charge of the horses. Nestoril needed time to care for her two charges, and Govon found himself watching as she tended Tharmeduil, wondering if the prince had known the effect his secret book would have, or if he had simply been driven by the need of his visions over the comfort of those who might read them.

‘Oh, Commander Govon?’ 

He found his train of thought interrupted and looked up to see Triwathon standing near and trying to smile, although his eyes were anxious, and still a little sad.

‘Yes, Triwathon. Can I help you with something?’

‘I should like to speak with you, if it is possible. If you are not too busy, if there are no other things you would prefer to do…’

Govon got to his feet. Of course he wasn’t busy; he was waiting for the camp kitchen to break out the supplies so he could get some food, same as everyone else was. In truth, there probably were things he would rather do than talk to Triwathon, but it wouldn’t do much for the fellow’s confidence to admit it, so he smiled instead.

‘Certainly, Triwathon. How are you feeling lately? You’re still sad, I can see.’ 

He led the way to the edge of the camp where there was some privacy and waited for him to speak. 

‘I hope my work has not suffered, Commander, indeed, I have tried to not let you down, such an honour as it has been to serve with the Court Guard…’

‘Triwathon…’ Govon took a deep breath and rearranged the words in his thought before he let them out of his mouth. ‘Triwathon, your work has always been good, your service conscientious. You have never let your mood affect the performance of your duties; it was not in any way a criticism. I am merely concerned for your well-being, mellon-nin, as I am for all in my command. Now, what’s on your mind today?’

‘I… will you speak up for me?’ Triwathon looked down, out, up, anywhere but at Govon’s eyes. ‘Commander, would you speak kindly of my work?’

‘I certainly will, and would, if I’m asked to… Triwathon? What’s this about?’ He made sure his voice was kindly curious, not demanding. That was not the way with Triwathon. ‘Is it because I hadn’t assigned you to one of the Imladris elves? If so, know I only did that because you were new to my command and I felt you had enough to cope with already. Besides, Healer Nestoril likes to have your help. She has commented on the gentle way you have around her charges.’ 

‘Really?’ Triwathon smiled. ‘And, Commander, no, it is not that, I would not have expected such an honour as to escort the visitors…’

‘Well, perhaps you should expect more for yourself, you know. You’re a very able archer and you’re a good addition to my command, Triwathon. So, you were saying… did you need me to speak up for you to someone? Is anything the matter? You’re not in trouble, are you? Has anyone – your former friend, perhaps… been unkind?’

The warrior dipped his head. 

‘No, not that. It is… When… when we get home, if you would say to Commander Bregon, he would take me back, I am sure…’

Govon shook his head.

‘I don’t understand what’s going on,’ he said. ‘You were promoted to my command because I gained four more charges and so needed another warrior to adequately protect the court. His majesty approved your promotion – no, the truth is that of all the warriors here, he suggested you and asked Commander Bregon in person to let you go. And your former commander spoke most highly of you to me… if you have been unhappy amongst us, Triwathon, please say, let me see if I can put it right…’

‘Oh, my commander, I have been as happy as I think I might… I meant when the Court Guard disbands, I would like to be able to go back to my former commander, and…’

Govon had stopped listening.

_When the Court Guard disbands…_

He had not thought of that. But, of course, the Court Guard had been established with the sole purpose of guarding the king and his household on their travels and, once he was at home once more, there would be no need of them any longer.

He thrust his rising dismay away and gave himself a little mental shake.

‘If that is what you want, Triwathon… it is where you have friends, after all, so of course I would support you. But, tell me… it is not widely known, I think, about the disbanding of the Court Guard?’

‘Oh, do not fear, I would not dream of saying! It was only that I heard… one of the commanders saying, it was only until we got home, then see things alter… no, it was not a generous thought, I will say no more, but, never mind that, the implication was that things would change when we got home and there was no longer any Court Guard…’

‘I see, I understand,’ Govon said, not really understanding. ‘Well, Triwathon, do not worry about the future. You would be an asset wherever you served, and I will gladly bespeak Commander Bregon on your behalf when we return. But, if it were to happen that the guard does not disband, then it will be up to you whether you stay or go, for we are more than happy to count you in our number.’

Some of the anxiety faded from Triwathon’s face.

‘Oh, Commander Govon, thank you. To know that I am valued – that you value me… it is much… And… I have been wondering… hoping… is it possible? Could it be, do you think, that we would need to ride home in honour, as you rode to meet Imladris, with marks of battle displayed? I would… it would honour me to show my own marks, painted, with you before it must end.’

Govon put a smile on his face and clasped Triwathon briefly on the shoulder.

‘That sounds like a very fine note to end on. Now, come. Let’s get some food; the king is anxious to press on this afternoon.’


	170. Thoughts of Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas tries to reassure and comfort his fea-mate...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandalwood scene, probably not fit to be read in public, during meetings, on buses...

Talk around the cook fires that evening turned to thoughts of home, reminding Govon of his earlier conversation with Triwathon. In truth, he’d tried not to think of it, tried not to worry what would happen if he got back and then found his command taken away from him, and the best he could hope for was his old position back, captain of a guard flet… 

But, given that he had been under Esgaron’s command, and Esgaron seemed to have taken against him, even that now seemed a lot to hope for…

It wasn’t that he would mind losing his command, not really. While he had enjoyed the challenge and had thought he’d done well, still, he thought he could adjust without too many regrets. But the uncertainty of what would happen then… some patrols were out for a half year at a time, and to be away from Legolas for six months… even though they were elves, they had forever, a day apart was far too long…

‘… three or four days from home at the most, we should be considering the manner of our arrival. I am happy to suggest to the king any ideas you may have, Commander… Commander Govon?’

Belatedly, Govon realised Arveldir was looking at him. He collected the gist of the advisor’s speech in his mind and tried to make his reply seem considered.

‘Our fallen must be properly honoured. If the king will permit, it would be a fitting tribute if we were able to ride in wearing warrior paint…’

‘I like the sound of that,’ Legolas said, trying not to grin.

‘We will lead the horse formerly ridden by our fallen warrior, in his place in our ranks,’ Govon went on. ‘As is the way. How the other commanders will mark their own losses, I could not say.’

‘The trail will be easier now, at least,’ Arveldir said. ‘Commander… is all well? You seem… pensive, if you do not mind my saying?’

‘I was just thinking, Arveldir.’ Govon set down his plate and nodded around the camp. ‘I have a report to write. Tinuon, I’ll take the predawn watch.’

*

Legolas entered the pavilion but before he could so much as ask Govon what was bothering him now, his fëa-mate had started speaking himself.

‘What will happen when we get back?’ he asked. 

Legolas lowered himself onto the seat on the opposite side of the table and took Govon’s hands in his own.

‘Well, I’m quite looking forward to sharing the bathing room with you again…’

Govon dipped his head, smiling, and Legolas smiled in return.

‘That’s better, friend captain. But I don’t think you meant that?’

‘No… what will happen to the Court Guard? Opinion seems to be that we’ll be disbanded once we get home. Then what?’

‘I hadn’t thought… we have lots of time to be together, visit with your sister…’

‘Thank you for thinking of Merlinith, but I meant for work? I need to have an occupation, my fair elf, even if it were to mean I end up on a flet in the woods four weeks out of eight…’

Legolas rubbed his thumbs over Govon’s knuckles.

‘I understand, but I don’t like the thought of that. Unless I can share your flet? I would say, ask Adar about it. But I have been learning from our good Erestor. So, tomorrow, I will mention it to my new advisor in our morning meeting, and he will speak to Arveldir, and Arveldir will ask Adar. Only by the time it gets to him, after two clever advisors have put their minds to it, it won’t seem like me wanting to know about my fëa-mate’s career prospects, but instead it will have become a matter of state politics. As it should be, for the king created the Court Guard, and the king should be involved in its future.’

Govon allowed himself to exhale, to look down at the hands comforting his, and his smile felt more relaxed.

‘Yes. It was just an overheard remark, but it made me wonder…’

‘It’s not an excuse so I will need to take your mind of it again, is it?’

‘No. But now you mention it…’

Legolas laughed and leaned forward to place a swift kiss on Govon’s lips.

‘I’ll bring in the buckler.’

He was back in a trice and secured the opening of the pavilion after him to find Govon still in his place at the table, and went to stand behind him, tugging at his jerkin until Govon sighed and moved so that Legolas could pull it off him, his green uniform tunic swiftly following to lie over it on the bench nearby.

Soon Govon felt his fëa-mate’s hands lift his hair, stroking it back, working to loosen the braids, unplaiting, freeing, smoothing, fingers sliding up through the dark honey tresses to begin pressing tiny circles against his scalp, working the skin, gathering strands to tug lightly, releasing the tension, working all the way over his head from temples to nape where his thumbs took over, working into the tiny muscles at either side of his neck until Govon dropped his chin on his chest and sighed. Legolas’ hands began to work on his shoulders, kneading and pressing in soft, gentle rhythm.

‘Ah, my fair elf! Stop, you had better stop…’

‘Yes? But you need to relax, melleth-nin, your shoulders are like rocks…’

‘If I relax too much, I will fall into reverie where I sit.’

‘Oh, we cannot be having that!’ Legolas twisted Govon’s hair around his hands and gave a little pull. ‘Come on. Up you get. Up!’

With a groan, Govon levered himself away from the table and allowed Legolas to slide his hands beneath his shirt, pressing close against him for a moment.

‘Whoever pitched our tent has put us just below the guard flet,’ Govon whispered, shuddering as Legolas grazed his nipples with questing fingers.

‘I know. And we’re so close to Thiriston and Canadion’s tent that our guy lines are crossed so…’ 

He broke off as Govon slid his hands down to caress the curve of his buttocks through the soft suede of his leggings.

‘So, my fair elf…?’

‘Do you know? I find I do not care if half the camp hears.’

He pulled Govon through to the sleeping area and pushed him down onto the mattress, peeling the last of his garments away and then himself undressing slowly, watching Govon watching him, trying to make his movements into a gradual revelation of his body. He saw his friend captain’s eyes widen as he dropped the last of his garments, and he lowered himself onto the bed to lie on his side, head supported on one hand while his other hand drifted and roamed Govon’s body.

‘When we get home, my friend captain, we will have work to do. We will ride in and honour our dead – will you really go in paint? And your kilt, I know we saved your kilt after the wreck of the camp, will you wear it?’

Govon smiled, enjoying the light touches, gently soothing at present.

‘If our king will agree… Triwathon said, if we disband he would like to have been able to share paint with us once. Yes, for you I will wear the kilt…’

‘I like how it reaches to here on you…’ Legolas traced an imaginary line half way across Govon’s thigh, making him gasp. ‘Although it seems to me it will hardly be long enough… you look so savage in your paint, melleth, so primal and dangerous. And holding you while you are painted is like holding something wild and fierce and free… So you will ride home in your paint, this scar here…’

He trailed his fingers over the arch of Govon’s hip.

‘And here…’

He leaned over to kiss the arrow would on Govon’s shoulder, rolling onto him.

‘And these…’

He licked the puncture scars on Govon’s neck.

‘…all waiting for the moment when I can take you and honour your injuries with my mouth, and my hands, and my body…’  
He shifted suddenly to straddle his fëa-mate, looking down into his face.

‘Oh, the eyes of you, Govon-nin! It is like looking into the heart of the greenwood and seeing its fëa looking back…’ 

‘Kiss me?’ Govon suggested. ‘Your mouth…’

Legolas smiled.

‘My mouth is talking when you would prefer it to be doing other things. I think I have said all I need for now.’

Legolas lowered his face and Govon lifted to kiss him, to invade his mouth with his tongue, to grab the back of his head with both hands and pull him nearer, to tangle limbs and hold each other close, closer, closest. The prince slid down Govon’s body, tasting the fine flesh, savouring the skin to bury his face against his melleth’s lower belly and feast on him, fill his senses with the scent of his skin, the velvet and steel length sliding in his mouth, hearing Govon’s breath quicken and turn into little, panting moans until the moment that he stopped breathing and thrust up with his hips, stifling his cries as he buried himself deeply inside Legolas’ throat, the pleasure of his release heightened as the prince swallowed in perfect time with the rhythm of his melleth’s climax, milking the last ounces of pleasure from his body so that he felt blissfully drained, emptied of all tension, floating in that perfect place of completion.

Legolas moved, crawled back up over Govon’s body to lie at his back and hold him, kissing the delicate ear tip and Govon twisted to kiss him, tasting the salt of his own pleasure on the beautiful mouth.

‘Love me,’ he whispered, turning back to push his buttocks against his fair elf’s groin, feeling his need, hearing his gentle groan.

‘I do love you, I will love you... if you think you can stay awake long enough.’

‘Course I can... Not that tired, fair elf…’

But before he could even reach for the oil, Govon had sighed back against him, his eyelids floating up as he fell into reverie. No. Apparently he was that tired.

Legolas exhaled slowly and pulled the covers up over them both, snuggling his arm around his fëa-mate’s waist as he willed his own need to subside. Govon would need to be awake for his predawn watch anyway; surely he could wait… what? A scant three hours? 

Govon whimpered softly, twitching slightly in reverie, and Legolas smiled and stroked his hair. After all, staying awake with an armful of Govon was not exactly unpleasant. He allowed himself to drift, to enjoy the warmth of his fea-mate against him, the comfort of closeness and he, too, found reverie and rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True, no sandalwood oil was harmed in the making of this scene. But if I told you that at the start, it would have spoiled the ending.


	171. Scars and Stripes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Court Guard once more break out the warrior paint...

Although Legolas mentioned the question of the future of the Court Guard to Erestor, and Erestor to Arveldir, and Arveldir to the king, it seemed that Thranduil was happy to ponder the matter in silence. Certainly, nothing came back to Govon as he led his command home over the next, last few days, as he watched over the safety of the Imladris elves and tried to bolster Triwathon’s confidence.

Apart from the worry about his future employment prospects, and occasional sniping from Commander Esgaron, Govon was less anxious now in general. With the additional support of guards on the outpost flets, the supply train shortening and rations subsidised from cached stores, the mood of the camp was improving with every march that took them closer to home.

Finally, the morning dawned which would undoubtedly be their last day in the forest and the mood was so light-hearted that Govon gathered his warriors together for a brief talk.

‘Our last day away from home. Let us not relax our guard now; remember that the spiders move swiftly, have been greatly disturbed this season, and that it is possible to be within sight of our own front gates and still be in danger. It’s been a good journey; let’s not spoil it now.’

But all went well, and the holiday atmosphere prevailed until they broke for the noon meal in the clearing where Bregon’s troop had battled the fleeing spiders, where they had stopped on their outward journey, just two or three hours from home.

Esgaron called the halt and as they reined in and dismounted and stopped to set down their packs. Arveldir and Erestor came to the head of the company and addressed them, Arveldir speaking first.

‘Our guests from Imladris will probably have guessed, from the tone of the company, that we are almost home. His majesty our king wishes us to pause here, to take stock as we take our noon meal, and then to prepare for our return. The Court Guard will present themselves in warrior paint and ride directly behind the king and the prince regent, in recognition of all their work to protect the person of the king and his household. Then will follow our guests and the rest of the court, the healers and their charges escorted home by Commander Esgaron’s guard, who have been our stalwarts through the journey, in recognition of their continual service. Commander Bregon’s honour guard will bring up the van.’

Erestor took up the orders.

‘His Majesty your king also wishes that the fallen are honoured by keeping empty their places in the ranks. In addition, as the fallen were known to all the companies, the Court Guard will add their ciphers to their paint. A message has gone ahead to with our approximate time of arrival so that those who wish to do so may watch the king’s return. We will proceed over the bridge, through the palace gates, and round to the barracks where the Court will dismount and the warriors disband, except for those who have other duties.’

‘We will break here for two hours, that we may properly prepare, and give the message time to arrive and be disseminated around the palace,’ Arveldir added. ‘No mention will be made of our losses, for it is only fitting that all learn of it at the same time. His majesty has asked me to express his gratitude to you all for your service.’

‘Our good advisors know how to dampen a mood, it seems,’ Glorfindel muttered.

Legolas, near enough to hear, grinned.

‘It is a solemn occasion as well as a joyous one. And while – yes, we have survived massed spiders, and three dragons, still, there are five of us who did not.’  
‘It would be inappropriate to the families to ride home laughing, of course,’ Glorfindel said.

‘And there is a little more to it than that. These are Silvans, and their beliefs are different.’

‘I remember the ceremony for the fallen. We must not speak their names?’

Legolas nodded, beginning to walk off a little way so that they would not be overheard.

‘Silvan tradition is very different. You, Glorfindel, you know there is something after death. And you know we may sail, and find bliss in Valinor; I know that, all Sindar and Noldor do. But the Silvan belief is other. They have come to feel that the West is forbidden them…’

‘I’ve seen Silvans there, I’m sure. There are so few others with the same hair colouring as your wood elves, they stand out quite a bit, even amongst the trees. And in the Halls, I know I have seen them…’

‘It is the difference between faith and belief, and knowledge. We do not argue with our Silvan friends, we try to respect their beliefs. But it is hard. My father cannot speak my mother’s name, except on the days of remembering. I wish only to warn you. And to invite you to something.’

‘Oh?’

Legolas gave a small smile.

‘You have made yourself responsible for the safety of our friends from Imladris to take some of the pressure off Commander Govon. So the king suggests you may be treated as an honorary Court Guard as we ride in…’

‘What, bare-chested and daubed up like an elfling’s painting?’ Glorfindel was taken aback. ‘Does the king know what he’s suggesting?’

‘I hope you are not offended? There is a tale of your own warrior marks going through the camp, and some of the Court Guard feel uncomfortable – shy, perhaps – to decorate their scars in front of you, whom rumour says are so dramatically adorned. They fear offending, my lord, and yet they wish to be proud of themselves for their king.’

‘Your pardon: I think your father the king knows exactly what he’s suggesting.’ Glorfindel shook his head. ‘I’m not offended, and nor does the idea of your Silvans in their paint offend me. Pain is pain and scars are reminders, and your warriors have earned the right to show they’ve survived.’

‘And will you, Lord Glorfindel, accept what the king my father suggests? He offers it as an honour, for our Silvans as well as yourself.’

‘I suppose, if they’re already talking about my scars, then seeing them might stop some of the gossip… The people of Rivendell are used to me now, I’m used to showing my scars in Rivendell, but amongst strangers, it can take a while.... so to do it now, to ride in with them on display… it could help, in the long run.’ He shook his head again. ‘Your father really does know what he’s doing, doesn’t he?’

Legolas grinned.

‘Usually,’ he said. ‘Let’s get some lunch. After that, I’ll be helping Govon get ready with the rest of his warriors. Join us when you’re ready.’

‘It will be an honour,’ Glorfindel said.

* 

Triwathon stared at Lord Glorfindel, stared and stared until he felt he would ever after see that strangely-patterned body burned into his eyes, his mind, an afterimage of beautiful suffering. 

Much of the seneschal’s body was covered with a spider web of slender white scars interspersed and overlain with pink and red streaks and stripes. Across his back, his chest, over his shoulder and around his arms, stark in contrast to the soft creamy peach of his natural skin tones.

Others were staring too, of course, the rest of the Court Guard speechless, their prince silent too, but grinning as Glorfindel jammed his fists into hips and rolled his shoulders back to flex his impressive pectorals in a powerful display of strength.

‘Well?’ the seneschal demanded. ‘Your king has said, I am an honorary member of your guard and as such, I am going to decorate my scars in memory of your losses. I fought your dragons, too, even if I was on the other side of the river at the time and all I did was fire some arrows.’

‘You are most welcome, of course, my lord.’ Commander Govon stepped forward from beneath Legolas’ poised ochre paint stick. ‘Please forgive us. We have heard the stories about you, of course. But to see the marks of your history…’ 

He shook his head and gestured towards Glorfindel’s red and white and beige body.

‘I am ashamed of my own scars in comparison. In fact, not even our brave Thiriston here has as many trophies as you…’

‘Peace, Commander! These marks… The Valar could have returned me with a smooth, unblemished skin. Instead, in their infinite wisdom, they saw fit to send me back still bearing the signs of that last day’s battle. My scars are a testimony to my courage and my strength, they say. These…’ He indicated the pink streaks and stripes again. ‘These are representative of the Balrog’s whip; the reality was grim, hardly so neat. I still remember the feeling of the flesh sloughing off my bones, so to give the Valar their due, they did at least restore me to pretty much my former physical self. The other scars, the sword and knife and arrow marks, those are properly my own. But look at you…’

He dropped his hands from his sides and gestured around the group. Canadion had a small grouping of charcoal flowers drawn on his face around the place where his burns had been. On his hand, too, a line of snaking pewter limned a long scar. Thiriston was a patchwork of multi-coloured decorations. The others all had their marks and lines and dots of bright pigment, and at the centre of each were scars.

‘Here I see marks of long endurance, of sword, spear, arrow, knife. I see broken bones and torn flesh, reminders of fang and tooth and sting and flame. And other scars, buried deep… No, it is I who am honoured to take my place amongst you….’

He reached out towards the warrior paints and selected a stick of purple pigment, glancing down at his chest and drawing slick outlines around the edges of his pink stripes.

‘Oh, that’s an interesting effect. It could take a while, though.’ Glorfindel grinned and waved the paint stick it in front of him. ‘And I’m pretty certain I’ll need help with my back…’

There was a heartbeat’s hesitation as all the guard paused, poised to rush forward and offer their aid. All except Thiriston, who laid his uninjured hand on Canadion’s wrist and muttered, ‘no.’

Seeing what was about to happen, Govon took Triwathon by the arm and led him forward.

‘Lord Glorfindel, my friend Triwathon here has a steady hand and an eye for colour… I will leave you in his hands, and then, if you will return the favour, you will see he’s hardly unscathed himself. All right, the rest of you – we have not the time to stand around admiring each other’s handiwork, let’s get on!’


	172. The Starlight Gemstones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the company returns home and Legolas explains something to Glorfindel...

Thranduil had insisted on wearing his summer crown and refused to have a bandage on his face; Nestoril had countered by insisting that the sight of his damaged eye would distress too many of the welcoming party and so he had conceded a little, agreeing to cover his eye with a patch of caul silk. It left the injury to his cheek and jaw exposed, now a large, ragged area of pink and red healing flesh covered with newly grown skin, but it was less horrific than it had been.

‘I do not wish to hide from my people,’ he had said. ‘Others have no choice but to show their injuries. How can I do less?’

And so he and Legolas headed the march, and his warriors rode behind in proud and painted dignity.

Each of the Court Guard wore the ciphers of the fallen on their arms; even Glorfindel had asked to share the burden of honour. Their fallen comrade’s riderless horse was led in place amongst them, Govon holding its reins, and they reached the last turn of the path to come out into the space before the bridge to see a whole host of people awaiting them, lining the approach from the far side of the bridge to the palace gates; Over-Captain Rawon with a small guard flying pennants, the household, several of the healers, and the populace, the families and friends and loved ones of the three companies gathered to see them home.

A horn rang out, and the palace gates opened for the procession to pass through.

All was silent but for the jingle and tinkle of Nelleron’s bells and the thud of the hooves of the horses; the footfalls of the guard made no sound crossing over the bridge and through crowd toward the gates. 

Govon looked straight ahead, between the ears of his horse, listening to the murmur from the assembled people. At first the tone was excited, happy, intrigued at his warriors’ display. But soon the unmounted horse was noted, the murmur grew louder, its tone changed, and he realised that the family of his dead friend had seen who was missing from their ranks, and he felt a surge of sympathy rise in him, a prickle at the back of his eyes. 

Ahead, Legolas sat a little straighter in the saddle, and he knew his fëa-mate felt it, too.

The king and his son passed into the shadow of the gates, passed through, and Govon followed, hearing the murmur mounting at his back, starting to hear the protests and denials of the families of the fallen, and it was all he could do to keep his head high and continue riding onwards.

…and they were through, all through, the gates closing behind them to give chance for the court to get inside the palace before the people came in, a few brief minutes to get organised.

For there was still a lot to do.

‘I really should have insisted on removing the bells, they set far too light a tone,’ Thranduil muttered as he dismounted and handed over the reins of his elk.

‘I disagree, Adar,’ Legolas said. ‘They make Nelleron look so… enhanced. And Arwen’s feelings might have been hurt…’

Thranduil hissed something that could have indicated no regard at all for Arwen’s feelings, but only very quietly. He saw Arveldir dismount, and nodded to him.

‘We must get on with business, Arveldir. Get me a list of the names – not the spouses, parents or elflings, I know those. The cousins and second cousins… the ones whom one never sees except at times like this. My study in fifteen minutes, please. We will follow presumed order of fall… Commander Govon, that means you first. Be outside my study in fifteen minutes.’ His eyes glanced at Govon’s bare legs. ‘Lose the kilt. Full dress uniform. You will not have done this before; it is never pleasant but in decades to come, the family will remember you with kindness and respect. Arveldir, organise Bregon and Esgaron, would you? Have them outside my study in twenty minutes. Legolas, would you make the selection to day? I… think I need a moment.’

‘You need a moment with me, my king.’ Nestoril’s voice was firm and she advanced towards him. ‘My healer hall or your study, it makes no odds but your injury needs attention.’

‘Very well, if we can go now. Legolas, Arveldir has the keys. Perhaps Lord Glorfindel would be interested?’

‘Yes, Adar.’ Legolas dismounted, received a set of keys from Arveldir, and waited for Glorfindel to swing down from his own saddle. ‘You might want to find a shirt, my lord. We’re bound to run into people, and they might stare.’

‘In my saddlebag; a moment.’ Glorfindel rummaged round until he came up with shirt and tunic, hastily dressing and vaguely worried about the effects of warrior paint on the linen. ‘What’s this about?’

‘One of our traditions. A private thing, something very few outside the forest know of.’ Legolas waited for Glorfindel to finish tying his tunic before leading the way inside the palace complex by a small side door. ‘I know things have been said about my father that are… not quite just. It is a Silvan ritual, and he honours it on their behalf. Our first duty is to meet with the families of the fallen and given them the means to begin to grieve. It starts here.’

Legolas led the way through one of the larger chambers off the throne room to a small and private area. Behind a tapestry was another corridor with an arched roof, the stones of the walls tight-fitting and snug. A lantern stood on a small table outside a doorway and Legolas lit the lantern and passed it to Glorfindel before turning the key in the door.

‘You need to understand the Silvan beliefs a little. We have all heard of the strands of rare jewels strewn like stars on the beaches of the Undying Lands. And starlight is memory, and purity, and uncorrupted. There is a great love – a reverence for white stones here.’

He pushed the door opened and let Glorfindel precede him, closing the door. He heard the seneschal gasp as the light from the lantern hit the objects stored everywhere on shelves, in caskets, in boxes.

‘White gems – gems of pure starlight, diamonds and pearls. Thousands upon thousands, carefully gathered, polished, treasured. This has given rise, in some quarters, to the impression that my father covets these jewels, when he is only storing them against the time when they are needed… and hoping they never will be…’

Everywhere the sparkle of refraction off diamond facets, the sheen of soft pearls.

‘Needed for what?’ Glorfindel asked, his voice hushed.

‘If you cannot sail, if you fear your loved ones will not sail, then you will do whatever else you can for them. Knowing the strands of the West are covered with gems, you put your faith in the starlight of the stones, you hope that one day, all such stones will come to shore there, and you take a diamond – or a pearl – and you speak your memories to it. You treat it as a repository for the life of your lost one, and you keep it with you for a day, a week, a month. Once you have said all you can say, and all your family and friends have spoken, too, then the stone is returned to the king’s care. The stones which have been… filled… are kept through here…’ 

Legolas led the way through another tapestry-covered arch to a larger room, its walls filled with tiny niches, each holding a pearl or a diamond.

‘And these…?’

Unerringly, Legolas went to the right hand wall and reached up to one of the niches to lift down a pearl.

‘These are all filled with memories. This is my mother’s stone. A pearl, because she was not a warrior, and she did not die in battle. When she died, we all had time alone with this pearl, to speak our memories. She was Silvan, so we followed the tradition for her – it was the first time I had done so. I found it a comfort. Even now, I feel all the memories we put into this pearl, and it brings me closer to her.’

‘So your grandfather, he was Sindar, he has no stone, but if he did, it would be a diamond?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’ Legolas led the way back to the outer chamber. ‘All our dead are warriors, fallen in battle, so all will have diamonds. My father usually comes to choose, or Iauron, although I have done so before.’

‘How do you know which to pick?’ Glorfindel asked, curious.

‘The stones come to the hand.’ Legolas drifted his hand along the shelf, stopped at a box, picked a diamond. ‘This one is ready. Nothing from the next box; I do not know why… and here, these two are right. Just two more, now… there… and here. And we are done.’

‘But are these safe? Does no-one try to steal…?’ He broke off even as he framed the thought. ‘No. why would you want to steal, for instance, someone else’s greatnaneth?’

‘Very rarely, someone might try. Someone did, once, but it was only because they needed to talk to their loved one again. The stone was returned, and all was well. Now, if any has such a need, they speak of it, and arrangements are made. Well, we are ready.’

‘Now what happens?’

‘Now, mellon-nin, I will take these to my father and we and I will go and give bad news as gently as we can.’


	173. Visiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Govon pays an uncomfortable visit and Legolas sees a familiar face...

Govon took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Legolas was on one side of him, the king on his other, and it felt very strange to be in this place, at this moment.

He had never had to do this before. Never lost anyone when he was captain of a two-lieutenant flet. Never had to break the news that someone’s forever was gone.

His hand shook as he knocked on the door and it opened too quickly.

Of course, the family had seen them return, they were expecting a visit.

A wife, two elflings, a mother and father. A brother. He knew them, of course. He and their lost one had been friends, he’d been a frequent, welcome guest.  
Perhaps not so welcome today, though.

It was the widow who stood there and stared at him, at the prince and the king with him.

‘Nimbes.’

She swallowed, her eyes filling with unshed tears.

‘Govon, come in. My king… my prince…’

Following her, they took seats in silence. Nimbes on a long bench opposite, her children one on each side, cuddling against her. Her other family members standing behind, hands resting on her shoulders, on each other’s arms, touching for comfort.

The commander took a small pouch from his pocket and opened it, praying his fingers wouldn’t tremble so much that he drop the contents. He took the stone between his fingers, hearing the stifled sobs, feeling his vision blur and make pinpoints of blue light flash out from the jewel.

It was a very fine diamond, pure and clear.

‘Your fëa-mate – your husband…’

_Your father, your brother, your son…_

‘He was my friend, my lieutenant for more decades than I can properly recall. He was very brave… he was first to fall, a cold-drake, its breath poisoned. But… it was swift, and painless, and his actions saved many lives. Prince Iauron’s, my own. He…’

Thranduil placed a hand on Govon’s shoulder and squeezed lightly, permission for him to fall silent.

‘Mistress Nimbes, your husband shouted the warning that saved my oldest son from death and which alerted many to the danger, including my own self. But for him, many more would be dead. This is small comfort for you, this I know. I have faced this loss and I understand something of your sorrow. Your beloved served us well, and bravely, and we honour him.’

‘My father killed the cold drake,’ Legolas said. ‘But without your husband’s shout, so many more…’

Suddenly there was nothing more to say, not without saying too much. Thranduil, veteran of a hundred thousand visits of this nature, so it felt, inclined his head.  
‘His service honoured us,’ he said, and rose to his feet. ‘Ion-nin? We intrude.’

Legolas nodded and followed suit. Govon, about to rise, felt a soft hand on his arm as Nimbes reached across the space to him.

‘Stay, Govon. If you can? Share the talking with us?’

‘Of course the commander can stay,’ Thranduil said, and Legolas nodded agreement.

‘I’ll see you later, Govon,’ he said. ‘Take your time.’

*

Legolas followed his father along the corridor to meet with Commander Bregon and pass him a diamond before setting off to speak to the family of the next warrior to die, Maedon (it was all right to think the name), Maedon who had not wanted to be a guard, originally, but who had been good with a bow.

To his surprise when they met the commander, Triwathon was with him.

‘They were… friends,’ Bregon said, with a lift of the head that suggested a certain kind of friendship, and the need to be discreet.

‘Four will be too many and overwhelm good Mistress Dinenil,’ Thranduil said. ‘Legolas, unless you particularly need to speak to the family, I suggest you would do better to give me the rest of the diamonds and return to your quarters. We will have to be at the high table tonight.’

Legolas nodded. ‘Triwathon?’ He turned to the warrior whose face was still, tragic. ‘I didn’t know your friend well, but… I… for a few hours, on the day of the dragons, I thought Govon was dead. I feel for your grief.’

He nodded at Triwathon, exchanged glances with his father, and set off through the palace towards his rooms. It was a considerable walk, and the route took him past the corridor which branched to the Healer’s halls. On an impulse, he turned down it. Chances were that Govon would be in with Nimbes and her family for some time at least, and he didn’t feel like returning to his chambers alone just yet.

So used had he been to seeing Nestoril and Feri, it took him a moment to recognise the healer on duty who came forward to bow her head towards him.

‘Welcome home, my prince. Are you in need of any assistance?’

‘Thank you, Healer Gyril. I wondered whether my brothers had been settled yet, and if so, may I see them?’

‘Indeed, they are with us. The healers are attending; there is nothing wrong, but Healer Nestoril wished them to be properly bathed, and to give notes for their care. So I am afraid now it is not possible for you to visit. Tomorrow, yes.’

He was turning away when Gyril continued.

‘However, Healer Nestoril left a note… ah, here it is… we are currently looking after a human female… she is in the latter stages of pregnancy and claims to know you…’

Legolas held out his hand to receive the note. It stated, much as Gyril had said, that a human woman named Flora was staying in the convalescing wing until such time as she was delivered, that all was well, and that the woman had expressed an interest in knowing when he was likely to be back. 

He sighed to himself. Well, there was the answer to the image that troubled Govon so much – it was Flora in that picture, not an elleth, and she was here. For a moment he considered asking Gyril to take him to her, but consideration for his fëa-mates’ feelings made him pause.

‘Thank you, Healer. If you have a spare sheet of paper, I’ll write a note for the woman and…’

‘Oh, no need, my prince. See? She is just returning from the infirmary gardens…’

It would be undignified to run away, and, if Flora were to see, then it would hurt her feelings. He watched the woman –extremely different in shape from when he had last seen her, peculiarly rotund in the strangest of ways – enter the doorway down the passage, and waited to be recognised. Well, he would keep it a public meeting, with Gyril and whoever else was with Flora present, too.

She saw him, gave a little squeak, and waved, trying to hurry towards him. Legolas raised a hand in greeting before folding both behind his back to discourage any potentially inappropriate hugging.

‘It’s you!’ she exclaimed. ‘I asked where you were. They didn’t know who I meant at first.’

‘Yes, I’m just back today.’ He went into automatic, polite, friendly, speaking Westron to her, wondering if she knew about Iauron, wondering if she was happy, really, if the news would hurt her, ‘You’re looking well. Have you been here long?’

‘About a week. They say they do not know how long it will be, now – apparently your babies take longer to grow…not your babies,’ she corrected helpfully. ‘Elf-babies. So it could be the next few days, or it could be weeks. But they say all is well.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it. May I visit tomorrow and bring a friend with me? He’ll be interested to meet you…’

‘Is it… is it Belegornor?’ 

Legolas shook his head, hearing the hope in her voice. No. Belegornor was long dead.

‘No, someone special to me. He’s called Govon.’ He smiled and made to back away. ‘I’m afraid I must go. There’s a lot I have to do today. I’ll see you soon, Flora.’

Escaping with as much haste as was proper, he headed back towards his quarters, finding his route taking him towards the corridor where Govon had previously lived with his sister. He wondered whether she had been outside to see them come home, if she knew Govon was safe. It would probably be a kindness to go and see her… although she would likely be disappointed to find him there and not his fëa-mate.

‘Hey, fair elf!’

Legolas smiled at the familiar voice and turned towards the sound, seeing Govon, just entering from the main ahead corridor, and breaking into a trot to hasten towards him.

‘I thought I would call on your sister,’ he said as Govon came up to him and flung his arms round him. ‘Steady, melleth… are you all right?’

‘Ai, it was hard, that is all… poor Nimbes! And it made me think, when you thought me dead…’

‘Yes, that was not the best afternoon of my life! Come, let me go, straighten up. Will I be an intrusion if I come with you to see your sister?’

‘I do not care. I do not want to part from you tonight.’

‘Very well, then. We have at least a couple of hours before we’re due at table, and even if you want to wash your paint off first, plenty of time to sit with Merlinith.’

‘Will you knock?’

But the voices outside the chambers had attracted attention, and they heard the door opening. Merlinith’s voice.

‘Govon? Is it you, there?’

‘Aye, and my fëa-mate.’

She hurried out with a squeal of delight and threw her arms around her brother, rocking him from side to side in her exuberance.

‘Oh, Govon, Govon, oh, Valar be praised! I saw you ride in, and thought, how fine you look… but… Oh, and my prince…’ 

She disengaged from Govon to drop a curtsey.

‘Will you come in? And our king your father – he was injured? Come, tell me all, for there is rumour upon rumour and all manner of tales!’

‘Very well – if I won’t be a guest too many?’

‘Nonsense, my prince! I want to hear how brave my brother has been, and I know he will not tell me that!’

Govon grabbed Legolas’ hand, and led the way in, and the prince began to forget all about Flora and Iauron and starlight gemstones in Merlinith’s delight to have her brother home again. And it was nice, pleasant to be part of a happy little family for a time.

Merlinith found a bottle of wine to share, and sat drinking her brother’s every word, occasionally asking Legolas something before turning back.

‘And what happened to our king? And how did we lose our warriors? How many fallen?’

‘Five lost, Merlinith. One was Nimbes’ husband…’

‘Ai, poor thing!’

‘Dragons. We were camped on the plain and there were three dragons…’

‘Oh! And what happened?’

Merlinith’s eyes were huge, round as pools, and Govon’s shoulders sagged and he shrugged.

‘I do not know. I slept through it all…’

‘That’s hardly fair,’ Legolas put in. ‘Your brother was very brave, he was riding towards the king as a great cold drake swept down. Nimbes’ husband gave the warning, but not quick enough to prevent Govon and my brother Iauron from breathing some of its poison breath. We thought he was dead, that they were all dead.’

Govon dipped his head. ‘So many suffered that day and I…’

‘This is the way of things,’ Merlinith said briskly. ‘You are alive, and that is good. Much better than if you had died. Legolas, tell me about your father? His face?' 

By the time Legolas had recounted the story of his adar and the red dragon, Govon had recovered a little of his composure. He drank down his wine and rose to go, giving his sister a hug.

‘We have to be at the high table tonight and I must wash and change first.’

‘Of course. Do you know, it is so silly, Govon, but for a moment I had forgotten you do no live here any longer; it is like when you used to go away onto your flet duty, welcoming you home. But I am just… just so glad you are home safe.’


	174. Triwathon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel finds Triwathon in the gardens and tries to comfort him...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandalwood (other products are available) scene. Not terribly risque, but still probably not suitable for reading in company with parents/offspring/strangers...

Glorfindel’s back itched.

After parting from Legolas, he’d been shown to his quarters and had been looking forward to changing his clothes and making use of the bathing room when a servant had come from Lord Arveldir, requesting he go with him to speak to the advisor. 

There hadn’t even been time to wash off the warrior paint, and Glorfindel was very aware his shirt was probably going to be ruined. Still, at least he didn’t have to go and talk to the families of the fallen, like Commander Govon had had to.

So he trailed after the servant until he got to Arveldir’s study and found Arwen, Erestor and Feril already present.

‘His majesty has ordered that a messenger hawk be dispatched to Imladris with news of your safe arrival. There is not space for long personal messages, but if you have a few words you wish to say, now is your opportunity to do so.’

Erestor was shaking his head, and Glorfindel found he was echoing the gesture.

‘The only thing I can think of is to say not to blame the twins for the missing case of wine,’ Glorfindel said with a shrug. ‘And that we are all here safely.’

‘No message,’ Feril said. ‘I am quite content to work with Healer Nestoril here.’

‘I do not have anything to say either,’ Erestor said. ‘My lady? I am sure there will be plenty of room now for you to pass on a few words?’

‘Oh! Yes. Lord Arveldir, please will you say to my brothers that I love and miss them.’

‘Anything more?’

‘Just my brothers, thank you.’

*

Well, Glorfindel mused as he headed off towards his quarters, that had hardly been worth delaying his bath for, had it?

He turned down another corridor, along the next, only to find himself standing outside the library.

Library? What would Thranduil want with a library?

He was lost.

Backtracking, he managed to find his way, not back to Arveldir’s study, but to the entrance to the enclosed gardens. Cursing himself, he was about to strike out again in a different direction when he heard a soft sound from the other side of the open door. Curious, and concerned, for it had been a sad sound, he pushed his way through to find a hunched figure seated on a bench.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked, taking a seat next to the figure and recognising him as Triwathon, the ellon who had decorated his flame scars for him with purple pigment. The one who, so rumour said, had been cruelly jilted on the way home. Triwathon’s fingers had trembled, he remembered, and the touch of paint on his skin had made Glorfindel shiver.

‘I have just been – in company with my king, no less – to speak with the family of… one of the fallen. He was my friend. I had to speak to his mother, his sister… and… speak my memories to the starlight jewel… it was hard.’

‘I do not know this custom. It seems to me a very beautiful thing, and yet, yes, a hard one. How would I feel, I wonder, if I could not say the name of my own honoured dead, except for a few rare days?’

Triwathon made a sound which could have been a sob, and Glorfindel put an arm round his shoulders, drew him in to comfort him, trying not to notice that it actually felt quite nice to have someone to hold.

‘You know, if you need to talk of your friend, if it is only his name that you aren’t allowed to say, you could substitute another word? If he liked a certain food, or colour. You could say, my friend Purple, or friend Blackberry… or such…’

Triwathon moved, sat up and faced forward. Glorfindel relaxed his hold, but let his arm stay where it was, now draped lightly around Triwathon’s shoulders.

‘My friend... my friend Fine Red Wine… we knew each other from our early days in the guard. He was a fine shot, and made me a better one than I had been. Every time I hold a bow, I remember him, steadying my hand. I miss him.’

‘I had a friend, too, in the long-ago. He was bold and he was beautiful and he had a voice to make the Ainur weep for joy… I loved him with a fire and a frenzy and with despair, for in the end, he died. My beautiful Lord of the Fountain, and I could not save him for I died too, and it broke our hearts to meet again in the Halls of Mandos, for we both had hoped the other would survive.’ Glorfindel sighed. ‘And now I am here and he is… still in the halls, or else somewhere in Valinor, and it is all done between us. But I have not forgotten him, even though I have had other loves since, and probably will love again, before I die or sail or fade.’  
Triwathon sat back and dropped his head against Glorfindel’s shoulder.

‘Fine Red Wine, he would watch my back, I his. There was nothing formal between us, no vows… I do not think his mother would have approved if we had taken vows. But we did not need to. He took risks, sometimes, and I took them, too, with him, he gave me courage. We were caught out, once – in a flet, down time, our time, and spiders came through… he lost a long strip of skin all down one leg, but nobody asked how he managed it. When he died…’

‘When someone you love dies, it’s as if all the life is suddenly punched out of you. You curl up around the pain, and you try to hide from it, but it’s always there. The worst moments are when you come out of reverie. Just for a second, you’re at peace, rested, and then you remember. And they die all over again.’

‘And you look for something to take it away,’ Triwathon whispered. ‘Someone.’

‘And sometimes, you find the wrong person. Or the wrong person finds you.’

‘Yes. I thought I had found… but then… He said… he promised – almost promised… and then, oh, then he said he’d changed his mind. I was too… too much, too needing, but he was the one doing the taking, always taking, and he had… here, at home… someone…’

‘It was wrong to do that to you. It is a stain on his fëa, whomever he might be, and he will regret it, in time. If not before his death, then when he reaches the Halls, then he will pay for it.’

‘I do not seek revenge. Only peace, my lord, just a little peace.’

Glorfindel sighed and let his head drop towards Triwathon’s. 

‘That sounds pleasant.’

They sat for a while in the peaceful garden. Slowly, the atmosphere seemed to change, the mood losing its sombre overtones, becoming less sorrowful, more optimistic. It grew charged. Glorfindel found he didn’t want to move, Triwathon was warm against him, his hair smooth under Glorfindel’s cheek, his soft breathing measuring the moments. A quiet ellon, a gentle type, the sort whose courage was found in danger and risk, but which faltered easily amongst his peers. 

The sort you’d be glad of in a tight spot, once he got over his awe of calling you by name.

‘I got lost,’ Glorfindel admitted. ‘I was looking for my room and took a wrong turn somewhere.’

‘It is easily done in the palace, my lord. There are many turns and levels, and not all the passages are clearly marked. 

Glorfindel realised he’d actually quite like for Triwathon to lose his awe of him.

‘I’m still wearing warrior paint beneath my clothes. I’d like to get rid of it now, I think.’

‘Would you like me to show you the way to the bathing rooms? Or your quarters, my lord?’

‘I’d like you to feel you could use my name, Triwathon. Could you, do you think?’

‘Yes, I could… if you want…?’

Yes. Yes, Glorfindel wanted, suddenly, badly. Not what the ellon meant, though. He lifted his head and moved his arm from around Triwathon’s shoulders so he could get to his feet.

‘My chamber has a bathing room attached. Quite a large one, if you want to clean away your own paint?’

‘My… Glorfindel?’

The seneschal swallowed. Obviously, Triwathon had been about to call him ‘my lord’, and changed his mind, using his name instead, but the combination of the two words twisted his heart and left him dry in the mouth and longing to reach out… 

He swallowed again and rebuked himself. This ellon had been through a lot lately, by all accounts, and deserved more than to be pursued by an ancient relic for a night or a week or a month… or however long. 

‘My room? Something about a starlight chamber?’

‘Oh, I know the ones. The very best rooms, for visitors… they’re not far. Quite near to the library; perhaps you went wrong there.’

‘Perhaps. Or perhaps I was led to the gardens for another reason.’

‘I was glad of your company. Your kindness has eased my mind. To have a way to still talk about my friend, it is a comfort.’ 

Triwathon managed a smile, not quite meeting Glorfindel’s eyes, and led the way back into the palace complex.

‘Just down here… there is the library, you see. And just beyond, this turn…’

They stopped at the junction with a corridor Glorfindel recognised. 

‘Do you think you can find your way from here?’

The remark should have made Glorfindel feel he was being called a fool, unable to pick one door out of four, but asked in Triwathon’s anxious-to-please tones, somehow, it didn’t.

Glorfindel turned to his companion and blessed him with the full power of his most enchanting smile.

‘If I say no, will you walk me all the way to my door?’ he asked, keeping his tone light and playful.

Triwathon smiled back, meeting his gaze and then tearing his eyes away.

‘Of course. This way.’

‘Triwathon? Why can’t you look me in the eye?’ Glorfindel followed, suddenly needing to ask, to know. ‘What is it, did I offend you, or speak over-forwardly, or…?’

‘It is your eyes, Glorfindel.’ Triwathon looked up at him, his own rich, brown eyes supplicating and his voice fell to a whisper as he went on. ‘They are… too blue.’

Glorfindel’s breath caught in his throat and he pushed open the door. It was an invitation, a suggestion, a portent. Neither made to step inside.

‘Too blue?’ he echoed.

‘Yes. Like they say the sea is blue, so very blue, and clear. But I am Silvan. No matter how strong the call of the sea, I may not sail.’

Glorfindel stared down into the intense, heart-breaking eyes and took a deep breath.

‘Well, that’s a load of rubbish for a start,’ he said briskly. ‘Are you coming in, then, or what?’

*

Triwathon gulped and followed Glorfindel into the room. He’d never, actually, been inside one of these elite guest chambers before, and didn’t know where to look first; at the spacious surroundings, the comfortable furnishings, the wondrous crystal skylight which gave a clear view of the stars above… or at the beautiful ellon with eyes bluer than the sea who had just tumbled Triwathon’s emotions into strange, new configurations.

‘There’s wine, if you’d like?’

Glorfindel was already pouring the bright gold wine into two cups. Not fine red wine…

‘Thank you.’ He sipped at the wine and lowered himself onto the couch Glorfindel had indicated. ‘May I ask, what did you mean? About not sailing being… rubbish?’

‘Oh, that.’ Glorfindel joined him on the couch, sitting forward on the very edge and resting his elbows on his knees. ‘Well, Silvans didn’t take part in any kinslayings. Silvans didn’t need to sue for pardon of the Valar. Why would you then be forbidden to sail?’

‘Because we never followed the call. We were disobedient…’

‘It was an invitation. It wasn’t a command, not by any stretch of the imagination. I should know, I spent enough time in the Halls chatting with those who ought to have some idea what they were talking about…’

‘Really?’

‘Really. At the very least, there are some of the outer islands where I’ve seen Silvans, I’m sure I have…’ He broke off and sighed. ‘I suppose I can’t expect to overturn the beliefs of two ages with one brief sentence, can I? And why should I even try?’

‘It is different for you, perhaps. You have been there.’

‘Yes. And I’m here now. And so are you, in my room.’ Glorfindel turned to smile at him. ‘How nice is that?’

‘I…’ Triwathon gulped at the contents of his wine cup. ‘Thank you for the drink, Glorfindel. It is very nice, to be here, in your room, but perhaps I ought to go…’

‘If you want.’ Glorfindel got to his feet and shrugged out of his tunic, peeled off his shirt to reveal his torso, the red flames of the balrog’s whip outlined with purple pigment, the white of his scars enhanced with orange paint, the gold flames of his hair brushing over his shoulders. ‘But I was going to ask if you’d mind washing my back for me? After all, it was your hand laid these colours on my skin, your touch so gentle, but I felt the tremble of the paint sticks and I found it hard to keep from turning and pushing you to the ground, right there, in the midst of all your comrades, in front of your commander and if you still want to leave, forgive me, feel free to go.’

‘No, I… I don’t want to leave. Perhaps I should; you are Glorfindel, you are the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, and I am…’

‘You are Triwathon, of the gentle fingers, and you are beautiful.’

Triwathon stepped closer, lifted a tremulous hand to lay his fingers on Glorfindel’s chest below his throat, where he could just feel the seneschal’s larynx move as he swallowed and spoke.

‘I can make no promises,’ Glorfindel said. ‘I may be here for a week, a month, a season… when Arwen decides she wants to go back to her adar, then l must go too, see her safely home. But there is no-one waiting for me at home – there is no home, not really – I am not foresworn. I can only offer what I am while I am here, for a night, a week… as long as pleases you. I would not hurt you, would not add to your pain and I realise you are hurting…’

Triwathon kissed his neck and Glorfindel put his arms round him automatically.

‘I do not need promises,’ Triwathon said, breaking off from the kiss to stroke Glorfindel’s chest, smudging and smearing the paint. ‘I simply need…’

‘Yes. Need.’

By the time they reached the bedroom, Glorfindel’s heart was hammering and they had both parted company with their clothes. Triwathon’s need was urgent, his kisses almost an assault, and their embrace felt almost more of a wrestling for dominance than a tender encounter.

Yet in spite of that, in the face of Triwathon’s urgency and Glorfindel’s initial reluctance to allow himself to submit to his companion’s lead, yet submit he did, and it was tender, and gentle, and loving, so that submission to so much tenderness was exquisitely satisfying. And if it was rare for Glorfindel to put himself so completely at the mercy of another, yet he was well rewarded by the sound of Triwathon gasping as he buried himself deeply inside him, clutching at him and pulling at his hips, pressing into the sensitive places of his body so that he, too, cried out into the pillows, almost sobbing Triwathon’s name as his gentle fingers came round to cup and caress and circle and stroke and finally explode him into the bedding, his release triggering Triwathon’s own climax so that he heard his name moaned and for a moment – just for a moment, for the first time in centuries – he felt cherished.

Pressure against his back, and sudden emptiness as Triwathon pulled out and rolled away. Glorfindel stirred, moved onto his back and turned towards the flame-haired warrior.

‘Are you not a cuddler, Triwathon?’ he asked.

‘I… I assumed you would want me to go…’

‘…because I am a cuddler.’ He reached out to pull Triwathon towards him, relieved when the hot, firm body relaxed back towards him. ‘I like to hold and be held, afterwards. Especially after something so fine and generous as we have just shared. And why would I want you to go so soon? Of course, if you do not want that kind of closeness…’

Triwathon put his cheek on Glorfindel’s chest, transferring purple warrior paint onto his face, and slid his arm across the muscular, scarred body.

‘I… my Fine Red Wine spooned. I think I like that you are a cuddler. That I do not have to go yet.’

Glorfindel smiled and brought his arm around Triwathon to give him a little squeeze, dropping a kiss on the auburn hair.

‘My Lord of the Fountain didn’t just cuddle. He was more of a snuggler,’ he confided. ‘Would make me late for breakfast, for patrol, for lunch, for meetings, weapons practice, dinner, just for the sake of snuggling for five minutes more…’

‘Late for dinner?’ Triwathon lifted his head. ‘Ai! My lord king has given me a place on the high table tonight… I must not be late…’

‘Servant’s meant to be giving me a call in plenty of time.’ Glorfindel stirred slightly, reluctant to move, to break the easy comfort. ‘But I’m still all painted up…’

‘Do you still want help with your back?’

Glorfindel smiled. ‘I’ll wash yours if you wash mine. Only we might never get to dinner… Of course, if we walk in together, would anyone dare ask why we were late…’

‘I will need to go back to my room and get a fresh shirt... but I have been told I may bring a guest to the table.’

‘Might you, indeed? And is that an invitation?’

Glorfindel felt Triwathon’s face lift as he smiled.

‘I think it is, yes. If you will.’

‘Triwathon, I’d be delighted.’


	175. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel gives Arveldir a headache...

Arveldir tried not to frown as he shook his head at Glorfindel’s rejection of the high honour offered him.

‘This is most irregular! My lord, his majesty expected you to be seated on his left…’

Glorfindel shrugged.

‘But Triwathon invited me to be his dinner guest, and his seat and the place for his guest…’

‘Please, Lord Arveldir, do not let me spoil the arrangements…’ Triwathon put in.

Glorfindel was about to protest when he realised that to do so would embarrass his friend.

‘Could Triwathon sit on my other side? Then we’ll all be happy.’

‘My lord, that would mean rearranging the top table; we had planned for the Lady Arwen to be your dinner partner and…’

‘I can have a tray on my lap in my room instead, if that helps.’ Glorfindel gave Arveldir an outrageous wink. ‘My friend too, of course.’

Erestor stepped up, a smile tugging his lips and placed a calming hand on Arveldir’s arm. 

‘Mellon-nin, I have the benefit of long experience with Lord Glorfindel’s… whims. Eventually, he will persuade you, and your head will ache less if you accommodate him sooner rather than later.’

Glorfindel gave his best grin.

‘Go on, Arveldir. Accommodate me.’

‘Fine. Very well. We will put Lady Arwen next to the king, then you can sit next to her with your friend on your other side. And those of us who do not have partners or dinner guests will fill in around the couples.’ He huffed out a sigh. ‘But it is most inconvenient!’

‘Well, how is that my fault?’ Glorfindel’s too-blue eyes were all wide and innocent. ‘All I did was accept a dinner invitation…’  
Arveldir sniffed.

‘Well, at least it is not so near to time that the servants cannot rearrange the table… but I must attend the king now… Erestor, may I leave you to see everyone in their places?’

Glorfindel gave Triwathon a gentle bump with his shoulder.

‘You won’t mind sitting with me, instead of me with you, I hope?’ he said. ‘That is, we know I’m your guest, not the other way round. Quite happy to let it be known, though, if…’

‘No, indeed – it is an honour for one such as I to be at the high table to begin with and…’

‘Yes. To be allowed to eat your dinner in company with, oh look, there’s Thiriston Cut-Face and his friend… see, he still has the pretty flowers on his face! And we will be close enough to watch Commander Esgaron’s table manners, too! You’ll pardon me if I don’t seem impressed…’

Triwathon tried to smile as he took his place beside Glorfindel, standing behind their chairs. Around them, the rest of the guests did the same, those familiar with the protocols telling those who were not, so that Erestor had very little to do except note the empty places and look as if he had organised everything.

‘After all,’ Glorfindel went on, ‘we’ve been eating our supper around the same camp fire as the king and Legolas for weeks now…’

‘But now we are not just sharing food together. We are breaking bread at King Thranduil’s board, and everyone at the other tables can see how his majesty honours us. You noted Canadion of the flowers; his Naneth is at the side table, there, and she is beaming with joy to see him so placed.’

‘And your own family?’

‘I have no close kin remaining, some cousins who came, I think, to see us ride in. They are on the fourth table back, and I think they see me. This will be spoken of for all of us who are warriors, guards. We none of us expect to be so exalted, when we make our promise of service, but we all know it might.’ 

Triwathon turned to glance at his dinner guest. ‘Perhaps it is different, in Rivendell.’

Glorfindel thought for a moment.

‘Yes, I suppose it is. Elrond likes to have the formalities observed. He pretends not to mind when I insist on having a tray in my rooms, but I know he does. Probably why I do it so much. It’s not like Gondolin.’

‘Perhaps the memories would pain you more, if it were.’

The seneschal looked at Triwathon with new respect.

‘Possibly. But… there is something about this place, seeing this great cavern all set out like this. Now, it puts me in mind of the grandeur of the old days… and no, that’s not painful, not really. Except I find I miss the simplicity of service that we had then.’

‘I expect – it is foolish to state, perhaps – you have no close family remaining either.’

‘Not foolish at all. People see me, see the old stories, and forget that for me they’re not stories, but memories.’ He stopped with a sigh to smile at Triwathon. ‘But, you know, I find I don’t miss my family. I miss my friends. So to be able to make a new friendship… that is a blessing, that is an honour.’

Legolas and Govon arrived, Merlinith with them, the last to take their places before the king arrived.

Nestoril, also at the high table, watched as Thranduil swept in, attended by Arveldir, and took his place. His expression was as impassive as ever, his damaged eye covered and his injured cheek and jaw showing, an unpleasant red and brown and pink blemish on the beautiful precision of his features. He stood, allowing himself to be seen, presenting himself for scrutiny.

A murmur ran through the lower tables as those who had not seen the king arrive now saw the reality of his injury displayed before them. Nestoril sighed to herself. It had taken all her powers of persuasion to make the king allow her to cover his eye.

‘But I would not hide from my people, Nestoril!’ Thranduil had said. ‘You must see that those who have lost friends and family, those whose loved ones have come back blemished need to know that their king has some share in their distress…’

‘That is all very well, my king, but would you also put them off their dinner?’ she had demanded.

‘There will be speeches. The patch might slip.’

‘Then I will be on hand with a spare patch. And you will be stared at, while you speak, sire. It would be too hard, to make them see your eye as well as your face.’

And so he had acquiesced, reluctant, too proud to admit to a sort of relief. He was not vain, he knew he was not vain, but his people expected him to look a certain way, and the exposed, damaged eye was just too difficult to bare to the populace.

Nestoril felt her heart swell with pride. He was her king, and he was bearing pain and disfigurement with dignity and outward acceptance. His fine summer crown was on his head, he wore his silver-threaded robes of office over a white shirt, at his neck a white chain with one single diamond housed in a cage of fine silverwork, and she felt emotion crowd her, suddenly, seeing the jewel. 

The king had brought his late consort to dinner, or at least all the memories of her, long ago recorded in the starlight gemstone, the diamond glinting at his throat. Any Silvan watching would see, and know it meant there were other dead to be remembered tonight, would see this as Thranduil’s way of preparing them for loss.

The king lowered himself to his seat, and with that, the rest of the top table sat, everyone else around the hall took their seats, and the meal was served.

Legolas found himself placed between Arwen on his right and Govon to his left, which was not what he’d expected – if proper protocol was being observed, he should have been next to his father – but which suited him perfectly well. He wondered whether it was his doing – on impulse, he had suggested Merlinith join them, assuring her that there would be bound to be a place for her as his guest, as his honour-sister, and Govon had backed him up. 

In truth, Legolas had expected protests or at least pursed lips from Lord Arveldir when they arrived to be seated, but Arveldir had already left to fetch the king, leaving Erestor in charge of placing the later arrivals, and everything was sorted out in an instant.

He did wonder, though, if that was why Glorfindel had ended up with Triwathon to his right. Having been present when Govon had shoved the very-helpful warrior towards Glorfindel to have his battle-marks decorated, he knew that they had, at least, been introduced. He hoped that would have been enough to enable Triwathon to lose his awe of the great lord at his side, that he would not be overwhelmed with shyness as sometimes he seemed he would be… 

Real food, proper food, with choices of vegetables, water that could be drunk without considering how far some poor warrior was going to have to trudged to refill the water skins, plenty of wine and beer, Govon next to him, the warmth of their touching legs, all made for a very pleasant dinner and it was a little while before Legolas had attention for anything else. But Merlinith was starting to enquire about the company, and both Govon and he were called on to reply.

‘Who is that very fine ellon next to our king?’ Merlinith said softly to Govon.

‘One of our guests from Imladris,’ Govon replied quietly. ‘A name you will know, for I remember we heared the stories together, when we both were elflings. That, my sister, is Glorfindel.’

She gasped and clutched at Govon’s arm.

‘The Balrog-slayer?’

Govon nodded.

‘The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower? Oh, Govon…!’

‘Indeed. And he is all the stories say, and more.’

‘He’s also become a friend,’ Legolas put in.

‘And the warrior with him, it’s Triwathon, is it not? Well, they look content enough. Ai, it is no wonder there are so few elflings about the place, is it?’

Puzzled, Legolas glanced across in time to see Glorfindel pouring dark red wine into Triwathon’s cup, the two sharing a private toast, it seemed, both of them smiling in a sombre sort of way, neither of them seeming to notice anything outside the circle of themselves.

‘Oh. I see what you mean… I didn’t realise… Govon, did you know?’

Govon leaned in to him for a moment, the contact a frisson of pleasure.

‘None of my business, not now we’re home. As long as he’s kind to my warrior’s fëa, I have no objections.’

Legolas smiled at Merlinith.

‘Now you tell me something,’ he said, looking swiftly across the table. ‘Who is that elleth with Commander Esgaron? I don’t think I’ve seen him with a dinner partner before?’

‘Oh, that would be Araspen. It is said that there is talk of vows between them, and Esgaron only waiting until he got back from the trip to ask her. They’ve been visiting together for ages, but the commander wanted to keep it private… I know one of her sisters slightly, she seems a quiet sort of person. Self-contained, you might say.’

‘She doesn’t look as if she’s in love,’ Legolas murmured.

‘Well, we’re not all blessed with finding our one true love,’ Merlinith said. ‘What is an elleth to do? Many of us want elflings of our own – there is no denying the forest needs more elflings, and looking around the table, it does not seem as if we will have much help from the guard!’ She broke off to sniff, glancing at Thiriston and Canadion, at Glorfindel and Triwathon, and was careful not to catch Govon’s eye. ‘And sometimes there is enough in respect and affection and the kind of love that grows, rather than the type that hits like a thunderstorm, to build a life together on.’ 

‘Your time will come, Merlinith,’ Govon said. 

‘I do not think so! I think my time has passed me long by.’

She subsided back into her seat for a moment, and then nudged her brother again.

‘Why is Commander Esgaron staring at Triwathon, do you think?’

‘I could not say.’

Legolas glanced over. It was true, Esgaron was indeed staring at Triwathon and Glorfindel, as if he had never seen either of them before. Small wonder, he realised; the Balrog-slayer was engrossed in his dinner partner… was that a hair-toss? Did Glorfindel just toss his hair and wink at Triwathon? 

As Glorfindel was not making it easy for the king to converse with him, Arwen was thus bearing the brunt of his majesty’s social interaction, sparing Legolas the need to divide his own attention away from Govon and, granted, occasionally Merlinith.

The meal lasted forever, testimony to a general approval of a return to proper cooking. Although none of the company had gone short of food on the trip, still, it was good to have the variety and richness of the palace kitchens on display once more.

 

Finally, however, Thranduil nodded at Arveldir, and the advisor had the tables cleared. The glasses were refilled, and Arveldir got to his feet to call attention to the king.

Thranduil got to his feet and the room fell silent. The eyes of the room were on him, but he stood taller and carried himself more majestically as he looked back at his people.

‘Mellyn-nin,’ he began. ‘We are returned. We come home with fewer than we set out with. It saddens me to say we lost five warriors to dragon fire, and, previously, another two were lost to spider venom… our thoughts are with the families and friends of those who gave so much to protect us on our journey.’

The king paused for them to take in his words.

‘We have had injury as well as loss. Many of our warriors suffered the strokes of dragon flame. We owe much to the labours of our healers, Nestoril and Feril, and the assistance of Lord Glorfindel, who have laboured tirelessly to help those in pain. We note also the extreme courage of our warriors Thiriston and Canadion who, at great risk to themselves, brought three cauls of healing spider silk back to our camp so that the healers had proper materials to work with. In addition, you will note my sons… your princes Iauron and Tharmeduil are not present amongst us tonight. With regret I give you the news that both are ill. However, their lives are not at risk.’

Thranduil took another moment for the news to be absorbed.

‘On a different note, we welcome amongst us Healer Feril, Lord Erestor, Lady Arwen, and Lord Glorfindel of Imladris, who have returned to sojourn amongst us.’

Arwen waved in return to the interested glances of the people. Thranduil pretended not to notice.

‘So now we will join together to drink to our lost warriors, to honour them, and to remember their service.’

Thranduil raised his goblet and drank, and the people drank after him. He inclined his head to them, set down the empty wine cup, and turned and stalked away from the table.

Silence sat over the room for a long moment before Arveldir gave another signal, more wine went round, and the gathered people relaxed and began talking again. Arwen, suddenly remembering Legolas was on her other side, turned to him with a smile.

‘Now what happens?’ she asked. ‘Do you have somewhere like the Hall of Fire at home, where everyone gathers?’

‘Generally, we sit for a time over the wine and the beer, and then return to our rooms. It is not like Imladris; sometimes, we will return to the homes of our friends to visit for an hour or so.’

‘Oh. Well… would you like to come back for a chat?’ 

Legolas smiled and shook his head.

‘You are very kind. But Govon and I have been invited back by Merlinith – his sister…’

Govon interrupted, placing his hand on Legolas’ leg under the table.

‘Merlinith knits,’ he said. ‘Perhaps she and Arwen would like to come back to our rooms, instead?’

‘That would be fine,’ Legolas said. ‘But did we leave them tidy?’

‘…ah…’

‘My place it is, then,’ Arwen said decisively. ‘And your sister is very welcome!’


	176. Suitable Quarters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion's Naneth is introduced...

While Govon was making hasty introductions between Arwen and his sister, Legolas rose and crossed to where Arveldir and Erestor were taking one more glass of wine before making a move away from the table.

‘Arveldir, will you deliver something for me?’ he asked. ‘It should only take a moment of your time… I don’t want to do it myself, it would draw too much attention…’

‘Certainly, my prince. What and to whom?’

Legolas drew out a folded sheet of paper and a key.

‘The names are on the outside. I think it’s time we dealt with the issue properly, but this will tide things over for a night or two, I think.’

Arveldir looked at the names and raised his eyebrows.

‘And what does the king your father think about this?’

‘I don’t know; we haven’t discussed it. He’s been a little busy, Arveldir, after all…’

‘Very well, my prince, I will see to it at once…’

‘You could look less disapproving – after all, think how you’d feel...’

‘Quite,’ Arveldir said stiffly, ignoring Legolas’ grin.

‘You’d better hurry – it looks like they’re about to be ambushed… Oh, that is not looking good…’

Arveldir hurried.

*

Glorfindel emptied the bottle of red wine into his and Triwathon’s glasses and propped his chin on his hand to watch while the warrior drank.

‘So,’ he said, when he had set down his empty goblet. ‘Now you’ve taken me to dinner, are you going to take me home and offer me a nightcap?’

‘I would like to,’ Triwathon replied. ‘If you would care to visit my small room, you would be welcome. But it is a small room, no bathing area, no view of the stars through a crystal skylight. Warriors’ quarters, that’s all it is.’

‘Sounds perfectly fine to me. Lead on.’ 

Glorfindel got to his feet and linked arms easily with the warrior, swaggering just a little for the benefit Esgaron, who was still staring. 

It was a fair walk through the palace corridors, as the warriors’ quarters were close to the barracks, and when Triwathon opened the door and gestured Glorfindel to enter, the seneschal whistled in appreciation.

There was a narrow bed with a weapons chest at the foot, a small table with chair pushed under, a few cupboards on the walls and a small sofa. An open doorway with a curtain drawn half across showed very basic hygiene facilities.

‘Ai! A true warrior’s room, I think!’

‘I am unmarried; these quarters are considered quite spacious, for one person.’ Triwathon lit the lamps and found cups and beer in one of his cupboards, gesturing Glorfindel to sit. ‘The barracks has its own bathing room and canteen; I need nothing more. You will understand.’

Glorfindel chose to sit on the narrow single bed rather than on the sofa.

‘And you’re all meant to sleep alone?’

‘While we are single, yes. Married warriors have family quarters.’

‘But what about those like Canadion and Thiriston, for example? What do established couples do?’

‘They visit each other’s rooms. Where possible, the commanders try to arrange adjacent quarters for the couples. And they learn to cuddle, or to spoon. It is different while we are out on patrol, the commanders and captains generally do not enquire too closely, as long as the warriors are alert and do not let their work suffer.’

‘It seems unfair.’

‘It is just unfortunate, I think.’ Triwathon shrugged. ‘Since marriage is for the purpose of getting elflings, such as I do not marry. Vows are enough for those like me, in general, but family quarters are for families. What is it like, in Rivendell?’

Glorfindel sighed.

‘I think it is more difficult. Such couples do not advertise themselves. For myself, I have been alone for a long time, so the rules of Imladris have not troubled me unduly. Gondolin was better, there was more openness, more freedom to love where one wished.’

Triwathon sat on the bed next to Glorfindel and handed him an opened bottle of beer.

‘I would like to hear about Gondolin. If you do not mind telling me. And I do not mean the famous stories, I mean the real stories, what it was like in peacetime, what your usual life was like.’

‘Gladly. But you will tire of listening before I will tire of telling.’ Glorfindel tipped his bottle towards Triwathon. ‘So perhaps we can save that for another time? For now I would like to try out your bed, if that is all right with you?’

He gave his golden smile and set down his beer, noticing something for the first time.

‘You have no window? Do you mind that?’

‘I am used to it. Generally, I am out in the day quite early for parade and practice and the day’s orders, so it is no hardship. Do you mind the utter dark?’

‘I am sure I will not. As long as you are here with me, I do not think I will mind anything tonight. But it is a good thing I like cuddling.’

*

In the dining hall, finishing his drink, Canadion stared as he saw someone he knew at the lower tables.

‘Thiriston, look! My Naneth just waved at me! She is coming over! You haven’t met my family, have you?’

‘No… and after what you told me about them, I’ve no wish to, either!’ Thiriston clattered back his chair and reached for Canadion’s hand. ‘Shall we go?’

‘But… Thiriston… it’s my naneth.’ The hurt in his penneth’s voice gave Thiriston pause. ‘I have not seen her for ages… she was not here when the king feasted us before we left, she could not come…’

Thiriston sighed.

‘Your naneth. You told me she was horrified when she learned how you are…’

‘She was, to begin. Now, I think not quite so much; we do not often mention the matter.’

‘Often?’

Canadion sighed.

‘Ever. If we do not talk about me, we do not get upset with each other. But, melleth…’

‘They do not know about me, then, your family?’

‘I would like for them to,’ Canadion said in a very small voice.

‘Well, callon-nin, if you have courage enough for that, then I will try and meet your naneth without thinking of the hurt she caused you; just because I have lost my parents does not mean I ought to let you be estranged from yours.’

And, to be fair, the elleth who approached did not look cruel or unkind. She looked like anybody’s naneth, really, except she had the same long lashes and curve of lip as Canadion, and would have been quite pretty as a result, for an elleth, Thiriston thought.

He got behind his penneth and put his hands on Canadion’s shoulders as the elleth approached, her expression turning from a smiling welcome to puzzled look.

‘Canadion?’ she began, her voice wavering.

‘Naneth, this is Thiriston, he is my fëa-mate and we are going to take vows,’ Canadion said in a rush. 

Somehow, without moving, the elleth seemed to take a step back. Thiriston inclined his head.

‘My naneth’s name is Cullasbes,’ Canadion offered.

‘My lady.’

Cullasbes attempted to ignore Thiriston, at first. Finally, she shot him a darkling glance, her lips hardening, realising she would have to acknowledge him.

‘Our king spoke highly of you,’ she said. ‘Canadion, are you well?’

‘I am well, and happy.’ Canadion glanced over his shoulder, up into Thiriston’s face. The fingers on his shoulders tightened for a moment in reassurance. ‘When we have decided a time for the ritual, I will let you know.’

‘Have you known him long?’ Silence met her question, and she tipped her head. ‘I am sorry, Canadion, that sounded ill-bred. I mean, have you known each other long?’

‘Since my first days as a warrior,’ Canadion said. ‘But we have been lovers for a little more than a decade.’

Cullasbes sniffed. ‘No time at all, then. It’s far too soon to be taking vows.’

‘But our prince met his fëa-mate and they were avowed within two months!’ Canadion protested.

‘Well, even if he is your far cousin, he is Sindar, he is our prince, he can do as he pleases! He no longer has a mother to disappoint…’

This made Canadion wince and he felt Thiriston’s fingers grip harder again, this time in anger, he thought.

‘Naneth…’

Before he could continue, Thiriston spoke up.

‘My lady,’ he began, keeping his gruff voice level with difficulty, ‘your son is a hero. He has braved many terrors on this trip, he smothered the flames that would otherwise have consumed our king. His own face burned and he is only just healed. If you insist on being disappointed in him, if you cannot love him for what he is, then that is your loss. I have love enough to make up any lack from his family.’

‘What makes you think I am interested in your opinion?’ Cullasbes gasped. ‘Canadion, I am sorry if you were injured but that is no reason to throw yourself away like this! If you are such a hero, I am sure the king would not approve of you associating with…’

‘Forgive the intrusion,’ Arveldir interrupted smoothly, bowing towards Cullasbes and then turning his attention to Canadion and Thiriston. ‘His royal highness the Prince Regent has asked me to give you this, the key to one of our guest chambers, in acknowledgement of your service.’ 

He turned back to Cullasbes, his tone apologetic. ‘The lack of suitable married quarters for our male warrior couples is regrettable, but has been noted and should be properly addressed in the near future. For the interim, we will house your son and his fëa-mate as best as we can. I wish you a pleasant evening; I must get on.’

Cullasbes gaped, and Thiriston turned Canadion to face him with a smile that sat more in his eyes than on his mouth.

‘Are you ready to go, melleth?’

‘I think so.’ Canadion turned back to his mother. ‘Naneth, I will send you word, and if you want to come and see us vowed, you will be welcome, and if you do not, well, I will have my melleth to console me.’


	177. '...Here for a Reprimand...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Govon and the Court Guard return to duty..

Legolas mumbled and tried to hold on to Govon as his fëa-mate slid out of the bed.

‘…too early……stay longer…’

‘I cannot, my fair elf.’ Govon leaned back to drop a swift kiss on Legolas’ forehead. ‘Back to work, for me…’

Legolas muttered something further and then sat up with a gasp.

‘But I said we would go and visit with Flora today…’

‘Your human friend?’ Govon headed for the bathing room for a hasty wash. ‘She is here, then?’

‘Yes.’ This was an important conversation, not one to be had in different rooms, so Legolas reluctantly left the embrace of his bed and followed to prop himself on the door frame, trying to make himself alert. ‘When I went to see if I could visit my brothers. Healer Gyril was just giving me a message from Nestoril saying Flora was there, when she came in from the gardens and saw me and we talked for a minute, and I meant to tell you but with Merlinith, and dinner, and Arwen and…’

He trailed off, realising he sounded overanxious.

‘I do not want to see Flora without you, melleth,’ he finished.

Govon reached out a wet hand, grabbed Legolas’ wrist, and tugged so that his fair elf tumbled into the bathing pool and Govon’s embrace. A wash of water leapt out of the pool and landed in roughly the same area.

‘You are worried.’ Govon pulled Legolas against him. ‘Do not be. If you wish to see this human female, do so. If you want me to go with you, well, it will have to wait for the lunch hour…’

‘I was going to put together something to eat with you on the greensward for lunch, friend captain…’

‘A kind thought. Thank you, I will admit I would rather do that than meet a human. When I have finished for the day, we will go to see her then, if you like. Or you can go alone, I do not mind.’

‘Thank you. With you, I will wait for you.’

Govon kissed him and pushed him against the edge of the pool.

‘Ai, if I had time, what I would do… but I have to go, I cannot be getting into any more trouble with Commander Esgaron.’

‘Go, then.’ Legolas smiled as Govon pulled away and reached for his towel. ‘And look for me on the greensward.’

*

Govon was early enough at the assembly point to arrive before Commander Bregon but to find Commander Esgaron already there, stalking as he waited for the dregs of his warriors to turn up. Most were already present, clustering and talking softly, not under orders until Over-Captain Rawon arrived. Bregon’s warriors, too, were assembling, waiting in a different area of the ground.

‘Good day, Commander Govon,’ a voice said smartly.

‘Lieutenant Tinuon, good morning.’

‘I passed Canadion and Triwathon on my way; I do not think they will be long, sir. Has there been any word yet, Commander?’

‘Not yet. So we’ll treat it as business as usual, until we hear otherwise.’

Hador hurried up, looking worried and tired and sated all at once; Govon knew the feeling.

‘Hador, take your time. Nobody is late yet today.’

‘Thank you, Commander.’

From the doorway, Triwathon emerged, returned, seemingly pulled back, and then came out again, trying to hide a beaming smile. Govon shook his head mentally, sure his latest recruit was walking a little oddly, but decided to ignore it. Canadion and Thiriston marched up together in good order just as Esgaron called his command to attention.

‘Very well. Good morning, all. Let’s have a little bit of order now,’ Govon said, softly.

It was enough, though, and his command fell into their accustomed places, Canadion and Thiriston behind Hador and Triwathon, Tinuon as his second, at his side. They stood tall and straight and proud, any traces of tiredness gone.

Commander Bregon, barely arrived, called his warriors to order just as Over-Captain Rawon’s shout was heard.

Rawon moved amongst them, speaking to Esgaron first, then Bregon, finally stopping next to Govon.

‘Welcome home, Commander. The loss of your warrior was noted, we were sorry.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘And the rest of you? In good order?’

‘Pretty much, Captain. I would recommend Thiriston reports to the healers for a problem with his hand.’

‘Fighting again, by any chance?’

‘Defending his prince, in fact.’

‘That will make interesting hearing; I’ll have your report directly.’

‘Sir.’

‘Very well, give your day’s orders.’

‘Thank you, sir. Thiriston, you will get your injury attended to then report back. The rest of you, we’re not in the forest any longer, but the palace complex may be just as bewildering, if less dangerous to our guests than Mirkwood itself. That being so, I want you to help with their orientation. Canadion, Healer Feril has spoken highly of you; put yourself at her disposal today. Triwathon, since Thiriston will be in the healer hall, I want you to take over the care of Lord Glorfindel, please… Hador, present yourself to Lady Arwen, and Tinuon, I would like you to offer your services to Lord Erestor. Chances are that one or two will claim their friends will show them around, and that is fine – but point out you are under orders and that if you don’t give them the tour, you could be put on report. Escort them around the palace, point out the important regulations, you know the sort of thing. If they should want to go for a walk, walk with them. If they wish to make sure the king’s elk is happy, attend them to the elk… very well. Dismissed.’

He let his breath out slowly and waited for his warriors to march off back towards the palace.

‘Nicely done, Commander,’ Rawon said quietly. ‘Thiriston and Canadion under orders to go to the healers together… young Triwathon gets to continue his acquaintance with Lord Glorfindel because Thiriston can’t mentor him, not from the healer hall… you’ve learned a lot while you were away, have you not?’

‘I hope so, Captain.’

‘My office, now. Before the others join us.’

‘Is anything the matter?’

‘Yes. But it’s not you that’s at fault. Come along.’

Rawon’s aide was sitting writing at a table in the outer area of the barracks where the over-captain kept his office. He nodded at the ellon.  
‘See we’re not disturbed. The other commanders will be here shortly; let them wait. Commander, come through.’

Rawon gestured Govon to a seat in front of his desk, himself sitting and shuffling a stack of papers.

‘So… I’ve been wading through quite a lot of reports... spiders, intruders, dragons… Oh, and the occasional premonition, as well… it all sounds very entertaining…’

‘It was certainly not dull, Captain.’

‘One might say that a company of six is far too small to function properly within our current system, what would your thoughts be on that?’

‘I can see how it would appear so.’ Govon swallowed. Was this it, then? If so, he would accept it with dignity and do what he could for those he had commanded. ‘I would say… I recognise that the Court Guard was formed for this particular trip, and now the trip is over, I suppose we will be disbanded. In which case, I would like to speak up on behalf of all those under my command who have without doubt functioned beyond all expectations… Tinuon was my second and took over when I was… incapacitated. It was a time of great difficulties and his work was, I understand, exceptional. Also, my newest recruit, Triwathon, has expressed a wish to return to his previous commander should be disbanded… I cannot speak highly enough of all of them, Captain. Even Thiriston.’

Rawon had an odd little smile on his face.

‘Even Thiriston? Well, who knew?’

‘He killed one of the dragons, I heard, although I did not personally see it.’

‘Yes… Why was that?’

Govon indicated the papers.

‘As you will have read, I was incapacitated very early on during the fight against the dragons. I did not return to consciousness until well after nightfall, when I and Prince Iauron and the… the body of my dead warrior were found. It is to my regret and shame that I did not take more part in the battle, not when others suffered and burned, particularly those under Esgaron’s command and…’

‘Peace, Govon! Yes, Esgaron had the most severe losses. He used to be your commander, of course.’

‘He was, yes. I was captain of a two lieutenant flet for several decades under him.’

‘Do you think you could go back to that?’

‘In truth? I liked my flet, the sense of the forest all around.’

‘Yet there is probably no need for you to have a career at all…’

‘I would disagree, Captain, it is an honour to serve and I would feel diminished if I could not work. Even if that is on a flet in the forest.’

‘Of course, you have new commitments now.’

‘This is true. But, for example, Hador has commitments. It has not stopped him working flet duty. We know time away from our families will be required of us.’

‘So if I were to send you, say, on an extended visit to Lothlorien to work with the galdhrim and compare their woodcraft with our own, you would not object?’

‘If there were objections, Captain, they would not come from me.’

‘Hmm…’ Rawon shrugged. ‘Well, the thing is, the Court Guard was established by the king, and it is not up to me to disband it. We will have to wait to hear his majesty’s will in the matter.’

He shifted his chair back to rise, a hint to Govon that the audience was over.

‘It’s going to look as if I’ve had you in here for a reprimand. Don’t let it worry you; it was just a fact-finding discussion. Put in an hour or so practice on the range, get your reports up to date and take the afternoon off. And your command, too. Dismissed.’


	178. Important

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which both Legolas and the king meet with their advisors

Legolas was just about dressed when the knock came at his door. Throwing it open, he found a servant carrying a tray set with a substantial breakfast for two, and Erestor standing behind.

‘Thank you; put that down on the table and you may go,’ the prince told the servant, waiting until this had been done and the ellon had bowed and left before addressing the question foremost in his mind. ‘Erestor – what is this?’

‘This is our daily breakfast meeting, my prince… may I?’

‘If I say no, will you leave?’

‘Perhaps. But I would have to take this rather fine breakfast with me.’ 

Erestor bowed his way in and closed the door after himself, pulling a chair back for Legolas from the table and waiting for the prince to sit.  
Legolas tried to hide a grin and failed, taking the seat and gesturing Erestor to the other place.

‘I’m not sure I quite like the sound of that,’ he said as he loaded his plate with eggs and mushrooms and spread soft, fresh bread with creamy butter. ‘Although the food is a good bribe.’

‘It is what we used to do in Imladris.’ Erestor spread a napkin on his lap and helped himself to breakfast.

‘At the risk of sounding obvious, this isn’t the Last Homely House.’

‘No, it is not. And you are not Elrond, and this is not an attempt to make you into him. It is Mirkwood and you are the Prince Regent. But I thought it might be a good practice to get into. So. Orders for the day… do you have any, my prince?’

Legolas had already started eating, and so used the time spent chewing and swallowing to get his ideas thoughts in some kind of order.

‘I need the lunch hours kept free – I have a meeting with one of the commanders…’

‘Indeed?’

‘And, later, I will be making a visit to the healer hall.’

‘Very well. And will you be at the high table tonight?’

‘Oh… I suppose so. Something I was wondering… Commander Govon’s sister was saying last night, she’s worried in case she’s asked to move… she’s the only one in the family home now… can you find out for me if she’ll be permitted to continue living there? It’s all she’s got, all her memories are there.’

‘I can certainly make enquiries. But as I understand there are many unoccupied chambers here, I cannot conceive that anyone would take it upon themselves to distress a respectable elleth, the sister of a known hero, by evicting her from her family home with all its associated memories… and were anyone to try, then the king – or, indeed, his regent – would only need to say and I am sure all would be well.’

Erestor paused to let that sink in while he addressed his breakfast. After several mouthfuls, he dabbed his lips with the napkin and continued his line of reasoning.

‘Of course, this is not something I used to have to deal with in Imladris. There, once discussions were held and decisions made, they were not generally changed unless new information was presented. But with a monarchy all is subject to the king’s wishes. This is why it is so important for the king to know all the relevant facts…’

‘To be properly trained you mean.’

‘I was thinking, rather, that he and his chief advisor both know what each other is talking about.’ He lifted a glass of tea and drank. ‘The same goes for the regent and his advisor, of course.’

‘Of course. So you’re training me, then? I thought as much.’

‘My prince! Erestor looked mildly surprised, but he failed to conceal a smirk. ‘We are simply learning statesmanship. From each other.’

‘Of course we are. Frankly, then: I don’t want Merlinith upset and worrying about her home. Make sure she’s safe in it. Frank enough?’

‘Perfectly clear, my prince. And if I may speak with equal frankness, as this is a private meeting…?’

‘Please do?’

‘What in the name of Eru were you thinking to pull that stunt with the keys last night?’

Legolas dropped his fork onto his plate where it clattered in the ensuing silence.

‘What? Too frank?’ Erestor asked. ‘Your pardon, my prince. His majesty spoke to Lord Arveldir on the matter last evening and he, to me.’

‘I’d been listening to the talk, on the way home. It seems even vowed warriors have to live in single quarters. It felt… wrong, somehow. You weren’t with us when we set out, Govon and I were newly vowed, and even we had to live apart to begin… the further from home we got, the more relaxed the rules became, until, well, you were our first neighbours in Lovers’ Row, you saw how many tents ended up there…’

Erestor sniffed in a ‘leave-me-out-of-this’ sort of way.

‘Well, after that sort of… I don’t know, tacit permission, to just snatch it all away from them and push them apart, after what they’ve done for the family… I thought, we need to sort something out for our couples amongst the warriors, but just for a night or two, why not show our appreciation and understanding?’

‘If so, why not mention it to our king first?’

‘Because if he says no, you can’t go against him, it’s treason. So you have to get your point over before he can refuse.’

‘I shall bear that in mind,’ Erestor said, his voice dryly amused. ‘In point of fact, I did hear that the keys were passed across just at the perfect moment; Canadion’s Naneth had no idea he was such a hero.’

‘Good. She ought to appreciate him more than she does, I hear. My point being, even just Thiriston by himself in single quarters would be a bit of a squash…’

‘True. One wonders whether family quarters where only one person is living is perhaps adding to the problem in any way…’

Legolas glared at Erestor. The advisor tried for an innocent expression and the prince returned his attention to his plate. He continued with his own meal for a time, and then spoke again.

‘The king your father has said he will see you once our meeting is over, which gives him time for his own meeting with Lord Arveldir. If you wish, I can attend with you…’

‘Thank you. It’s probably best you don’t. That way, if he feels the need to yell at me, he won’t have to hold back.’

‘Your father? Yell? I doubt he would ever do such a thing.’

‘Not often, no.’ Legolas shuddered. ‘Once is usually enough.’

‘Yes. I quite understand.’

*

‘No, Arveldir.’

‘But, my king…’

‘Legolas acted inappropriately, perhaps, but he meant well. Until proper quarters can be found for this improbable pairing, they are to be allowed to remain in the guest room. As to whether it makes it seem that we are encouraging same-sex pairings… that is a discussion for another day.’

‘But, sire…’

‘Must I repeat myself?’ Thranduil sighed. ‘I cannot make a pronouncement on a matter of such significance when I do not know my own position. And as my opinion as king and my feelings on the topic as a father may well be at variance. It requires time and consideration to come to a fair conclusion. Consider – has your own opinion remained unchanged?’

‘I am not a warrior. It is hardly the same…’

Thranduil’s one-eyed gaze was, if anything, more challenging than when he had two eyes at his disposal. He waited until Arveldir had flushed and looked away before continuing.

‘Make tactful enquires as to how many vowed same-sex couples there are amongst our warriors and let me know. Moving on, make sure Over-Captain Rawon knows what is expected for the guard. I will leave the execution up to him, but certain factors are uncertain and so he will need to wait.’

‘He knows, my king. He understands.’

‘Good. Now, if there is nothing more… I will see my son.’

‘Yes, my king.’

Thranduil waved Arveldir away and propped his chin in his hand, thinking, not thinking, allowing the thoughts to flow and merge and meld and lead him to some sort of conclusion. He had no idea if five minutes had passed or fifty when he heard the bustle that announced a visitor.

‘Father?’

Legolas.

As he straightened to look at his son, his thoughts took him back to the time he had called all his sons together before his throne, his three bright sons, Iauron so cavalier, such a waste of space, really; Tharmeduil, his secret hope for the future, so much his mother’s son, Legolas, his beautiful, secret favourite… That was the day he had told Legolas to remain and had spoken to him from his fëa, from his heart. The day he stopped pretending he didn’t know his youngest son was different. And now Legolas was the only one able to stand in front of him, and all Thranduil’s hopes lay dashed and tattered. 

But his son, his Legolas, was happy. 

Was it wrong how much more important that seemed right now?

‘Adar – I think you need to see the healers. Your eye is seeping.’

Thranduil cleared his throat.

‘It may be the smoke from the wall sconces. I will mention it to Nestoril. How was your breakfast briefing?’

Legolas attempted a grin.

‘Not brief enough, Adar. Good thing Govon had already left for work.’

‘You had better mention to him, then, that it will be a regular arrangement. At least while your brothers are ill.’

‘What’s going to happen about the Court Guard?’

‘Why? Is Govon worried for his job?’

‘He’s worried for his warriors’ jobs, I think.’

‘It is all in hand. I hear there is a special guest in the healer halls… Iauron’s human friend.’

‘Yes. Our paths crossed yesterday. I’m taking Govon to meet her later.’

‘That is, if I may say, rather courageous of you.’

‘Is it? I just thought… well.’

‘Whilst on the topic of your thoughts, would you please in future consult me before you overturn millennia of tradition on impulse? I have had Arveldir clucking and fluttering around like an offended matron this morning.’

Legolas grinned.

‘Sorry. That is – really, if it was a mistake, I’m sorry. But… Well. I’ve already had a lecture from Erestor.’

‘Hmm… I doubt he said he was disappointed in you, did he?’

Legolas looked at the stone floor between his feet for a moment.

‘No, Ada,’ he whispered around the lump in his throat.

‘Well, do not expect to hear it from me, either. Not today.’

Thranduil descended the steps from his throne and rested his hand on his son’s shoulder as Legolas looked up at him with disbelief.

‘Come, ion-nin. Walk with me towards the healer halls, at least as far as your rooms. I find it strange to be within doors once more, do not you?’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Legolas said. ‘I’m going to get some things together and eat my noon meal outdoors today with Govon.’

‘That sounds like an excellent idea…’

They walked off quietly, gently together, talking easily, and Thranduil realised it was not important, nothing was important except this, that his son was happy and they were home.


	179. Healers' Hall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the king, and Thiriston, both visit the healers...

Thranduil parted from his youngest son near the junction with his quarters and continued on alone to the healers’ hall where the healer on duty dropped a very reverential curtsey to him.

‘Healer Gyril, is it not?’

‘Yes, my king,’ she said, standing once more. ‘Healer Nestoril was hoping you would come. Would your majesty care to follow me to her study?’

‘Lead on.’

Nestoril was working at her desk. She was clad in her blue healer’s robes and head-rail, and Thranduil could not but smile at the change in her appearance. She looked up at Gyril’s announcement and rose swiftly to come out and curtsey to the king.

‘Good morning, sire. Will you sit? Gyril, please arrange for tea.’

‘Thank you, Nestoril.’ He tilted his head as he lowered himself into the chair. 

‘What?’ he asked as Nestoril smiled and lowered her eyes as if caught out in mischief.

‘Oh, just a stray thought. It occurred to me that you can turn even a simple chair into a throne just by the way you inhabit it, my king.’

‘I see. Are you pleased to be home, Nestoril?’

‘Generally speaking, yes. I find I have missed my working clothes.’

‘They give you more stature than your riding clothes, it is true. But I thought you looked rather fetching in leggings and long tunic. Particularly when you shot that spider out of the trees. Very Silvan!’

She laughed and flushed and had just recovered when soft knock at the door brought the requested tea. She received the tray and set it down, busying herself with pouring the herbal tisane into cups and serving the king first.

‘Well, now we are home, I must give thought to the treatment of your sons, my king.’

‘Yes. I am interested in hearing your recommendations.’

‘The Silvan traditions, sire. They seemed to help Prince Tharmeduil before; I am hoping they will do so again.’

‘Anything, Nestoril, whatever it takes. We must release them from their stasis…’

‘Thranduil, please hear me! Tharmeduil assured us that he would not be alone in his darkness, that it is a good darkness and he can see a time when it ends. He has been adamant from the first not to be concerned for him. As for Prince Iauron, I admit I am less sanguine for my cures. But Lord Glorfindel has said your son is in no pain. Take what comfort you may from that.’

‘I must admit to a certain difficulty in finding any comfort there,’ Thranduil said quietly. ‘Moving on. The human woman Flora is here, I understand? How are things progressing for her?’

Nestoril sipped her tea as she rearranged her thoughts.

‘Yes. She has been here for about a week, all is well with her and her peredhel, although her ankles are swollen and she is very tired much of the time. She seems to like it here, however… may she sit with Prince Iauron on occasion? She has seen and recognised him, as Belegornor, fortuitously, not as the crown prince. She herself has requested it and it would comfort, her, I think.’

‘Your healers’ halls, Nestoril, your rules here. As you please.’

‘Oh, I am so glad you said that… I have an apprentice who I am sure would be interested in your own injuries, my king. He would not treat you, but would only examine the wound and speak to you and make recommendations which I would then discuss with you further.’

‘I suppose it will be all right,’ Thranduil said. ‘But is every healer in the place going to want to do the same?’

‘No, my king.’ She smiled reassurance. ‘Hanben is very keen, and as there have been very few incidents while we were away, possibly a little bored with the day-to-day things.’

‘Very well. But I do not have limitless time this morning.’

‘We had better get on, then, if you have finished your tea, my king?’

*

Hanben was a tall ellon with a distinctive nose and lighter hair than was usual for a Silvan. His face seemed smiling, even at rest, and he inclined his head with grave propriety as Nestoril made the introductions and removed the dressing from over Thranduil’s eye.

To give Hanben his due, he did not flinch, even though he did take a step back.

‘How interesting!’ he said, not noticing the curl of Thranduil’s lip. ‘And may I ask freely?’

‘Please do.’

‘How did this happen, my king?’

‘Dragon fire.’

‘Indeed? One does not think of there being any left in Middle Earth.’

‘There are fewer now, certainly.’

Hanben came closer to stare at the remains of the king’s injury, his face disconcertingly close. He backed away suddenly to speak to Nestoril.

‘And it was entirely void?’

‘Yes. You may be interested in this.’ She brought out one of Prince Tharmeduil’s more lurid premonitory sketches of Thranduil’s wound at its worst. ‘Govon gave me this as a souvenir, sire.’

‘How good of him.’

Hanben examined the sketch in amazement. ‘This much loss, and to heal so well… was this done after the fact?’

‘Before it, in fact. But never mind. Yes, repeated applications of caul silk. It was a few days before Midsummer that the injuries were acquired.’

‘The eye intrigues me… loss of vision?’

Hanben had turned to the king and was expecting an answer. Thranduil made a mental note to avoid the healer hall if this particular ellon were left in charge of it; there was asking questions freely and there was insolence, and Hanben did not seem to have learned the distinction yet.

‘Considerable, at first. Light perception has returned, but there is no focus.’

Hanben leaned in to stare once more. It was not pleasant.

‘Yes… I think we could do something about that…’

‘Oh, good,’ Thranduil said, noting how Nestoril cringed at his tone.

‘If you’ve got light perception, it seems to me as if the problem is simply that the nictitating membrane, which serves to protect the delicate surface of the eye during reverie and from extreme conditions, has served its function perfectly here, but as a result is, itself damaged. We can remove it – just a few little incisions… and you should be able to see as well as ever.’ Hanben gave a patronisingly reassuring smile. ‘Of course, you would need to remember to sleep with that eye closed as there would be no protection during reverie…’

‘Thank you, Hanben… an interesting assessment.’ Nestoril smiled. ‘You may leave us now. Go and wait for me in the other treatment room.’

As soon as the door closed, Nestoril turned to the king with an apology in her face, but before she could say anything, the king spoke.

‘Do not ever leave me alone with that person, Nestoril. He does not inspire me with confidence.’

She laughed. 

‘He is new, and keen, and his idea would work, in fact. Except that I have a better one. Now, would you consider agreeing to a fuller dressing today?’

‘Must I?’

‘No, of course not. You can allow the still-regenerating muscles of your face to reshape themselves while exposed to the air and draughts and potential dust in the atmosphere and risk infection, increasing the possibility of severe scarring... Or you can have a dressing which will make you feel more comfortable, reduce your pain and enhance your speed of recovery. One would not like to tell a king what to do. Unless one had to, of course.’

‘And do you promise to keep Hanben and his little incisions away from me?’

‘By my life, my king, I swear it.’

‘Very well, then. Do what you must.’

*

Healer Gyril looked up as the two figures approached her desk. Recognising them by sight from their places on the high table last night, she smiled and inclined her head.

‘Good morning. How may we serve our warriors this morning?’

‘My friend Thiriston here has been told to have his hand attended to,’ Canadion said with his friendliest smile. ‘And I am under orders to escort Healer Feril around the palace complex, if that is possible?’

‘I am not certain… please, be seated. I will see who can look at that hand for you…’

Five minutes later and she was back.

‘Healer Feril is assisting with something at present but will be free shortly. Healer Nestoril has said please to wait, Captain Thiriston, and she will attend you herself, as she knows your injury.’

‘How is Prince Tharmeduil?’ Canadion asked as Gyril returned to her seat.

‘He is just as is to be expected,’ she replied, her eyes dropping to her desk in token that she had work to do and did not want to be distracted by conversations with random warriors.

Thiriston grimaced.

‘And we carried him in front of us on our horses and helped bear his litter through the forest just to be told that?’ he muttered.

‘I am just grateful it was Prince Iauron you were carrying when your hand gave out. It would have been so less amusing to drop our poor friend in the mud!’

‘Ha!’ Thiriston flexed his bad hand and instantly regretted it. ‘I’m bored with this, now.’

‘Is it hurting?’

‘Not much. It aches. But not being able to draw a bow…’

‘Well, are you not almost as good with your left hand as your right?’

Thiriston’s mouth twisted in a grin and Canadion continued hastily.

‘At knife throwing, that is…’

A small commotion at the entrance to one of the healer hall corridors, and Canadion nudged Thiriston; the king himself was approaching.

The pair got to their feet and bowed as Thranduil, the entire injured hemisphere of his face covered with a fresh dressing, swept past and lifted a hand in acknowledgement.

‘Not necessary in the healer hall, be at ease, Thiriston, Canadion…’

‘It is strange, being back,’ Canadion said. ‘Remembering the palace rules…’

‘…some of which I am sure we broke last night, even if it was the king’s advisor giving us the key…’

‘Legolas said, in his note, he had heard we were going to be vowed.’ Canadion shrugged. ‘I wonder how he knew.’

‘I had wondered that myself… maybe our prince told him?’

‘Maybe. If not himself, perhaps his pictures spoke for him.’

‘Perhaps. Still, it is a good room. I hope we don’t have to give it up too soon.’ Thiriston’s lip quirked. ‘I liked the bathing pool.’

Canadion sighed happily. ‘I know you did. I remember.’

‘Thiriston? I’m ready for you now.’ 

Nestoril’s voice from behind, and they turned to see the healer approaching with an ellon in blue healer’s robes with her.

‘Bring Canadion too, if you like; Feril will be a few minutes yet.’ She pushed open a door to her left. ‘Come along.’

The treatment room held chairs, a table, a narrow bed and a window, and Nestoril gestured Thiriston to a seat.

‘Let’s see the hand, then. This is Hanben who is training with us; I thought your injury would be an interesting lesson, if you do not mind?’

‘No, don’t think so.’

‘Hanben? Will you start?’

‘Yes. Captain Thiriston, is it?’

‘Aye.’

‘May I see? Can you tell me what happened, and when?’

‘I hit someone hard. Very hard. Broke a bone.’

‘And when was this?’

‘Four, five weeks ago.’

‘And it hasn’t healed?’ Hanben’s brows rose in disapproval. ‘What treatment did you have for it? Or did you ignore it?’

‘No, I had heal silk, was told to rest it.’

‘But you did not?’

Thiriston shrugged, wincing as Hanben manipulated the knuckles.

‘I tried. But the dragons had other ideas.’

‘Dragons, again?’

‘We ran into a little trouble. Had to wield an axe. Used both hands, though.’

‘So that would have disturbed the bones as they were healing…’

‘You could say. Had more treatment, was getting on better. Then there were the spiders.’

‘Spiders?’

Thiriston shrugged again.

‘Occupational hazard. More work with the axe, then lifting and such. Carrying things, strained it again a few days ago. Can’t draw a bow yet. Commander sent me to you.’

‘Well, it seems to me you should have healed up long ago… but the repeated strains kept breaking apart the bone as soon as it started to knit… but if caul silk isn’t working, we may have to take more serious measures…’

Nestoril gently cleared her throat.

‘What would you suggest, Hanben?’ she said.

‘A change of career, for a start. This is not a hand that is going to be happy drawing a bow any time soon…’

Thiriston growled and Hanben ceased his examination.

‘Immobilisation might help. Some of the old techniques, the sort that have been adapted by some of the humans. Bind it, keep it still for longer than a few days, give the injury time to heal unmolested. The more it’s used, the longer it will take to heal and the greater the chances are that it will never be properly right. It’s the sort of injury that can easily lead to the need for amputation if neglected…’

‘Yes, an adequate assessment,’ Nestoril said quickly. ‘However – you really must work on your bedside manner…’

‘I would not like to lie to one of our honoured warriors.’

‘No, but you could try a more delicate honesty. Thiriston, we will dress your hand properly and firmly and you will endeavour to keep it still. You will not draw a bow, lift your axe, or attempt to throw a knife with your injured hand until I say so. This is for the sake of your future career, and as there are no dragons or spiders to defend us from within the palace proper, I think you can follow my instructions?’

‘Yes, Healer.’

‘Good. Now, I will bind your hand and both Hanben and Canadion will watch so that if it should come adrift, Canadion, you will be able to set it right.’

‘Nestoril?’ Canadion asked quietly. ‘How’s our prince?’

She smiled, glancing at Hanben who seemed slightly shocked at Canadion’s informality.

‘Hanben, these two and I are old friends. We have come through many trials together, don’t look so stuffy! In truth, penneth, I am glad to have both princes home, where I can look after them properly. I think Tharmeduil is more comfortable now; he still has feeling in his right hand and arm, and Feril sits with him, stroking his hand and talking to him, for we are sure he can hear us. I have more treatments to try and I will begin tomorrow, once we have more nutrients in him. Iauron, too, is no worse. I will leave word at the desk that you may visit them, if you like.’

‘Please,’ Canadion said.

‘Then that will be fine. Now, pay attention… caul silk first, as always… I have the hand splinted here, so that once the bandage is done, there should be no opportunity for the bones to slip. Watch how the strapping is done, it is important. Thus and over and back… and how does that feel?’

‘Stiff. Annoying. But it’s not hurting now.’

‘Good. One final thing…’ She leaned forward and fixed more bindings around to form a sling. ‘Like this in the day, when you’re walking around, to keep the injury out of harm’s way. You can undo it at night, if you must. I will make a recommendation to your commander concerning the sort of work you can do. So, if you would like to see your prince now, that would be a good opportunity for you, Canadion, to collect Feril and show her the sights.’


	180. Greensward, Again.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas and Govon's picnic is gatecrashed...

Legolas smiled to himself, remembering.

He had come home from bringing back three spider sick warriors through the forest and had found a basket waiting for him, a note of thanks from the flet captain for his care. It had held all those things Legolas had said he’d missed; fresh bread and butter, dark liquid honey, sharp, tangy cheese and a bottle of red wine. The captain had been Govon, of course, and that, really had been the start of it.

So now, as he put together the contents of their planned picnic lunch, he re-lived that perfect afternoon, his hesitant confession of his different longings, hoping at the time only that Govon would still feel able to be his friend, never daring to hope for so much more.

Having already been to the cellars and talked a few bottles of the good, sweet honey beer from Galion, now all was assembled and ready and Legolas was in perfect time to head to the greensward in search of his fëa-mate.

The twisted wicker handle of the basket in his hand felt reassuringly, satisfyingly heavy as he made his way through the corridors to the outer door that led out to the greensward, and he felt a surge of contentment fill him. Last night had been wonderful, perfect, their own bed again, the luxury of a heated bathing pool…

Legolas pushed through the door and walked towards the open grassy area where they had agreed to meet. And there was Govon, lying back on the rise of the land, and it looked as if he’d been remembering, too, for he rested in exactly the same attitude Legolas recollected from that first tentative tryst; eyes closed and one knee drawn up, his hair spread like a cascade of spilled dark honey, lips vibrating slightly as he hummed softly to himself, and the prince found his heart hammering and his tongue two sizes too big for his suddenly-dry mouth, just the same as on that day really not so long ago, just now seeming far away.

‘Hey, friend captain,’ he called out, and saw Govon’s mouth curl up in a smile.

‘Hey, fair elf!’ Govon returned, and opened his eyes, moving swiftly to sit cross-legged and look at his fëa-mate with a smile in his eyes. ‘This is nice. And I have the afternoon off, so we can linger all we like.’

‘Wonderful!’

Legolas set himself and the basket down and began unpacking.

‘Let me guess: bread and butter, honey and cheese and a bottle of good red wine?’

‘Of course. And half a crate of honey beer.’

‘Perfect. Although… maybe not quite so perfect. See?’

Legolas turned, and saw they were no longer alone on the greensward; Glorfindel and Triwathon had just emerged through the trees to the northern edge of the clearing. Glorfindel waved, and so it was necessary to wave back.

‘I wouldn’t mind, but it’s not as if they’re the only ones,’ Govon murmured as Canadion and Arwen and Thiriston emerged from the path leading from the palace buildings. ‘Should we hide the beer?’

‘Well, our balrog-slayer was good enough to share his wine with us. I brought quite a few bottles of beer.’

Glorfindel arrived and cast himself down on the grass without even considering he might have been interrupting anything.

‘Triwathon was saying he’d heard talk of this place,’ he said as Triwathon folded himself onto the grass at his side. ‘And, as he’s been told by his commander to give me a tour…’

‘Is that why you ended up here too, Canadion?’ Legolas asked as his far-cousin. ‘Showing Arwen the sights?’

‘Well…’

‘Sit, all of you, why not?’

‘All we need now is for Tinuon and Hador to join us,’ Govon said softly, taking two bottles from the basket and uncorking one to pass to Legolas. ‘Forgive our getting started, but it’s been a thirsty morning.’

‘Oh, Tinuon said they would be a few minutes after us,’ Glorfindel said. ‘They have gone to collect the lunch from the kitchens…’

Legolas found a rueful smile for his fëa-mate, who grinned and lifted his beer in salute.

‘A bottle of beer and a friend or two, taking our ease on the greensward…’ he said.

‘If you’ve got your own food, don’t wait for us,’ Glorfindel said.

‘Well, in truth, I’d no idea this would happen,’ Legolas said. ‘Or I would have brought more.’

Hador and Tinuon arrived, bearing a huge hamper between them.

‘I’m surprised you did not bring Erestor along, too, Tinuon,’ Govon said.

‘Oh, he had a business meeting with Arveldir. So he said.’ Tinuon winked. ‘But they’ll be along shortly.’

It was a convivial meal, even though it did have more participants than Legolas had expected, especially once Arveldir and Erestor had arrived to join the party. Still, they brought extra beer, and a relaxed atmosphere settled on the greensward while the conversation shifted like the dappled shadow from the trees overhead. 

‘Have you heard any more about our future, Commander?’ Triwathon asked, bringing the mood back to practical matters. ‘Only, I like working with you.’

‘My thanks.’ Govon took a mouthful of beer to give himself time to think. ‘I had speech with the over-captain this morning… he says, business as usual at present. Or as usual as it gets for us. Morning muster and practice, and then we look after the court. Or, really, twiddle our thumbs after today.’ He tipped his bottle in Thiriston’s direction. ‘Those of us who are permitted to move our thumbs, that is. You have two week’s leave of absence, Thiriston, to mend your hand. If you want to show up for practice, just to taunt your comrades, that’s fine by me…’

‘But is there no news?’ Canadion asked, nestling in against Thiriston perhaps more than was strictly proper. 

‘My father has said all is in hand,’ Legolas said. ‘But that is between us, and, in fact, tells you nothing anyway. Unless you know more, Arveldir?’

‘If I did I would not be able to say. But I am sure his majesty is satisfied that the Court Guard continue exercising and holding themselves ready for his commands.’

‘Would it be possible for me to join in your practices?’ Glorfindel asked. ‘I’m getting slack... Need to firm up my muscle tone a bit…’

‘You seem quite firm enough to me,’ Triwathon murmured, to Glorfindel’s delight and everyone else’s entertainment.

‘You would be most welcome,’ Govon said hastily. ‘And, for what it’s worth, I have praised each one of you to Rawon, whether you deserve it or not.’

‘One thing,’ Glorfindel put in. ‘As we were nearly on the topic… however do you manage, you two?’ He nodded at Thiriston. ‘Warrior’s berths are so cramped here…’

‘There are all sorts of rumours about unoccupied flets showing signs of occupation from time to time,’ Legolas said. ‘One does not like to ask…’

‘Can’t be easy, though.’

‘I’m not sure it’s meant to be easy,’ Govon told him. ‘Consider; we are still rebuilding our population…’

‘That small altercation known as the battle of Dagorlad…’ Legolas murmured.

‘So precedence is given to those who are more likely to help with that. Anything else… nobody minds what happens on the flets, when we can be away from home for months on end; what happens in Mirkwood tends to stay in Mirkwood. But I think perhaps it is time for new ideas,’ Govon admitted. ‘Certainly, I am no hypocrite; I am more than willing to support those couples amongst the guard who need it.’

‘You could have a new command, Govon,’ Arwen said helpfully. ‘Made of all those who are in love. It would be something very special.’

‘I am not sure that we would accomplish much,’ he told her. ‘Other than the amusement of the rest of the warriors. While an individual pairing here and there, it seems, can be accepted with no more than a passing joke, I think an entire guard would cause too much of a stir with potentially unpleasant consequences.’

Arveldir cleared his throat.

‘In point of fact, our king has been thinking on the matter.’

‘Oh?’ Govon sat up a little straighter. ‘Is there any chance we can share in his majesty’s thoughts? Is it good news, or bad?’

‘Simply an initial enquiry to find out, if we may, how many vowed same-sex couples there are amongst the guard…’

‘I wish you well with that!’ Govon shook his head. ‘To begin, many who consider themselves fëa-mates don’t feel able to commit to vows, given the current encouragement for repopulation. And then, many such relationships are kept very private. Many couples have been uncertain as to whether they would have approval or disapproval, and are unwilling to put their relationships at risk…’

‘If I may make so bold, I had rather thought you and your prince were leading the way into a new era of acceptance…’

‘It would be nice to think so. But I am sure there are those who, really, will look to the fact that, yes, I am vowed to a prince. If I were vowed to, for example, a fellow-captain, they might think differently. But then, would I have drawn so much notice?’

Arveldir tilted his head and turned his attention to Canadion.

‘I am sure you must know some names, Canadion…?’

Thiriston began to growl deep in his throat and Canadion laid a hasty hand on his fëa-mate’s knee to silence him.

‘I am sure Lord Arveldir only means my reputation as a gossip, melleth.’ He blinked his long, long lashes innocently in Arveldir’s direction. ‘But Triwathon or Govon or even my own Thiriston here would know as many names as I. Only I do not think it would be fair to say, not without knowing why.’ He stirred and looked up at Thiriston with a challenge in his eyes as he went on. ‘We’re planning vows, if that helps. We’re not afraid to take the step, not now. What’s the point of your enquiry, my lord?’

‘I think so that his majesty will have some idea how many would require more suitable quarters… but possibly also he is seeking reassurance that the birth rate will not drop to absolutely nothing!’

The talk moved on. Arwen drew Canadion aside and began asking about their plans and hopes, and all the things she would have been thinking about for herself. 

Govon caught Legolas’ eye, and began loading the empty beer bottles back into the basket.

‘Time to leave, I think,’ he said.

‘Before we get asked about how we planned our own avowing? I think you’re right. Besides, I have plans for this afternoon.’

Govon smiled and allowed his hand to brush against his fëa-mate’s. 

‘I’m pleased to hear it.’

‘Not necessarily the same as yours. But there are many hours in an afternoon. Come on.’

‘So… where are we going?’

‘We’ll drop the basket off at home first…’

‘Good…’

‘And then we’ll visit the healers’ halls.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be noted here that all views and opinions expressed by the elves of Mirkwood and Rivendell are their own opinions and do not necessarily reflect the views of the author.


	181. Language Barrier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Govon and Flora meet...

‘Should I change my clothes?’ Govon asked, once he and Legolas were back in their quarters. ‘I do not quite know what is proper to wear when meeting… and I am not even sure what this human female is to you, melleth…’

‘Govon.’ Legolas took his fëa-mate’s hands in his and pulled him to sit beside him on the bed. ‘She is Flora. She is pregnant, and the ellon who caused this is not in a position to support her. She is a woman, a very young woman, whom I know slightly, who used to bring me hot spiced milk while I sat in the stables with the horses when her ellon visited her… We would talk, a little. She seemed nice, and I felt sorry for her. I was asked if I would… not, that is not quite true. I was required to sponsor her. Nowhere is it said that I am the father – for I am not, if I were, I would admit it – but it is just something I had to do. Part of the arrangement was that she could have her baby here, in safety – her favourite aunt died in childbed – I am her only friend in this place, melleth… I would tell you everything, but that it is not my secret to share.’

‘So what do I wear to meet the human mother-to-be of not-your-child-but-that’s-what-everyone-will-think?’ Govon asked, trying to sound light.

‘This is fine.’ Legolas touched Govon’s carved arm band. ‘Whatever else you like. Perhaps not your kilt, though.’

‘Shame. I could have topped it off with warrior paint…’

‘Poor woman! The glory of such a sight would be enough to send her into labour early I think… although I like the thought of decorating your skin… do you foresee any need to display your marks anytime soon, melleth-nin?’

His hands were busy as he spoke, releasing Govon from his uniform jerkin, his eyes busy on what he was doing so that when Govon reached to tip his head up it surprised him, the breath catching in his throat as he saw how dark his fëa-mate’s hazel gaze had grown.

‘Only to you, my beloved prince,’ Govon said, and brought his mouth down to meet Legolas’ in the briefest of kisses. ‘All through lunch, I was thinking of that first afternoon… the earth tremor…’

‘A branch fell, you pushed me out of the way…’

‘Ended up lying over you, and even while you were trying to explain that you were… like me, my body was making its intentions known…’

‘Like now, in fact.’

‘You noticed?’

‘Hard not to.’

‘That’s one way of putting it.’

*

Beginning by accident, but then deciding to continue deliberately, Govon and Legolas wore each other’s clothes when finally they set off to see Flora. Govon had unravelled Legloas’ braids, too, and the prince left his hair so, hanging freely, unconfined. The prince’s shirt was light against Govon’s back, a breath of fabric, and his leggings tight in all the right places, while Legolas swaggered in borrowed warrior garb.

‘I won’t get put on a charge for this?’ he asked. ‘Impersonating an officer?’

‘I wouldn’t think so. You really look the part, Legolas. I’d better watch myself, could find myself serving under you if I’m not careful.’

‘It hasn’t been a problem so far, has it?’

Govon was still laughing when they arrived at the doorway to the healers halls, but soon sobered up. He didn’t want to think badly of this human woman, but he was still confused. 

‘Legolas? Why – if he knew he wouldn’t be able to be a good father – why would an ellon still ask for a child? Is it fair to, with a mortal, anyway?’

‘They are not like us. It was explained to me, that humans cannot choose, it happens or it does not, at the will of Ilúvatar, not their own. I think – even though the ellon ought to have known this, I am sure he did know it, he – the father – forgot.’

‘So you know who it is, then?’

Legolas held his gaze and nodded.

‘I have always known. But I promised…’ He sighed. ‘I doubt it matters; you will hear Flora say the name, I expect, no doubt you will recognise it… He used a false name. He called himself Belegornor…’

‘But…’ Govon frowned. ‘Is that not what Lady Arwen had thought your brother Iauron was called?’

‘If I do not say yes, then I have betrayed no confidences,’ Legolas said. ‘But it would be better if you could pretend not to know.’

‘I think… I think it might be better so.’ Govon heaved a sigh. ‘Ai! Melleth! I think I begin to understand, at last! No wonder you feel the need to help her… But what does she think you are called?’

‘Oh, I am just ‘the one who waits with the horses.’ Although she did tell Arveldir I was ‘the pretty one’…’

‘Obviously she is a woman of great discernment.’

Inside, the healers’ hall was peaceful and calm. Nestoril was on duty behind the desk, and smiled as they approached. She took in Legolas’ unbound hair and warrior garb and her eyes twinkled.

‘Let me guess… you’ve come to visit our human lady. I had a lovely chat with her this morning, she is really rather sweet… she’s enjoying the sun in the gardens. You know the way.’

The woman was sitting in a chair with her feet up on a stool, her hands curved around the large swell of her belly. She was looking out over the garden, enjoying the view. A tangle of wool and knitting needles lay, discarded, at her side. 

Govon gasped. It was undoubtedly the woman from the drawing, the one whose hand Legolas had been holding. But now he saw her and recognised her fragility, he felt ashamed of his concerns.

‘I understand,’ he told his fëa-mate. ‘Be her friend, if she needs one. And perhaps I could be a friend to her, too.’

Legolas gave a shaky breath and reached to give Govon a swift hug.

‘Thank you, my friend captain… I was worried…’

‘Come, then. Take me to her.’

*

‘Flora?’

She turned at Legolas’ voice and her face broke into a smile.

‘It’s you,’ she said. ‘Hello!’

‘I’ve brought my friend to see you. Govon…?’ Legolas broke off, seeing his fëa-mate’s suddenly panicked expression. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘I… I did not think, of course you would be talking Westron, your friend would not have Silvan or Sindar… but I am out of practice.’

‘Oh. Well, I am sure we will manage.’ Legolas sat down on a bench next to Flora’s chair and nodded Govon to join him.

The woman had been listening intently to the exchange and smiling, looking from one to the other.

‘Mae govannen,’ she said in slightly accented Sindarin.

Govon smiled and bowed his head. 

‘Mae govannen, Flora,’ he said, and tried out his distantly-remembered Westron. ‘Are you well?’

‘I am well, thank you.’

Legolas grinned.

‘See? No problems with the language at all! Flora, I didn’t know you’d been learning Sindarin?’

‘One of the healers thought it might be… fun, he said. I do not think it fun, I think it very hard! But I can say when I need something, and that is useful.’

‘How else do you spend your time?’

‘Oh, mostly, I knit. Things for my baby, my peredhel. One of the healers knows the common speech, and she sits with me when she can.’

‘What about your family? How are they? Have they been kind to you?’

‘My Da has got used to the idea, now. And, yes. The cottage is lovely, and I have needed nothing. My mother is looking forward to seeing the baby, too.’ 

She turned to look at Govon, her eyes appreciative, and Legolas found he didn’t quite like the way her gaze lingered on his fëa-mate. 

‘So who have you brought to visit?’ Flora asked, still ogling.

‘This is Govon. He’s very special to me; my fëa-mate.’

‘Govon,’ she repeated. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’

Govon smiled. There didn’t seem to be much else he could do, other than try to follow the conversation and join in where he could with simple enquiries and phrases, and now he regretted not studying harder to learn the common speech. But he had not thought he would much need it; he’d fully expected to be captain of a flet for the rest of his life. And now he felt, not quite an intruder, for Legolas had wanted him to come, but out of place, perhaps. Almost as if his lack of language was letting Legolas down. Still, ‘fëa-mate’ was clear enough, and he gave his melleth a grateful glance before turning his attention back to Flora, who seemed to be staring at him.   
Why? Was it that he was in borrowed clothes? Or that his hair was braided and Legolas’ wasn’t? Or was it just a human thing, to stare?

‘It’s nice to meet you,’ he replied, remembering that common speech didn’t change at the end of the words whether you were talking to a male or a female or formally or informally, so in this case he could just repeat Flora’s words back to her. In that, Westron was simpler, at least. ‘You are very near, yes?’

‘Near…? Oh, yes.’ She patted her stomach. ‘Soon.’

One of the healer hall servants arrived with a tray of cold drinks and set it down for them. Flora thanked the elleth in Sindarin and was rewarded by a small smile.  
‘What does it mean, fëa-mate?’ Flora asked, glancing from Legolas to Govon. ‘I seem to know the words, but… the friend of your spirit? Is that it?’

As her gaze was on Govon when she finished speaking, and his confidence growing as more of his smattering of Westron came back to him, and besides, Legolas was busy drinking fruit juice, Govon answered.

‘Like to that,’ he said, and took Legolas’ free hand. ‘He is my wife.’

Legolas almost choked, Flora let out a hastily-repressed giggle, and Govon turned uncomprehending eyes on his fëa-mate. 

‘What is the matter?’

‘Do you not know what you just said?’

‘That you are my…’

‘Do not say it again!’ Legolas set down his glass and turned to Flora hastily. ‘My friend does not have enough Westron. He did not mean that. I am not his… that is, he is my… we are each other’s…’

‘Melleth? Did I mis-speak? I know we are not married as such, but…’

‘Do you not know the difference between hervenn and hervess in Westron?’

‘But… the word endings do not change in Westron, do they? Oh, what? Oh, melleth! Did I just say you were…? Ai, Valar! Forgive me, beloved, I… ’

Legolas drew himself up with dignity. Flora was trying still to keep the smirk off her face.

‘I think your friend did not quite mean that?’ she said, trying to ease the situation. ‘You will not be angry with him?’

‘It is… embarrassing. We are not married, but we are… we made vows together, we live together. But I am not his wife!’ Legolas insisted. 

‘So, how is it between you? Is he your…um…wife? Is that how it works?’

‘Not really… it is… we consider ourselves the same. One is not wife, one is not husband. We just are together. Fëa-mates. It is… our spirits are bound, connected, we are incomplete without each other.’

‘Well, I think it’s sweet.’ She smiled as he glowered and now allowed herself to giggle. ‘Oh, don’t be cross! Your poor wife there, he is looking so guilty… do forgive him!’ She sighed. ‘You are so lucky; he is very handsome! Not that you are not, of course… but… well… he is just… and he looks so tragic, it makes me want to cuddle him…’

Legolas glanced across. Govon’s expression was mortified, and as soon as he realised Legolas was looking, he began trying to apologise again.

‘Melleth, really, I…’

‘Peace, Govon!’ Finally, Legolas saw past his embarrassment and was able to find a laugh from somewhere. ‘Apparently I must forgive you because I am so lucky, and you are very handsome…’ 

He dropped back into Westron.

‘But he is my fëa-mate, and if there is any cuddling to be done, it will be by me, Flora!’

‘Of course it will! It’s obvious he loves the bones of you!’

‘Perhaps the cuddling should wait for later, though… wife!’ Legolas said, nudging Govon with his shoulder.

‘If it means you forgive me,’ Govon said with a relieved sigh, ‘I’ll be wife to you all you want, melleth!’

‘Melleth!’ Flora said suddenly, looking at Legolas. ‘So that’s your name! I’ve often wondered!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Hervenn (or herven, depending): Husband  
> Hervess (herves) : Wife


	182. Autumn in Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril returns to the grove of the fëar- trees...

Nestoril watched with interest as Legolas and Govon came in from the gardens. It seemed the prince had had some kind of accident with the drinks, for his clothes – actually Govon’s uniform tunic and leggings, she corrected herself – appeared to have been splattered and splashed. Recollecting Govon’s habit of inserting a double-meaning or a cheeky remark usually just as Legolas was about to eat or drink, she wondered if he’d been up to his old tricks again.

‘What happened, my prince?’ she exclaimed, hoping to find out more. ‘Was there an accident?’

‘A small one. Nothing to worry about.’ Legolas glanced at Govon with tolerant amusement. ‘I had no idea Govon couldn’t differentiate between masculine and feminine nouns in the common speech…’

‘Oh, no! But, I suppose, we do not all have the time to set aside to become fluent… I do not see…?’

Govon did not want to look at her, but she could see he was flushed and embarrassed.

‘Was it very bad?’ she asked, her voice solicitous. ‘It must have been something, to cause someone to spill drinks on our prince…’

‘In fairness, I spilled it myself. He told Flora, not that we were a couple, or that we were lovers, but that I was his wife…’

‘Oh, Govon!’ Nestoril gave a little gasp, that being the only way she could prevent a smile. ‘How embarrassing for you both! Still, I am sure Flora would understand, once you explained…’

‘By then it was too late,’ Govon muttered. 

‘Oh, you poor thing, Govon!’ Nestoril exclaimed. ‘Still, it will all blow over, and you will probably never make the same mistake again…’

‘Poor Govon?’ Legolas protested. ‘It’s my reputation which will suffer here…’

‘Well, perhaps… but think, for a moment. Govon makes one tiny slip – one any could make – and I am sure you will be reminding him of it for long after everyone else has forgot!’

‘Ness…’

‘I am sure this tale will not reach beyond my halls. And, do not be offended, my prince, but even here we have much more interesting things to hold our attention than one small linguistic mistake.’ She smiled reassuringly. ‘Please, do not let yourselves be troubled by such a thing. Now, while you are here, do you wish to visit your brothers?’

‘I’ll change first, I think,’ Legolas said. ‘I’ll come back later.’

She saw them off with a smile and had a little moment of amusement at poor Govon’s mistake before noting with a start that it was almost time for her to hand over the desk and turn to other tasks.

Sure enough, a few moments later, and Hanben appeared to relieve her.

‘All is peaceful,’ she told him. ‘The human woman, Flora, is in the gardens. The two princes have been attended to… I am going to be out of my office on my healer’s business for an hour or so; Feril will know where to find me. Should anyone come wishing to see the princes, you are to permit it. But make sure the room does not get overfull; no more than four persons visiting, please.’

‘And anyone may visit?’ 

She heard disapproval in his tone.

‘Yes, of course. No matter whom; these are our princes, we serve their people. And any who come to enquire, be friendly with them. It is only that they care.’

‘As you wish, Healer.’

‘Good. Until later, then.’

*

Nestoril came to a halt outside the arch of silver-barked holly that stood sentinel at the boundary of the fëar-tree grove. She had changed into leggings and tunic before setting out and had her bow and quiver slung across her back.

Bowing reverently, she walked into the emerald womb of the grove.

Its sombre peace fell on her like a warm green blanket and she breathed deeply of the restorative air, feeling the sense of the place before looking about her.  
Much was the same since her last visit, but more was changed.

The positioning of some of the trees was different; the golden rowan that was fëa-tree to Legolas had eased away from its sibling cherry and silver birch so that now its nearest neighbour was a hazel with beautiful red and russet bark and glorious foliage, the deeply ridged leaves reaching out to mingle with the light green leaflets of the rowan at its side; the fëa-tree grove had made Govon a part of the family, it seemed.

It was the one bright spot in the grove, the only thing to lift Nestoril’s heart and give her hope.

The cherry tree, once on the point of bearing fruit abundantly and out of season, Iauron’s tree, was a travesty of its former self, little more than a husk, its fruit withered on the branch, its leaves showing the radiance of autumn colour, but brittle and dry, clinging to the branches, all its summer promise gone, turning towards its own personal winter. 

The healer advanced to place her hands on the trunk, sending her awareness into the tree, seeking its life. There, all-but dormant, she felt it, finally, a slow pulse beating, keeping going despite the terrible ravages of its outer shell, but finite, promising an end.

‘Oh, Iauron, penneth!’ she sighed, wrapping her arms around the tree and laying her face against the desiccated bark. ‘I cannot… how could we possibly…? What can be done?’

But she already knew the answer to that, although she tried to pretend she didn’t.

Gently Nestoril released her hold and stepped back, turning away to in an attempt to clear her mind. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples with her fingertips as she released the sight and sense of the fading cherry tree from her heart.

And when she opened them again, she found she was staring at a huge and stately willow.

Its trunk was damaged in two, three places, the argent glimmer of its bark darkened to pewter, the inner layers showing here and there, its foliaged dropping down on long and slender stems, elegant silvered green, concealing and revealing the wounds. The tree looked hale, though; bruised, but not broken, and when Nestoril placed her hand against the bark, she felt the quickening of its life responding, and she smiled as she stood there, connected to the tree, aware of its strength and majestic mystery.

‘Oh, Thranduil, my king! I think I can do some good here.’

Standing back to examine the willow, to walk around it and take in its entire being, she formed a plan, a notion that had her draw some measure of satisfaction from the idea. She regained a little of her confidence, knowing she could help here, so that, when she leaned back into the embrace of the willow, resting against its silvered solidity, she could contemplate the silver birch that connected to Prince Tharmeduil’s fëa with a little more optimism.

Although the birch looked to be listing, and when she touched it the life within was slow to respond, there was still something there, something that heard her, and she moved her hands over the trunk and the branches, assessing, measuring, nodding. Here, too, she could be effective.

But not now. There were plans to make, supplies to collect, the books on the old ways to consult. Songs to learn.

Certain was it, though: She would come back. She would come back with Feril and all the knowledge and wisdom at her disposal, and she would succeed. She would reawaken the silver birch. She would repair the harm to the stately willow. She would drive away the autumn that threatened Iauron’s summer.

There was absolutely no point thinking otherwise.


	183. Visiting 'Belegornor'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Flora visits 'Belegornor'... but she isn't the only one...

It had been nice to see Melleth again, and to meet his friend. 

Flora smiled to herself, remembering the consternation on the golden-haired elf’s face as he realised what the handsome one, Govon, had said. And then to see how crestfallen that Govon had been… she could see why he had said ‘wife’, though, meaning spouse – they did have a look of newlyweds about them.

Strange to think that of Melleth, when his brother Belegornor was so much the man, so to speak.

And stranger to realise that, all this time, she hadn’t known Melleth’s name, hadn’t even asked. Perhaps it was sad that she hadn’t known. But she’d thought it was something else anyway, she’d heard one or other of the healers call him Ernilen, or something like that.

Strange names they had here. Pretty names, ones that felt soft in the mouth and sounded sweet in the ear.

Maybe she could call her baby Melleth? Or even Ernilen, it sounded just a little more human, somehow. But what if she had a girl child?

She didn’t think she would, though. The healers had said something about how they felt a male fëa there, so she had been concentrating her knitting into neutral or boy’s colours. 

Flora picked up her tangle of wool and needles and knitted a few more rows of the baby coat she was making. She didn’t really like knitting, but it passed the time and made her feel industrious, productive. And the little garments looked sweet, when they were finished and all tidied up.

Maybe she had been sitting out in the sun for long enough. Perhaps she could go and sit with Belegornor and his brother? It was sad that they had both gone away and returned sick. She thought elves didn’t get sick, not like this, not so still and all the healers around them looking sad.

Flora made her way inside, taking the knitting with her and going straight to the large chamber where Belegornor and his brother were resting.

There was one other occupant of the room, a healer in green robes, rather than the blue most of them wore, and she was sitting with Belegornor’s brother, holding his hand and stroking his arm gently as she talked to him in the musical language Flora had learned was called Sindarin. She had seen this healer only once or twice before, but knew her name, and that she spoke the common speech fluently, and so Flora greeted her shyly as she took her seat by Belegornor’s bed.

‘How does the day find you?’ the healer, Feril, asked.

‘Well, I thank you.’ Flora managed that much in Sindarin, saw Feril’s smile of approval, but was forced to continue in Westron. ‘You are new here, I think?’

‘Yes. I am from Imladris, sometimes called Rivendell. I have been friends with Healer Nestoril for a long time. We met on the journey and I came back to help with the injured.’

‘I have heard tales of Rivendell! It is very far away!’

Feril nodded. To her, of course, it seemed that Mirkwood was far away. She turned her attention back to Tharmeduil, her voice a murmur she knew he would hear but which would not disturb Flora talking to her Belegornor… she had been briefed, of course, Arveldir’s assistant had come to address the newly-arrived healers… there was a list, a very long list, of things not to talk too Flora about, of things she must not know, of names and relationships which must be hidden from her at all costs.  
It seemed wrong, but, Feril, reflected, really, Prince Iauron had started it all by giving the girl a false name. So now everyone had to remember not to refer to him as Prince, or Iauron, or Tharmeduil as a prince… none knew whether Tharmeduil had given a false name to her, or how well she knew him, or what her dealings with Prince Legolas had been, although it was known he was the acknowledged sponsor for the child (and that caused a few raised eyebrows in itself) and that he visited, had done so today with his fëa-mate, no less.

‘You are kind to sit with… Belegornor,’ Feril said.

‘I am very fond of him. How was he and his brother hurt?’ Flora asked.

‘Your friend, by a dragon. Its breath was poison. He was very brave, he saved… you know Govon?’

‘Oh, Melleth’s lover? Yes.’

What had Flora just called the prince…? 

‘Govon was there. Your friend, he put his hand over his mouth to stop Govon breathing the poison. He saved him, but he breathed too much himself and will not wake up.’

‘That is very sad. I remember he was so laughing, so always happy.’

‘He is in no pain, and we are taking care of him.’

‘What of his brother Grochonar?’

So that was what Flora had called Tharmeduil? It did not really seem appropriate, he was not really like a bear. 

‘He has fits. After them, he sleeps, and he is numb, each time, more of him. Now, he does not wake, and only his right hand and his arm have feeling.’

‘So you keep Grochonar company. You are kind.’

But Feril smiled.

‘I am very fond of him,’ she said, and went back to her gentle murmuring.

Of course, it was impossible not to hear what Flora was saying, human voices being what they were. Feril did wonder how much Westron ‘Belegornor’ had at his disposal, if he understood everything Flora said, but then, she was fairly certain that, unlike Tharmeduil/Grochonar, he couldn’t hear anyway.

‘…and so, I am trying to choose names. I do not want a just-ordinary name, for the baby will not be just ordinary… I think Melleth is a nice name, perhaps your brother will like me to use that? Of course, if I have a girl-child, then I do not know what I would do… we sometimes make our male names feminine by adding to them… what do you think of Melletha? Mellethine? Oh, they do not sound right… and if it is a boy, then why should I not call him Belegornor, after all? After his… uncle?’

‘Pardon me,’ Feril did not wish to interrupt, to intrude, but this could not be allowed to go unremarked. ‘But it depends on the choice you make for your peredhel, that he or she will after accept or reject. But elven names are unique; one should not ever have two elves by the same name.’

‘But, why not? We do it all the time, there are family names so you know who belongs to you.’

‘Because it is different, for elves. We do not age. And while we may be killed, we are not meant to die. So that it would be too confusing if we reused our names. Although, Melleth, it is not strictly speaking a name…’

‘No, but that’s what Govon called him!’ Flora said, confused. ‘Or… or I heard him called Ernilen… I am lost in these words!’

Feril considered all the things on the list of What Flora Must Not Know… she would need to be careful not to explain what ernilen meant, but surely she could say something?

‘Let me help you, a little. Melleth is the word for love, so perhaps Govon used it as an endearment. But it is not a name like Govon, or Belegornor is. You could make it Mellethiel, that is the feminine ending. And Ernilen… that is not a name, either. It is… what we call Govon’s fëa-mate, when he is here. It would not be fitting, for a human child, though.’

‘I see. What… what did you mean? Did you say, I had a choice to make for my baby?’

‘Has no-one told you your child will be peredhel?’

‘Yes – half-elven. Will he get the ears? I do so hope he will have the ears…’

Flora considered the list of prohibited subjects once more. This was most assuredly not on that list, and so she had no compunction about explaining. After all the peredhel’s forever could be at risk.

‘It is more important than the ears, I think. It is the Promise, he will get it, if you choose for him, if he accepts your choice.’

‘What promise?’

‘I said before, we do not age. But if we grow tired of life here, if we are injured beyond hope of healing, then we may sail west to the Undying Lands, there to be restored and to live in bliss with the Valar. This promise was made to all elvenkind, even the Silvans, although they do not all believe it. But it is given to the half-elven to choose whether to live a mortal life, or to accept the gift of the Valar and become as elves are, undying, and assured of bliss in Elvenhome across the sea.’

‘My baby could live forever?’

‘Potentially, yes.’

‘And never die?’

‘Well, as elves can die of injury, yes. And as a peredhel, your baby may get sick as human babies do. I know this, because I worked in the healers halls of Imladris, where Lord Elrond Half-Elven lives. He has two sons and a daughter, and when they were infants, they had sicknesses and snuffles and coughs and colds… not so many as…’

Flora had stopped listening.

‘But that would be horrid, to live forever and see everyone you love get old and die.’

‘Yes. Usually, peredhel who make the choice to be counted amongst elvenkind come to live with their elven kin.’

‘I’m not letting anyone take my baby away from me!’

‘My dear! I did not mean you to think they would! Nobody would do such a thing! It would be your choice, I am sure… do not distress yourself, I beg! Oh, I have said too much…’

Feril’s anguished tones reached into Flora’s confusion.

‘It’s a choice, and I get to choose?’

‘Yes,’ Feril said. ‘Once your baby is born. And others will advise you. But only you know what is best for your own child.’ She sighed and turned to Tharmeduil who had a soft smile on his face, she thought, and stroked his hand once more before releasing him and getting to her feet. ‘If you will excuse me, it is time for my duties. I hope I have not distressed you.’

‘No, no… it was just a surprise. I know you meant to help… I will think about it, perhaps Melleth can tell me more…’

Feril permitted herself one small smile.

‘Perhaps he can,’ she said.

*  
Flora sighed, glad to be alone with her Belegornor at last.

‘For I know the healer would not try to listen in, but we are more private now. So, I saw your brother today… I did not know he was like that, but I am glad for him, he seems happy. Our child has been very wakeful today, kicking me a little bit, but I do not mind, not really…’

She continued to deconstruct her day to him, sharing the story of Govon saying ‘wife’, and his melleth’s reaction, falling silent finally.

‘Well, if you do not mind, I will just do a little more of my knitting. This needs to be finished, just in case he is born early…’

It was a tricky part of the pattern, necessitating much counting of stitches and twisting of yarn and remembering where you were up to, so the time passed quickly and she grew unaware of what was passing beyond the confines of the chamber. 

Which is why she didn’t notice the light, laughing voice of an elleth outside, was unaware of the steps coming towards the room, and was quite startled when a friendly female voice accosted her.

‘Hello! I’m Arwen. Who might you be?’

Flora looked up and smiled, and Arwen noted the rounded ears… and even more rounded belly – with some surprise. She spoke again, in Westron this time.

‘My name is Arwen, hello. Who are you?’

‘Flora,’ Flora said.

‘I did not know there were any humans here?’

‘It is because of the baby, they said I could come. My aunt died birthing.’

‘That is very sad! I am sure they will take good care of you, though.’ Arwen smiled. ‘And which of our handsome swains have you come to visit today? Do you know them?’

‘Yes, and their other brother, too. But really, it is Belegornor I come to talk to.’

‘Bel… Belegornor?’ Arwen stared from Flora to Iauron to Flora’s belly and back again, a horrid feeling sneaking around her fëa. ‘How do you know Belegornor?’

‘He and his brothers used to ride to Lake Town.’ Flora smiled at the sleeping figure, a smile that suggested secrets and delight. ‘We met there.’

‘How..?’ Arwen broke off. About to ask how long ago, she found she lacked the courage. She swallowed and found something else to ask. ‘How long before your baby is due?’

‘They are not sure. It may be a week, it may be more than a month. It is because it is peredhel.’

Peredhel? And just who…?

Arwen remembered to make her face look interested and friendly. This… this mortal female could have no idea of the impact of her words, the things Arwen was imagining…

Her pride and dignity kicked in. whatever the truth might be here, she would not betray her concerns to a human female, especially one who seemed to have no notion of the things she was suggesting, nor how they pierced Arwen’s heart.

‘A peredhel! How delightful! And your baby’s father must be delighted!’

Flora’s expression grew sorrowful.

‘I had not told him, and then… well, there are reasons why… But Melleth is standing in for him… oh, I know that is not his name, but it is the only name I have for him… and…’

Arwen gave herself a little shake.

‘Oh, do not distress yourself. I beg your pardon; I did not mean to pry. But amongst us, a baby is always a delightful event with both parents choosing when it should happen. I forgot, for a moment, that it is not so for humankind.’ She inclined her head and retreated to the doorway. ‘I am sorry I disturbed you. Be well, Flora.’

She escaped the sickroom and hastened back through the healer halls to the front desk, struggling with her confusion and an unexpected urge to cry. 

‘I need to speak to Healer Nestoril,’ she demanded of the healer behind the desk. ‘At once.’


	184. Arwen, Distressed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Healer Nestoril tries to calm Arwen down...

‘Healer Nestoril!’ Feril called as Nestoril tried to pass surreptitiously through the halls without interruption. ‘A moment, please?’

‘Feril? Is something the matter?’ she asked, noting Feril’s furrowed brow. ‘Where is Hanben?’

‘I sent him to the cleaning room, Nestoril. I did not think he could cause trouble amongst the dirty equipment…’

‘Oh, what has he done now?’

‘He let the lady Arwen visit Prince Iauron…’

‘Well, I did tell him to allow anyone who wished to visit, as long as there were not too many.’

‘Yes. But Flora was there at the time.’

‘Go on…?’ Nestoril braced herself for the worst.

‘Arwen is in your study. I took her some tea, she is all but in tears and yet stoically insisting there is nothing wrong, she just needs a little chat with you… I do not quite understand what the problem is with Flora, she is ever such a nice person…’

Nestoril sighed.

‘Indeed, she is. I only know what I have been told, and that is hardly enough… I have my suspicions, but it would be wrong to speak when I do not know…’

‘And, I expect, if you did know, you would not feel able to tell me… I do only wish to help… I had been chatting to Flora – I was sitting with Tharmeduil when Flora came in, and she referred to Iauron by the same name I had heard tell Arwen used for him, and so it made me wonder… but it is possible I may have spoken too freely to Flora myself… I did not say anything that is on the proscribed list, but she asked about the Promise and so I told her of the choice of the peredhel… oh, and she was under the impression that Legolas’ name is rather different…’ She lowered her voice confidingly. ‘She rather thinks Melleth would be a nice name for a baby…’

‘Oh, dear! And I was hoping for a little bit of peace for an hour! Well, I will go to see Arwen… Oh, and I will need your talents tomorrow, Feril. We have some Silvan traditional healing to perform.’

‘I will look forward to that, my friend.’

Nestoril headed for her study, worrying and wondering and trying not to, for she knew it would not be helpful.

‘Hello, Arwen,’ she said once she had closed the door behind her. ‘Feril said you wanted a chat?’

Arwen dabbed at her eyes and Nestoril hastened to put a consoling arm around her shoulders.

‘There, my dear! I am sure it cannot be so very bad… what is the matter?’

Arwen tried to speak, but all she managed was to sob against Nestoril’s shoulder for what felt like a very long time, and the healer realised that perhaps gentleness was not always the way to deal with tearful persons.

‘Come, now,’ she said finally, removing herself carefully and taking a seat on the other side of her desk, proffering a handkerchief. ‘I cannot begin to help you unless I know what is troubling you, now, can I?’

Arwen sniffed and dabbed at her eyes and wiped at her nose for a few moments while Nestoril poured herself some tea and tried to work out what was really going on here.

There had been rumour and gossip a-plenty, of course, both from when Flora first appeared in the healer hall early on in her pregnancy, and when Nestoril had returned to find that the young woman was back – and had all the more recent gossip of the halls to entertain herself with. But the only facts were that Legolas had (for whatever reason) taken it upon himself to sponsor the unborn peredhel and that nobody could say for sure who the child’s father was, although most agreed it unlikely to be Legolas himself. 

The latest stories had it that Flora’s lover had died, which was why no name was mentioned and which did, effectively, stop a lot of the gossip, since you couldn’t bandy names around if they were the names of dead people… if Nestoril had been pushed for a name, she might have suggested one of the prince’s friends, perhaps, without realising that he had not, really, had many friends at the time when Flora’s pregnancy had started. 

Now, of course, all was clear. If Flora knew Iauron by the same assumed name he had given Arwen when first meeting her, it looked very much as if Arwen might well have some cause to feel ill-used… and Iauron had been always in one scrape or another…

Arwen reached the end of her snifflings and reached for her own cup of herbal tea. It rattled against the saucer as she lifted it and drank.

‘Nestoril – I am so sorry to trouble you, but you have been such a friend to me and…’

‘And I will continue to be so. But I need to know what you think is the matter, Arwen.’

‘Well, this… this girl, this pregnant woman, she was sitting with Iauron and… she knew him. She was knitting, knitting baby clothes. Being pregnant and there and… and… knitting and she called him B… Belegornor like…’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Like I used to…’

‘Flora has been with us about a week, so they tell me,’ Nestoril began softly. ‘She had visited earlier in her pregnancy, and certain arrangements were made… our facilities are better than those near her home, and the baby having, it is said, an elven father, our services were offered and so that is why she is here, to have her baby. I do not know anything of how or why she might know Iauron by this other name, I am afraid.’

‘But, don’t you see? He… he was in Lórien, that was where we met, and we liked each other, and he said…oh, he said all sorts of things, but he didn’t know I was Arwen and I didn’t know he was Iauron… he said he would write for me, send to me, wait for me…’ Arwen drew a deep, shuddery breath. ‘But I saw her, and I knew… he… he didn’t! He didn’t wait, he went off and… and found himself some hussy with less morals than sense and… and do you know how pregnant she is? And then he had the cheek to come courting me – me! And… And I thought he... he loved me...’

By the end of her speech, Arwen’s voice had grown squeaky and almost incoherent as she fought her anger and hurt and struggled to get her thoughts out. Nestoril waited for a few seconds to be sure Arwen had done, for the moment.

‘It must be said, Arwen, that if Flora was a hussy she would most probably not be pregnant.’ The healer let that sink in and continued. ‘And there is no evidence that it was Iauron – unless Flora said he, in his assumed persona, had sired her child, all is conjecture…’

‘But it is too much of a coincidence! Oh, I know we cannot ask him, but can we not ask her?’ Arwen sighed, her shoulders heaving, and she answered her own question. ‘I suppose not, it might upset her. And… and if she is pregnant by Iauron, then… then she has been badly treated, too. I suppose.’

Nestoril hastily scribbled a note and folded it over before getting to her feet.

‘Wait here a moment, Arwen. I must just speak to one of our staff.’

Leaving Arwen alone to recover, she headed down towards the room where the equipment was washed, and found Hanben up to his elbows in suds and implements.  
‘You can leave that for the moment, Hanben, if you please; I have an errand that cannot wait. Dry your hands.’

‘I am not quite sure why I am here in the first place, Healer: I was not aware that Healer Feril was my superior…’

‘No matter. Take this note to Prince Legolas’ quarters immediately. Knock hard, hard enough to be heard even in the bathing room, for example, but do not wait. Instead, push the note under the door. You may then return to your duties here.’

‘Very well… here? In the cleaning room?’

‘If you please.’ Nestoril passed the note across. ‘Thank you.’

That done, she nodded in her friendly way and left him to carry out her request, retuning to Arwen and resuming her seat.

‘There, I am back. I hope you are feeling a little better now?’

Arwen nodded.

‘Good, because we do have the name of the acknowledged sponsor of the child, and I have sent for him in the hopes that he can help us with this matter.’

‘The sponsor? You mean, the father? Who…?’

‘No, Arwen,’ Nestoril corrected firmly. ‘Most probably not the father; simply the one who has agreed to stand in for the missing parent. We may have to wait a little, though; while I am sure he will come as soon as he gets this note, he may be busy with other matters first.’

‘And just who is this… this person, Nestoril?’ Arwen demanded. ‘I am not sure I want to share my private concerns with a stranger!’

The healer smiled at the change in Arwen’s tone from tragic to imperious.

‘No, you know each other quite well, do not worry,’ she replied. ‘It is Prince Legolas.’


	185. Definitions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Govon is still worried about his linguistic mistake...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandalwood Alert: This chapter is not fit to be read in public or where others may be able to read over your shoulder...

All the way back to their rooms, Govon was unsure as to whether or not he was properly forgiven for his linguistic mistake – Legolas, not particularly loquacious in public at the best of times, was perhaps more quiet than usual as they walked together through the corridors.

But once they had turned off from the main passageways, Govon felt the touch of fingers as Legolas reached for his hand, and he smiled, reassured and comforted. He squeezed the hand in his, and was rewarded with a heady glance from his fëa-mate as the prince stopped, moving to lean back against the wall, and pulled Govon towards him.

‘Tell me, friend captain,’ he said softly, his breath a ghost against Govon’s ear, making him shudder and shiver, ‘when you said you would be wife to me all I want… just what is it that you think is expected of such?’

‘I… had thought it something we might discover together…’

‘One definition, for the wives of men, I understand, means they must do as their husbands wish. They serve as they are told, they…’ 

Legolas broke off. The expression in Govon’s beautiful hazel eyes was anxious, somehow, and all at once he felt wrong, sick, as if he had been on the brink of doing something harmful to their fëar. 

‘But we are not human, Govon,’ he said, ‘and I would never treat you as subservient, never try to make you do what I wanted if you did not want it, too, I would never…’

‘I know.’ Govon brought Legolas into a hug, holding him close. ‘You would never do that to me, because it was done to you and you suffered as a result, and that is not what you are like, it is not what we are like. We are fëa-mates, we are lovers, we are more than any definition of what we are called.’

Legolas shuddered against his fëa-mate’s body.

‘I thought I had forgot,’ he said, his voice muffled against Govon’s neck. ‘I thought all that was past, but then I… it felt, suddenly, as if I was become like that, like… him in how I might treat you…’

‘Never,’ Govon said firmly. ‘I would never let that happen.’ 

He shifted position, lifting Legolas’ head, framing his face between his hands gently, his thumbs lightly caressing.

‘You are my fair elf, I am your friend captain. We do not do such things.’

‘You are right. We do not, we are not… we love each other.’

Govon nodded, and smiled, relieved the awful fear was gone, grateful the moment had passed.

‘Yes, we do. But perhaps that is better done in our own rooms, and not in the corridors.’

He dropped his hands to Legolas’ shoulders and kissed him softly before putting his arm round him and they continued on towards their quarters. His fair elf slid his own arm round his waist to grip his hip lightly.

‘Perhaps,’ Legolas agreed. ‘Or… the bathing room?’

‘The bathing room, indeed. I love how your skin gleams under water, it is like moonlight, melleth… holding your body in the water is like embracing moonbeams.’

They reached their rooms and shut the world out, taking a moment to sit on the bed and touch each other’s faces, to reassure themselves of the love between them.

‘I think it’s time to get you out of your borrowed clothes, my fair elf,’ Govon said. ‘May I help?’

‘I would like that… but… do not think you must, or that…’

Govon leaned in and silenced his beloved with a kiss.

‘Has your mouth done talking yet? For I would much prefer to kiss you now than to talk, if that is well with you?’ 

His fingers worked on the clasp of Legolas’ jerkin, slid it off his body.

‘This looks so well on you. And the scent of leather, lingering on your skin…’ Govon paused to inhale, his eyes closing. ‘It is heady, evocative, it speaks to the warrior in me. It makes me want to forget about the pool and just push you back, here and now, and…’

He felt his fëa-mate’ breath quicken against his throat, and the prince grabbed at his hair, bringing their faces together, their mouths meeting, Legolas’ tongue hot and demanding inside his mouth, pulling him down so that Govon was over him, responding to the kiss. He felt the stirring hardness of the prince’s arousal through their clothing as eager hands burrowed through his borrowed garments, seeking skin satin skin. 

Each touch was startling in its intensity, each thrust of tongue a promise, need and want and lust mingling with the love he felt to make him almost desperate, and those hands were stripping him, all but tearing the clothes from his back, yanking undone the ties at his waist to tug and pull him free of his leggings, Govon’s own hands easing Legolas out of his garments, peripherally aware that there were penalties for not taking good care of one’s uniform, until the beautiful body gleamed naked and silvered beneath him, himself a shiver of bare skin needing so much…

He wrapped Legolas in his arms and rolled with him so that they were on their sides, tangled together, hair mingling, and Govon broke from the kiss to shudder and gasp and fumble for the little pot of oil one or other of them always kept close.

‘Will you, my prince? I need you, I want…’

‘Govon, I… after the words between us, it would not be right…’

‘With love, if it is with love, anything is right between us, melleth, melleth-nin, oh, my fair elf, ernilen, my love…’ Govon roamed his hands over Legolas’ body, encouraging, enticing, and turned in his arms, thrusting back against the long length of the prince’s erection. ‘Saes, please, melleth, love me, fill me, bury yourself in me, be as much a part of my body as you are of my fëa…’ 

Legolas groaned and the air was fragranced with the musky spice of sandalwood. Govon felt the smooth intrusion of oiled fingers sliding into his body, the prince’s free hand busy stroking and touching and caressing everywhere at once, it felt, and with a suddenness that made him bite back a cry, Legolas was in him, plunging deep and almost reckless, teeth gripping the skin of his shoulder, tongue making hot, wet circles as he felt himself filled, and held, and wanted, and loved, and he moved and moaned and cried out his love and need into the pillows as his lover moved faster and harder, gliding into and against the secret node that released so much pleasure, bliss on top of delight, more and more, and Govon felt the familiar quickening in the pit of his stomach that told him his whole body was poised, and tight, and ready, Legolas stroking his hardness with clever fingers and…

‘Ai! Govon, I love you…’

And the words tipped him over as he cried Legolas’ name, or something like it, and his body spasmed and released him into a blinding climax, spending himself on the encircling, sliding hand and bringing his lover with him into the fall to completion as he felt himself fill with sudden heat, and he was turned, Legolas slipping out of him to fold him into his arms, to cover him with his body and his hair and his whispered words of love.


	186. Explanations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas talks to Arwen

It was only after Legolas and Govon had lain together for long enough to sate their need for affection and reassurance and for their bodies to be ready for more that they finally got to their bathing pool. 

There they had made slow and lingering love in the warmth of the waters, and were washing after, splashing and playing, when the knock came at the door, just once, loud, but not demanding. 

Govon grimaced, and Legolas laughed.

‘Be grateful it was not twenty minutes ago, melleth, for a knock at the door then would have been far more distracting. It cannot be important, I do not think. They would knock again.’

By going to the top end of the pool, half-levering himself out on the side and peering through the open doorways, Govon could just see through to the outer room and its doorway.

‘It’s all right, hervenn, they’ve pushed a note under.’

‘Don’t call me that!’ Legolas pulled Govon back into the water with a splash, catching him against his body, but there was a smile in his voice as he said it. ‘There will be no more talk of hervenn and hervess, of husband and wife between us, in any language, I pray you!’

Govon laughed and dipped under the water, sliding out of Legolas’ light embrace.

‘All right. Does your hair want a wash?’

‘Please, melleth. I think I spilled fruit juice in the ends. Oh, and on your uniform leggings and the jerkin…’

‘Do not worry; I’m sure it will wash out more easily than spider blood does.’

‘On the subject of clothing, melleth, may we get some shirts for you, like mine? I loved the feel of the linen against your skin.’

‘If it pleases you. Not for work, though. Just off-duty?’

‘Perfect. Ai, your hands in my hair… this is wonderful… Braid me, after? Let me braid you?’

*

It was almost an hour after Nestoril had dispatched Hanben with the note before Legolas presented himself at the door to her study, and by that time she was well and truly glad to see him. It was not that Arwen had been particularly fretful, but the waiting had frayed both their respective tempers considerably, so that instead of sending for more tea, the healer was heartily tempted to reach for the spirits bottle.

‘I brought Govon, since he has questions, too. I hope that’s all right?’

Although phrased as a question, there was something about the prince’s smile that suggested ‘no’ wouldn’t be an option and, on reflection, Nestoril rather thought that Govon’s presence might be a welcome addition to what promised to be a challenging meeting.

‘It is fine. Govon, you are very welcome. Why do we not all sit in the comfortable chairs near the window?’ 

Arwen got up from her seat at Nestoril’s desk, and seeing Legolas, turned and fell on his shoulder, sobbing against him while, over her head, he looked from Nestoril to Govon for rescue.

‘Shall we sit?’ Nestoril repeated. ‘Arwen, come, put Legolas down, think of poor Govon’s feelings…’

Arwen gave a little gasp, and let go as if scalded.

‘Indeed, I am not sure why I turn to you for comfort, Legolas, after what you have done…’

‘Me?’ Legolas stared and shook his head. ‘You can hardly blame me for any of this.’

‘But you’re supporting this woman!’

Legolas sat down, Govon taking a seat as close to him as possible, making sure his fëa-mate was protected from Arwen’s proximity.

‘Yes, I am. Nestoril’s note said that you met her and had some questions…’

‘Some questions? I demand to know what is going on! Did you know, all this time? Is this baby really… really your brother’s? Did Iauron…? Oh, it is too much!’

‘Arwen…’ Legolas sighed, trying to work out what to say and what not to say and which first. ‘The most important thing is that Flora is innocent in this…’

‘Ha!’ Arwen snapped.

‘Yes, you are upset, and I do not wonder at it. But you ought not to blame the girl. All along she has been lied to and deceived, and while attempts have been made to secure her comfort, it seems we are still lying to her and, what is worse, other people, honourable people like Nestoril and Govon and you, are being drawn in to the deception.’

‘I did not lie to her,’ Arwen said. ‘In fact, considering the circumstances, I was very dignified and pleasant to her, despite having just realised whose child she carries – a fact she seems unaware of…’

‘Well, for that you can blame my dear brother,’ Legolas said, losing some of his patience. ‘He it was gave her a false name, and invented one for Tharmeduil, too – it was what they always did, when they went to Lake Town, and he used the same name with Flora, too…’

‘You make it sound as if it was a regular thing…!’

‘I’m sorry, Arwen, it was.’ Legolas looked at her with mute appeal. ‘The thing was… to my eyes, to our eyes… Iauron came back from patrol full of tales of this elleth he had met, an incomparable, wonderful person… one by name, Gaelbainil…’

‘Very well, so I used a false name, too. I… it was not to deceive, though, it was for my own reasons…’

‘Arwen, it doesn’t matter. He was full of this elleth. And he missed her. He didn’t see how Adar would let him have anything to do with one of the Lady Arwen’s lesser handmaids, not as a fëa-mate, not for the crown prince… Adar might have permitted a dalliance, an affair, but no more, Iauron believed, and so he gave up thought of her, or he tried to. But, being Iauron, he didn’t like feeling sorry for himself and decided to try to cheer himself up by getting out a little… he roped Tharmeduil into his schemes and tried to interest me, too. They began to ride out to Lake Town to drink amongst the humans, where life seemed fast and fleeting, where different things mattered. And, I am afraid he discovered there were places to go where one could buy… well, rent – companionship.’

‘So Flora is just a tawdry little brothel girl!’ Arwen lifted her chin at Nestoril. ‘I said she was a hussy!’

‘Well, no. She is not,’ Legolas insisted. ‘She is just a girl who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But she comes later in the tale. It was about this time that some rumours began, rumours about me.’ Legolas paused to glance at his fëa-mate. ‘These particular ones were unfounded, but if they came to the wrong ears, my secret… it was then a secret – would be unmasked and I dreaded what my father would say. They said – Iauron most loudly – that if I came with them, it would allay suspicion.’

He cast his eyes down to the floor, and Govon reached quietly out to take his hand.

‘But,’ Arwen said, ‘your father seems perfectly fine with you and Govon…’

‘Well, consider. It is one thing to go to your father and say, Adar, here is my fëa-mate, I love him, my fëa needs him, and an entirely different thing to say, yes, I am different, no, there is no-one I love, I am just not fond of ellyth… I was afraid to face him with it. And so I went along on the trips to Lake Town. I didn’t use any name, false or true, I introduced myself as ‘the one that looks after the horses,’ and I cannot say what happened in the hostelries, for I did not see. I did not want to see.’

‘My grandmother sent my back home after Iauron and his company left,’ Arwen said. ‘She was worried about me.’

‘We were worried about Iauron. We had seen him think himself in love before, but not to this extent. And while his way of coping did not seem right, to me, I considered myself no judge, for I had never been attached to an elleth… at that point, not having met Govon, I had yet to learn what love felt like. Anyway, these courtesans, they did not work for Iauron. But he still kept trying.’

Nestoril covered her mouth to hide a smile.

‘So, where does Flora fit into this tale?’ she asked. 

‘Well, apparently, some of the… the ladies who do not belong to hostelries, they wait in the streets at certain places. By chance, Flora had stopped there – to rearrange a bundle, or tie her shoe, or something, I do not recall. Some men chanced by, and thought her one of these ladies, and did not take kindly to learning their mistake. We came up, just as Flora was getting scared and trying to shout for help. One of the men covered her mouth with his hand, at which point Iauron shot the hat off the fellow’s head and Tharmeduil drew his sword…’

‘So Iauron saved the day!’ Nestoril put in. ‘I am sure Flora was impressed.’

‘Yes. Of course, Iauron wanted to see her home safe… and that is how it began. She was grateful, and interested in elves, and Iauron always liked an audience. So they met again, and more often, and her company seemed to cheer him. A friend she had, who liked Tharmeduil, but as for me…’ Legolas shrugged. I just…’

‘You just stayed with the horses,’ Govon said softly. 

‘And Flora would bring me hot milk, spiced and sweetened with honey, and talk to me, just for a few minutes. But she was nice. I hadn’t really known any humans before her, not really, not to talk to, to know their names and their concerns. It was pleasant to listen to her, and it was kind of her to think of me.’

Arwen sniffed, dabbing her eye.

‘You make me feel… feel ashamed…’

‘No, do not. For you didn’t know these things, so why should you? You believed in my brother’s love for you – and I am sure, however it was then, whatever had been between you, then, something changed after Flora, and he told us; it was no good, he couldn’t forget Gaelbainil, and surely one letter couldn’t hurt? So he wrote, seeking her, seeking you.’

‘But what happened with Flora? Are you saying he abandoned her for me? I am not sure how that is better…’

‘He did not mean to. We knew so little of humans, we brothers… one day, Flora said she did not want to see him again, and to leave her be. She would not say why, just that it was what she wanted. And Iauron was a little sad, but that was when he wrote to Imladris. He said he knew what he wanted now, and it was Gaelbainil. The next thing was, Flora was at the palace… she was pregnant and her father had written to complain, and my father sent for her – her, not her father, he did not see it was her father’s business – and that was when I became embroiled… Adar asked Iauron if he wanted to marry her, even though her father didn’t wish it, and neither did Adar, for that matter, but by then Iauron had realised, I think, you were the one he loved, Arwen. So something had to be done to take care of Flora, and it seemed she liked me better than she did Tharmeduil… and I cannot help wondering if it was Arveldir’s idea of a joke, to let me put myself in place of the child’s father.’

‘And you agreed?’

‘It was not put to me in any way that I could refuse, Arwen. Besides, it seemed unlikely I would have the care of a child by any other means. So this is how it stands: Flora does not know we three brothers are princes, or our names. She is here now by choice, to be delivered in comfort and safety. Afterwards, she intends go home again with her baby. But we are still deceiving her, and it does not sit well with me. Arwen, I know you must be troubled, but for all that has been done and said, Iauron had turned to you. He loves you, he chose you. Believe me, I am not seeking to excuse him, only to ease your distress; as far as he was concerned, Flora was out of his life, was nothing more to do with him. I am sure he turned back towards you with a clear conscience.’

Nestoril tipped her head at Arwen.

‘Has Legolas helped?’

‘No. No, nothing can help. I thought Iauron loved me and… oh, he even used the same false name! False, so false! And there was I, swearing myself to him, promising to sail with him, if it came to it! And then to walk in and see that woman… and now to find she is just as much a victim of his charms, if not more so, than I… Oh, the things I would say if only I could talk to him…’

‘Well, I have a treatment plan worked out.’ Nestoril smiled. ‘If all goes well, maybe you will in a few days.’

Govon squeezed Legolas’ hand lightly.

‘I’m not sure he wouldn’t rather stay asleep, myself,’ he said.


	187. Nestadren Glîr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil has meetings, and Nestoril and Feril visit the Fea Tree Grove...

Once more, Thranduil endured his morning meeting with his advisor. It was one thing he had certainly not missed whilst away from home, all the formalities of the palace. At times they were stifling, at others, like this present meeting, simply tedious.

‘…Commander Esgaron was asking once more about the future of the Court Guard, my king, he really is most concerned… he made so bold as to approach me, personally, rather than speaking to Over-Captain Rawon…’

‘Thank you, Arveldir.’ Well, this was more interesting, at least. ‘If he persists, then I suppose I must speak to him appropriately… on a loosely related topic, you were making enquiries as to how many of our warriors would be needing larger quarters?’

‘Indeed. My initial findings suggest that there may well be a reluctance on the part of these warriors to step forward and be acknowledged as part of such pairings…’

‘Then we must be seen to be supportive, rather than disapproving. Consider how this might be done.’

‘Sire.’

‘I heard something about an incident in the healers’ hall, do you know anything?’

‘Was it the one where Commander Govon used slightly inappropriate language towards Prince Legolas, my king?’

‘Actually, no… but do tell me?’

‘It was only a very minor slip… a mistranslation… insignificant…’

‘Very well, I will not press you. Besides, I am sure it will be far more interesting to ask my son in person, probably with Govon present… no, I was referring to the matter of Lady Arwen and our human guest?’

‘Ah. Indeed… Healer Nestoril has done all she can to calm the situation… but Arwen now is in possession of the facts concerning Iauron and Mistress Flora… and Prince Legolas has admitted his role in the matter, also…’

‘And Commander Govon’s response…?’

‘Nerves of steel, that one. Did not seem at all discomfited… but he had already met the woman, and so one presumes had already heard the explanation…’

‘What of Flora?’

‘The healers’ hall has been at pains not to distress her; she is still in ignorance of the true identity of her swain… she has very little of our language so it is to be hoped we can continue with the deception…’

‘It seems unfair. Yet how would it help her to know my son gave her a false name to begin with? It would surely be an unkindness for her to learn the truth…’

‘As well as perhaps encouraging her family to argue better terms for her… she herself does not seem particularly avaricious, but her father is still occasionally vocal on the topic… Well, it is to be hoped she will be delivered shortly and then can return home with the child… one point, my king, which I am sure has not escaped your notice but which I feel I ought to stress, for others may come to the same conclusion… given that two of your sons are incapacitated, and the third is disinclined… this child, this peredhel which will be born… is likely to be the only heir your sons will produce…’

‘The thought had occurred, of course. But only to be dismissed; I rather think one enclave of elvenkind governed by a peredhel is quite enough.’

And, besides, it would mean separating the child from its mother, which would be cruel, or requesting her to move permanently to the palace, which would be almost as unkind. Just because Flora was mortal and brief and fleeting did not mean she had no feelings. But there was no need to burden Arveldir with the impression that Thranduil felt sorry for the woman, and so he did not mention it.

‘Simply put, Arveldir, if there is no heir, I will not sail. You are Silvan…’

‘Mostly, my king.’

‘So your ties to this land are sincere and deep and abiding. But I have grown to love the forest myself, Arveldir, to feel I am bound to its service. You, your kindred Silvans, you entrusted the care of the forest to my father’s line. While I have no claim to Greenwood the Great, no Silvan blood in my veins, still I would not leave such a jewel in the hands of… of a half-elf.’

‘Understood, my king.’

‘Was there anything more this morning?’

‘Healer Nestoril has sent to say she will need to attend you, and would you prefer she come to you?’

‘Yes. My study, at her convenience as long as it is within the hour.’

‘Very well, my king. I will pass your orders on at once.’

*

Nestoril knocked on the door of the king’s study and reminded herself to keep on topic as she was summoned within.

‘Good morning, my king,’ she said, dropping a curtsey and closing the door after her. ‘I see you did not replace your full-face dressing after removing it for your appearance in the dining hall last night?’

Thranduil’s lip twitched and his uncovered eye twinkled.

‘Regrettably, the adhesive properties of the dressing were limited once it had been removed. I did, however, keep the eye covered… mostly because I was afraid Healer Hanben and his knife might be dining with us, and I wished to protect myself from his over-eager ministrations… wherever did he spring from, Ness?’

She laughed, setting out her equipment on a small table as she replied.

‘He is actually very able, if a little pompous, too sure of himself, and rather more progressive than we are quite ready for. Formerly he was in one of the southern settlements, but there were too many humans moving around the borders for his liking and so he moved and came to train with my halls. I am ready, my king, if you will permit?’

It took her but a moment to remove the patch and to examine the injured side of his face. She shook her head.

‘Yes, indeed, you are making things far more difficult for me than they need to be… I know the dressing is an inconvenience, sire, but, really, if you wish to heal properly it is important that you follow my guidelines…’

‘Do as I am told, you mean?’

‘Now, would I say such a thing…?’

‘I would not put it past you, in private, at least.’

‘And in my own halls, but these are not my halls, my king, but your domain. There, and I am almost done… And I would most humbly beg you, sire, to keep the injury covered today, for the dressing is treated with salve to soften the healing flesh and allow it to regenerate properly… I am worried, sire, that your face will scar if you do not follow my suggestions, and that would be such a pity.’ She finished patting the edge of the pad into place. ‘Of course, if more drastic measures are needed, I could always send Healer Hanben to attend you…’

‘Do not even consider it, Nestoril, I forbid you!’

She gathered up her equipment and smiled, her eyes full of mischief as she dropped into an almost insolent curtsey which made Thranduil smile in spite of himself.

‘Good day, my king. I will be back this evening to see how matters are progressing.’  
*

Returning to her own halls, Nestoril checked in with the duty healer and left word that she would be unavailable for most of the rest of the morning.

‘I hope there will be no real problems; after all, you have managed without me for several months,’ she said, and headed off to meet Feril in her office.

‘I have brought everything you required,’ Feril said, her smile one of anticipation and delight. ‘And I have my bow and quiver, as you see.’

‘Excellent.’ 

‘I am so eager to visit your grove; there is nothing like it in Rivendell… I hear there is something similar in Lothlórien, but not on the same scale.’

Nestoril picked up one of the two packs Feril had brought with her and looped it over her shoulder, her friend lifting the other.

‘Well, let us go, then.’

She led the way through the forest tracks until they reached the boundary of the fëa-tree grove with its guardian holly arch.

She bowed reverently and Feril followed suit.

Walking into the grove’s fragrant green bowl instantly calmed Nestoril, but Feril’s excitement peaked and she didn’t know where to look first…

‘Oh, Nestoril! This is beautiful! And are these all your royals…? May I try to guess?’

Nestoril’s eyes swept the grove, taking in all details of the trees around, looking for any change since her previous visit.

‘Please do. Start with these two.’

Nestoril drew Feril’s attention to the golden rowan and the richly-barked hazel.

‘Oh… well, they both look hale… just a little damage to the rowan, but mostly the bark has recovered… the hazel, its foliage tangling…. It must be two people who are very close to each other… Govon, and Legolas?’

‘Well done.’

‘But we are not here for me to play matching games, I know, Nestoril. Show me what must be done.’

Nestoril led Feril towards the silver birch.

‘This is Tharmeduil!’ Feril gasped. ‘It must be! Look at the way it seems to be tilted… may I touch?’

Nestoril nodded, and Feril laid her hands on the trunk of the tree.

‘Yes… the circulation is blocked, restricted… well, it has been a long time, but I am sure I remember how we used to sing the trees awake… it is the Ethuil song, isn’t it? Not to reawaken, but to bring into growth.’

‘Indeed. I will be using the Echuir chant myself, to try to reach Iauron. But would you like to start with Tharmeduil? You have spent so much time with him, I am sure his fëa knows yours by now. I have business with the willow to begin with, and then I will attempt Iauron…’

‘The cherry tree? Oh, I do hope you are feeling strong…’

‘Which is why I am starting with the king himself,’ Nestoril said, setting down the pack and opening it to arrange the contents on the ground. ‘His tree always gives me strength when I attend it. Do not think you need to stint on the caul silk; that is the thing with Mirkwood, we can always get more.’

Nestoril picked up a sizeable wad of caul silk and crossed over to the willow, She stroked its silver bark and murmured a greeting before sinking to her knees and spreading the silk on her lap. Her eyes closed and she took a moment to feel the air of the grove around her, to drink in its calm and prepare herself. Then, laying her hands on the spider silk, she began to sing a low, gentle tune, softly melodic, calling up her healing powers, connecting to her Silvan nature. She rose to her feet, still singing, and placed the silk against the damage bark high on the trunk of the willow.

‘Nestadren thîr, bain flâd,’ she sang. ‘Nestadren rhaw, nestad flâd, bain thîr…’

She repeated the words in cadence, changing the order of them, using them as an invocation, all the while pressing the silk against the bark, allowing her voice to soften as she poured all her intention and hope into the song, into the tree, singing her intention, healing for this face, beautiful skin, healing for the flesh, healing the skin, beautiful the face... 

As Nestoril fell silent, she heard Feril’s voice rising in the Song of Spring, the Ethuil Glîr, calling out to Tharmeduil’s fëa-tree to rise and stir and surge with new energy. Feril’s voice was young and strong and there was something in it, a passion, an intensity that told Nestoril she had been right to trust Tharmeduil’s birch to her friend, there was so much determination in her voice, as if it mattered to her fëa that he be healed. 

Nestoril laid her hands on the bark of the willow, looking up at where the caul silk pad lay pressed against the dark scarring on the trunk. As she stood, she felt a surge of response flood up through the tree, sensing the stirring of the cambium layers in the bark, the rise of the sapwood, and her hands grew warm as its energy oozed into her palms, swept through her, giving her renewed strength, and the dressing shivered as tendrils of new growth spread out over it, holding it in place, and she smiled, sighing in relief.

Her song had been heard, her gift of silk taken. The healing process had begun.

Feril’s voice fell silent and Nestoril turned towards her. The healer was leaning against birch, exhausted, but with a happy smile on her face.

‘I am sure it has worked, Nestoril!’ she exclaimed. ‘I am sure I felt a response!’

‘Let me see if I can read anything.’ 

Feril had bound the branches and trunk of the tree in caul silk so that it looked almost as if it was a parcel, and as Nestoril touched an exposed area of bark towards the tips of a branch, she nodded.

‘Yes, indeed. There is much more life her now; all is moving much more strongly.’

‘Oh, I had forgotten how much I enjoy this work! Would you like help with your echuir?’

‘If you feel able, thank you. There is no physical injury to Iauron, and so we will not use caul silk – it would have no effect. If we encircle the trunk and lay our hands on…’

‘Let me help you with your song, Nestoril. Surely two voices will sing more strongly than one?’

‘Thank you; your help would be much appreciated.’

The two healers touched the trunk of the cherry tree and began to sing the old Song of Stirring, the one used at the turn of the year away from winter, a song of hope and waking, of the beginnings of growth before true spring begins. As Feril kept the melody and the words going, Nestoril added her own imprecations, calling out to Iauron’s fëa to listen, to hear, to respond and quicken. They sang the song over several times, changing cadence and pitch, stressing different phrases, until finally they had sung through all the variations they could think of and ended on a long, soft note by mutual agreement.

Nestoril dropped her forehead against the tree and caught her breath.

‘Do you feel any change?’ Feril asked hopefully. ‘I am not certain… I cannot say…’

‘No. No, I feel nothing. But… we should go back, and ask Lord Glorfindel to sit with Iauron and try once more to locate his fëa. It may be that we have stirred something, and it just needs a little time. Iauron may have heard, and be trying to return.’

‘Then we should hasten.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Nestadren Glîr – healing song  
> Bain - beautiful  
> Nestad, nestadren - healing   
> Flâd – skin  
> Rhaw - flesh   
> Thîr - face, look, expression  
> Echuir – stirring  
> Ethuil – spring  
> Glîr - Song
> 
> Please note that Nestoril’s song is not intended to be proper Sindarin. Here she is using the words as an invocation, and as such, is using forms which may not appear grammatically correct.
> 
> However, should there be any Sindarin scholars reading who would like to make a proper translation of the words, then please contact me; I would be happy to include such, with full accreditation to the author.


	188. Iphant-nin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel goes to the healers' hall...

Glorfindel decided he quite liked being in Mirkwood, at least now they had arrived back at the comparative comfort of the palace complex. 

It was a little strange, sharing Triwathon’s windowless room, almost claustrophobic, but oddly, he was more worried when alone there than when Triwathon was present, even though the presence of another being should, by rights, have made the room feel smaller than ever. Instead, he found he didn’t mind, not with the beautiful warrior on hand.  
Right now, it was getting towards the middle of the day and Triwathon was stowing his gear from morning practice; they had come back to the room for just that purpose, and Glorfindel had arranged himself on the single bed in the hopes that Triwathon would favour him with his company once he was done tidying.

‘I liked watching you today,’ Glorfindel offered. ‘The way you stand with a bow, so still, so steady, all your strength in the pull, and then to just hold for so long… every inch of you taut and tight…’

‘Thank you.’ Triwathon paused, favouring him with his shy smile. ‘I thought your bout with Commander Bregon was fascinating… our king favours two swords, but we rarely get to see him wield them, and when we do, it’s usually because we’re in a battle situation and there’s less time to watch. So it was a delight. You moved so fluently, it was like a dance.’

‘I’ve had an invitation to wrestle, tomorrow,’ Glorfindel continued lazily. ‘I thought it might be an excuse to get me to show off my scars, at first… but then realised who they want to put me up against… Commander Esgaron.’

There was a rattle as Triwathon dropped his quiver, and arrows sprayed out across the stone floor.

‘I think I’m going to rip his head off,’ Glorfindel went on in conversational tones. ‘After I tear both his arms out of their sockets first, of course.’

‘You jest, I hope!’ Triwathon said, gathering up his arrows. 

‘Only about ripping him apart. But I will beat him, I promise you. Not only because he treated you so badly, but the way he’s always ill-mouthing the Court Guard; I wonder Govon doesn’t honour him with a fist in the face…’

‘My Commander is above such behaviour,’ Triwathon said with pride in his voice.

‘He is, indeed, unfailingly difficult to provoke. Now, any chance of one of those wonderful cuddles of yours, when you’ve finished tidying?’  
‘I am just done.’

Glorfindel opened his arms hopefully, grinning as Triwathon came over and tried to fit onto the narrow bed alongside him. A little bit of wriggling and fidgeting, and they lay, limbs entangled, bodies close, Triwathon’s head tucked under Glorfindel’s chin.

‘Without our clothes would have been nicer,’ the Balrog-slayer commented. ‘But I suppose it can be arranged…’

‘We’ve both been working hard. After we’ve visited the baths, perhaps.’

‘Or… we could go to that guest room they’ve set aside for me… with its own bathing pool… so we wouldn’t have to behave ourselves…’

Triwathon shifted position to raise his head look into Glorfindel’s face.

‘Of course – you have the beautiful crystal skylight room where you might watch the stars… and yet you are here with me…’

‘Well… the stars are beautiful, but they are far away,’ Glorfindel said. ‘And you are beautiful, and you are here, so I will watch you instead.’

‘Your pool, then. And your room tonight, perhaps?’

‘Can we still huddle together, as if we’re in this narrow cot?’

Triwathon laughed and began to disentangle himself. 

‘If you like. Come, then. And I know what you are doing, you know.’

‘Oh? Am I doing anything?’ Glorfindel asked.

‘Yes, indeed. You are trying to show that you are with me, and not that I am with you. And I am very grateful that it seems to matter to you so much, that you would have people believe that. But I am content whatever they think, for we are with each other, and that is what matters to me, right now.’

‘You’re very wise for one so young, Triwathon.’

Triwathon rose and found a change of clothes to carry with him to Glorfindel’s rooms, shaking his head.

‘I’m older than Legolas – I’m not that young.’

‘Penneth-nin, compared to me, everybody is young. Shall we go and clean up, then?’

*

They had washed, and eventually dressed, and were discussing what to do about lunch – whether to seek the greensward again, or simply visit the dining hall, when a knock came at the door, and Glorfindel was handed a message from the healer hall.

‘I’ll be there momentarily,’, he said, closing the door and turning back to Triwathon with a shrug. ‘It looks like I’m not getting lunch any time soon. Nestoril wants me with the princes… want to wait here for me? Or go ahead, if you’re hungry.’

‘I’ll wait.’

‘I hope not to be long… it depends what is the matter, but the sooner I go, the sooner I’ll be back.’

Giving Triwathon a wink, Glorfindel headed to the healers’ hall and presented himself at the duty desk where Healer Gyril was working.

‘Nestoril sent for me, something to do with the princes?’

‘Yes, indeed. Would you care to follow me?’ 

The healer led the way down a corridor and tapped on the door of a room half-way down on the left. Feril emerged.

‘Oh, Lord Glorfindel! Will you step in?’

Nestoril was sitting at Iauron’s bedside and she looked up with a smile of welcome.

‘Thank you for coming, Glorfindel.’

‘Glad to help… if I can. What do you need?’

‘Feril and I began a new treatment this morning, and would like you to see if there has been any change in Iauron’s condition… that is, if he is any nearer to waking…’

‘Let me see, then.’ 

Intrigued, wondering what the healers had been doing, he began a cursory look over the prince.

‘Well, his pulse feels a little stronger, his breath’s less shallow… what have you been up to?’

‘Some of our old Silvan remedies.’

‘I would take my hat off to you, Ness, if I had one… let me take a look into him…’

It would be wrong to say it was easy for Glorfindel to slide his mind into the mind of another person’s. But it was certainly easier for him than it was for some, and his experiences in the Halls of Mandos had given him a certain insight… he sang the chant that connected his mind with the remnants of the prince, sent himself into Iauron’s consciousness, found it empty, nobody home, everything there, waiting, functional… but the driving force, the fëa, was missing, gone, lost. It was not that it was buried, deep, it was simply not there.

Unwilling to give up, he cast around, trying to find something, anything to give him just a shred of hope that he could bring Iauron back…

But there was nothing, and he had fallen so deeply into Iauron’s mind that it was a struggle to bring himself back up and out. He felt as if he were drowning in the emptiness, the darkness…

‘Glorfindel?’

The voice was distant, faint, concerned. From afar, he felt pressure… someone was shaking him…

It was enough for him to focus on, to follow out of the emptiness.

With a gasp he came back to the now, to the place outside Iauron’s mind, and he shook his head, deadly tired, suddenly.

‘Glorfindel, are you all right?’ Nestoril’s voice was solicitous. ‘You were murmuring your chant… and then you stopped… and then you were silent for a long time… a very long time… is all well with you?’

‘Just tired, Nestoril. Ai, I am sorry, he is gone. His fëa is still disassociated, I cannot find a trace of it. I am sorry, there is nothing I can do.’

Nestoril blew a breath out through her nose, letting go of the last of her hope.

‘Thank you for trying. Come, you’re shaking. Let me give you a restorative in my study.’

‘What about Tharmeduil?’ Glorfindel asked, allowing himself to be hauled to his feet.

‘We have done preliminary tests, and it would appear he has more feeling than he previously did. His responses to the stimuli are increasing by the hour. I do not expect him to wake, though; his case is not like Iauron’s, there is a particular vision that is keeping him fixed in his current condition. It will be well; we know it will be well. Just… not quite yet. Come. My study, now.’

She nodded to Feril behind Glorfindel’s back.

‘Yes, as we discussed while we were waiting, do that for me.’

Glorfindel was grateful for the help, relieved when he found a chair beneath him and a glass of rich amber spirits pressed into his hand. And he was even more grateful when, ten minutes later a knock on the door, and Feril showed Triwathon in.

‘What has happened?’ he asked. ‘Is Glorfindel quite well?’

‘He’s just pushed himself too far. Do not worry; he is fine, just tired,’ Nestoril said with her usual reassuring smile. ‘But I thought… maybe he needed a friend at his side. Here.’ She passed Triwathon a glass of spirits. ‘Drink up, help yourselves… I’ll have some lunch sent in to you. Take your time, and I will be back in an hour or so. I would not subject Glorfindel to the indignity of a bed in the healers’ wing, but he should rest for a while.’

‘Thank you. I’ll take care of him.’

‘Like the sound of that,’ Glorfindel managed to say. 

Once alone, Triwathon reached for Glorfindel’s hand.

‘I was worried,’ he said. ‘Feril was worried.’

‘Well, I am just weary. I tried too hard, that’s all. Sometimes it’s worse than not trying enough.’

Lunch arrived, lots of it, only the best for the healers’ hall, and once Glorfindel had eaten, falling on the food, startled at how hungry he had been, he began to feel better, and he said so.

‘I don’t suppose there’s a private room round here that we could borrow for an hour?’ he suggested, making Triwathon smile.

‘Oh, but I do not think you should be trying anything energetic just yet.’

‘Well, I am happy to let you lead, you should know that…’

‘A tempting invitation… let me think… no, your room or mine would be better.’

‘Very well, let’s go,’ Glorfindel said. ‘And I will even let you support me through the halls…’

‘This is just another excuse to put your arm round me in public, isn’t it?’

Glorfindel draped himself over Triwathon as they made their way to the duty desk. 

‘Yes. What of it?’

‘Nothing, iphant-nin.’ Triwathon nodded to Healer Gyril, still minding the desk. ‘I am taking my friend home. Please to thank Healer Nestoril for us. Good day to you.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation: 
> 
> Iphant-nin: Used here for ‘my old/my ancient one.’


	189. Bain Flâd Thîr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril sees the results of her healing endeavours...

It was now Thranduil’s third evening home. 

It would also be the third night in a row he had graced the dining hall with his royal presence, but he had to admit that he would have liked, very much, not to have to leave the quiet of his chambers. 

But there were still warriors who had been in what was now becoming known the Battle of the Three Dragons who had not yet been feasted at the top table, some of whom were in Esgaron’s guard, and he refused to give Commander Esgaron any further room for complaint…

Tonight, however, should see the last of the warriors suitably honoured, with enough spare seats at the table for a fair few others to bring to the mix. He spent a few delicious minutes selecting suitable guests and sent for Arveldir to attend him in his study, and informed him to send the invitations around.

‘And please be sure to invite Triwathon and a guest and expect that guest to be Glorfindel.’

‘Very well, sire. And were you expecting Healer Nestoril?’

‘Now, or to table? She and Feril both to dinner, I think.’

‘She is outside now, sire.’

‘And is she wearing that particularly friendly smile which holds an array of daggers behind it if she does not get her way?’

‘That is the one, my king.’

Thranduil sighed.

‘Then she had better come in. I will pass on the dinner invitation in person – if she survives our meeting.’

‘Very well, my king.’

Arveldir bowed and departed, showing Nestoril in as he left.

‘Forgive the intrusion, my king, but…’

‘But you thought if you attended now, then I would have less opportunity to interfere with my dressing before dinner. Very well. Since you will insist… As you see, your morning’s handiwork is still intact. And then you may depart, and change, for both you and Feril will join the top table tonight.’

‘My king honours me.’

‘Yes… I suppose I do, sometimes.’

Nestoril’s mouth worked as she tried to hide a smile, and Thranduil turned away so that his own amusement was unseen.

‘Whenever you are ready then, Healer?’

She tipped her head to him in acknowledgement and advanced to ease delicate fingers around the edge of the dressing pad. This brought her face close to the king’s, so close that his one good eye could not properly focus on her expression.

The caul silk was in two pads; one over the damaged eye and under its patch, and a larger wad directly on the burned face, and the entire hemisphere of his face then covered. When Nestoril had so dressed his wounds that morning, he had felt sure it was deliberate, her way of asserting authority, a gentle tease at his expense which he had endured with grace and, by not fidgeting with it at all, proving he did not have to disarrange her work.

The outer layer came away and he felt the breath of air circulating where his skin was now exposed. Nestoril’s fingers were light, mere whispers of touch, dancing around the edges of the caul silk and then the swirl of cool air across his cheek, and he was sure he heard her gasp.

‘Healer?’

But the focal distance between them made it impossible to read her expression.

She shook her head and stood back, her hands coming up to cover her mouth almost as if she were startled, or trying not to speak.

‘Nestoril? You are worrying me, what is it?’

‘Nothing, sire, I… sometimes, even I am surprised at the results of my treatments, when they are properly allowed to work… I will go and change, we had better leave the eye patch for a time… I need a moment before… I will come back, I promise you…’

And she almost hurried out of the room, not waiting for a dismissal, leaving Thranduil staring after her in astonishment.

‘Nestoril?’ he repeated, but the healer had gone, and so he turned away from the open doorway, wondering just what she had seen to send her fleeing his presence.  
He went through the door that led to his private sitting rooms and beyond to his robing room where a long looking-glass stood waiting. 

In general, he had no fondness for the thing; it was rarely useful, occasionally necessary, and was usually kept covered by a sheet of silk which he now twitched away from its mirrored surface.

Thranduil stared as he saw his reflection lift a hand to his face.

Impossible.

This morning, the cheek and jaw had been a mass of pink and brown and red healing flesh, raw and unpleasant, hollow where muscle regeneration was happening too slowly, giving him a gaunt and haunted look; it was no wonder Nestoril had been insistent on him keeping it covered…

But not now.

Now, by some means, he was restored.

The reflected fingers touching the duplicate of his face seemed to skate over smooth, complete musculature, regrown skin, the same pallor as the rest of his complexion, and finally, he realised; he could feel the velvet of his freshly-reformed face under his fingers, it was real, not an illusion, not a glamour, but a miracle of healing and he stared for a moment more before tearing his gaze a way and almost running into the corridor outside his rooms.

‘Nestoril?’ he called, and then shouted, bellowed until the corridors rang with his voice. ‘Nestoril! Where is the healer? Nestoril, I require Nestoril immediately!’

Everyone in the vicinity flinched at the sound of the king’s voice. Those who were in the corridors looked around them, just in case the healer was in sight; Nestoril herself, hurrying back towards her healers’ hall and only just out of sight around a corner, froze for a moment, before pressing on.

Legolas, complaining idly to Govon as he changed for dinner that he would rather stay in their rooms tonight, heard his Adar yelling, and pushed open the door to see if he could learn what was going on, and in so doing, almost caught Nestoril in his arms as she tried to escape.

‘Is everything all right?’ he asked, and stood back in a hurry as she darted into his rooms.

‘Yes, but, oh, my prince, I need a moment…’

‘You’re crying. What’s happened, has my father upset you? Let me talk to him.’

‘No, nothing like that…’ Nestoril gave herself a little shake and lifted her head, dabbing at her eyes. ‘It is just that I have attended the king and removed the dressing and… it startled me…’

‘Nestoril? Cannot anyone locate my healer?’

‘He’s actually come looking for you himself!’ Legolas said. ‘He never does that!’

‘Oh, dear! I had better go… it will not be good for him to grow too angry…’

‘Best not have a scene in the corridor, then.’ Legolas leaned out of the doorway and saw his father approaching as fast as he could stalk. ‘Adar… in here… Sweet Eru! What has happened to you?’

Legolas backed away as his father strode in. The king walked over to Nestoril and put his hands on her shoulders, his one-eyed gaze holding hers steadfastly.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘But do not make me chase you through the palace again. It is tedious and unbecoming for a king to have to pursue one of his subjects.’

Nestoril straightened her shoulders and inclined her head.

‘Yes, my king,’ she said.

Govon was staring now, too, at his adar-in-honour. Thranduil turned away, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. 

‘I suggest you get used to the attention, sire,’ Nestoril murmured. ‘For I am sure all in the dining hall will be most interested in the change in you.’

‘As, in fact, am I.’ Thranduil took a seat in his son’s best chair. ‘You will excuse that I am a little surprised at the speed with which you achieved this transformation. It is not a glamour, but…?’

‘Indeed no, sire. It is a Silvan traditional cure, utilising the strength of your own fëa-tree; a complete healing, a real repair… but you will need to take care. Should you find yourself growing excessively impassioned – angry, for example – then you may find some unexpected effects… they will be temporary, however, the healing is complete.’

‘Now, when do I ever lose my temper?’ Thranduil asked mildly, disregarding the disbelieving looks exchanged by his son and son-in-honour. ‘It would not be aappropriate. Where you going to remove the eye patch, also?’

‘Yes, presently. Perhaps, my king, you would accompany back to the healers’ halls? I think your son might like his rooms back?’

‘Very well. Legolas, Govon, I will see you at the high table.’

Legolas grinned, his previous grumbles forgotten.

‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Adar.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Bain: beautiful  
> Flâd: skin  
> Thîr: face


	190. Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil visits his sons...

Thranduil kept his head high as he walked with Nestoril to the healers’ halls. They were mostly silent, the king because he had no words other than gratitude, and he had already expressed his thanks, and Nestoril because she was still in need of a little time to properly calm herself.

But by the time they reached the doors of the healers’ hall, she had recovered enough to be able to smile, and turn to the king with some of her usual aplomb.

‘Would you let me attend you in one of the treatment rooms, my king? There is one close to your sons’ room, and I thought you might like to see them, afterwards.’

Was that a criticism of the lack of time he spent with them? Thranduil focussed on the line of Nestoril’s mouth, a sure indicator of her mood, but it seemed to be simply a suggestion with no implied reproof.

‘Very well.’ 

Thranduil tried to disregard the other healers present as they passed through the halls, but little gasps and exclamations followed all the way down to the treatment room, so that he was relieved when Nestoril closed the door and shut the other healers’ curiosity out.

‘And so, I will remove the last dressing, now,’ she told him. ‘Please to try and keep your eye closed, my king.’

‘Very well. Is there a reason?’

‘Why, so that if Healer Hanben comes in with his little scissors, he will not be able to reach the troublesome nictitating membrane, my king.’

The king’s struggle not to smile at that kept him so busy that he almost was unaware of the removal of the eye patch and subsequent dressing.

Nestoril reached to turn down the lamp and then put a fresh patch on – over the good eye.

‘Healer?’

‘Humour me, my king. Now, if you feel able, would you open the injured eye? That’s good.’

For a moment Thranduil was utterly silent.

‘Nestoril? Were you expecting anything in particular?’

‘Such as, sire?’

‘Such as that I seem to have a certain degree of visual perception back, perhaps?’

‘I was hoping that the damaged nictitating membrane might have healed and cleared…’ Nestoril gently steered Thranduil’s chin down to lower his head so that she could more easily examine his eye. ‘And the healing process seems to be well on the way towards completion.’

‘Did you perhaps not hear? I have recovered my sight, Ness!’

Now she stepped back and allowed herself grin to peek out.

‘Not a bad day’s work, if I may say so myself,’ she said. ‘You may remove the other eye patch now, although you may find the effects slightly disconcerting at first; there may be discomfort, a headache, you may find focus is odd or perhaps blurred as your eyes begin to work together again…’

‘I understand. Have you any more miracles for me today?’

‘No, sire. I am sorry, I do not.’

The solemnity of her tone alerted him and he removed the patch and blinked a few times, trying to look at her.

‘Tell, will you? Whatever it is, you have achieved much this day.’

‘I… Feril and I were trying to help Iauron and Tharmeduil, too. Iauron… we have managed to strengthen him physically, but he still does not wake. Lord Glorfindel assisted, but says as before, Iauron’s fëa is not present. I am sorry. It means that he is beyond my help or that of any this side of the seas…’

Thranduil sighed. 

‘We knew this was likely, Nestoril. But if you have made him stronger, it is something. It is not your fault if Iauron has simply decided, once more, not to come home when expected.’

Thranduil looked at the healer as he spoke, measuring her response. As she had warned him, his sight was blurred, in and out of focus, and it felt strange, after so long, to use both eyes again, but he thought he saw a small smile on her face.

‘And Tharmeduil, what of him?’

‘Oh, there is good news… much good news, yet not complete… after our efforts, we have discovered that he has recovered feeling in all of his right arm, shoulder and leg, and it seems the effect is spreading. But he is still trapped in his darkness. Yet we are sure he hears us, and knows we are near… so we have hope, but not so much as we would like. You are my entire triumph today, my king.’

‘My dear Nestoril, do not reproach yourself. Now, come. Take me to see my sons.’

*

Thranduil stared at Iauron and Tharmeduil in silence, Nestoril behind him with her back to the closed door, ensuring no interruptions. She watched as her king stroked Iauron’s hair back from his face, looked on as he sat at Tharmeduil’s bedside and took his hand, speaking softly to him of the day’s events.

‘I am assured you are able to hear me, ion-nin, in your dark place. Forgive me, that we cannot help you more. Forgive me, that I have not been at your side enough. I could claim pressure of work, the busyness of being back… but, really, it is because I found it so hard to sit beside you, and know you are there, just beyond reach…’  
There was a soft click as Nestoril opened to door, preparing to escape and leave him alone with his sons.

‘Healer, please stay,’ Thranduil said, so she nodded and closed the door again. ‘My thanks. Now, Tharmeduil, I must decide what to do for you and your brother, for the best. I gather Iauron must sail if he is to have any chance of survival… and at least in the Undying Lands there is likely to be some check on his proclivities… and I think I have to send you, also… I would rather not, ion-nin, I would keep you with me, if I thought there was any hope for you here, but whatever it is that you need to unlock your prison, it is not here, is it?’

He sighed and bowed his head as he stroked Tharmeduil’s hand.

‘No doubt when I announce my decision, there will be questions. But I will answer them when they arise, or not. I am king, after all, and who is there with the right to question me?’

He patted his son’s hand and got up to go.

‘I am due in the feasting hall shortly; I should prepare. Rest well, ion-nin. Know that I would much prefer to keep you here, at my side, but what can I do except that which promises most hope of your recovery?’

*

Thranduil swept into the dining hall to gasps and exclamations from those awaiting him. Having decided that the discomfort of adapting to binocular vision once more was best not endured at the dining table, he had allowed Nestoril to cover his newly-restored eye with a patch. 

Besides, the change in his face was startling enough without adding to it.

He cast his eye around the top table with interest. Feril was smiling and congratulating her friend’s skill, Legolas was looking proud. Glorfindel appeared to have eyes for none but Triwathon, but that might just be a performance for Esgaron’s benefit. Young Canadion had nudged Thiriston and both were looking… no, really, everyone was looking, with varying degrees of interest and surprise and even outright astonishment. Thranduil felt it would probably be better to discuss the matter before food, rather than waiting until after to address them as was his usual wont. He nodded at Arveldir and his advisor called the hall to attention to hear the king.

‘It would seem you have all noticed that I am attended by the most accomplished healers in Middle Earth,’ he said, lifting a hand to indicate Feril, Glorfindel and Nestoril all in one economy of movement. ‘I am in their debt for relief from pain and recovery from injury. But, my Silvans, my warriors, my friends. It is only a face, and tonight I have gathered you to honour my warriors who also suffered dragon fire, who fought and dodged fear and pain in their turn. We will drink to their honour after the meal.’

With that he sat, and the rest of the table, the hall followed suit. Tonight he had Legolas to his right and Calithilon on his left, Erthor beyond him, both Esgaron’s warriors and earning their place by rights of the severity of their injuries; the others from their command were ranged close to their commander further along the table to the left, and separated from the present members of the Court Guard. Esgaron was, however, quite close enough for the king to hear him, and he paid close attention, while pretending not to, to all the commander said. And, since there was no elleth at his side, he was perhaps paying less attention to what he said than he ought to.

Thranduil listened to mutterings about how some warriors were impressionable, hero-worshippers, their heads easily turned by a bold reputation… he heard very quiet talk about how a company of six members, including its commander, was far too small to be an effective force. Thranduil pretended not to hear thinly-veiled jibe after jibe aimed at Glorfindel, Triwathon, Govon… but he was very much aware that Glorfindel, Triwathon and Govon had heard every word.

Under the table, Glorfindel gave Triwathon’s leg a squeeze and turned to grin at Esgaron down the length of the table.

‘I wouldn’t really have described myself as impressionable,’ he said loudly, leaning forward to make sure Esgaron, and everyone else, knew who he was talking to. ‘But certainly this is a hero next to me, and he has proved rather bold… after all, an iphant like me… who’d have thought I’d be so honoured at my age?’

The king lifted his goblet hastily to conceal the smirk that threatened to show, and he turned to Legolas with some inconsequential remark to cover the moment. His son turned laughing eyes towards him.

‘It’s good to see you looking better, Adar,’ he said.

Thranduil tipped his head.

‘Nestoril is really quite remarkable. And so, if I may say so, is your companion’s patience with certain other persons here tonight…’

‘I know. I wonder who chose the guests, then?’ Legolas asked mildly. ‘Someone who didn’t realise? Or someone who did, and decided it might be entertaining…’  
Thranduil lifted an eyebrow.

‘Or someone who has faith in the commander of his Court Guard, perhaps? Tell Govon I am not unaware of the unpleasantness Esgaron is directing towards him. I have a solution in mind…’ 

‘And…?’

‘Bear with me, ion-nin. These things do not happen overnight.’

‘Unlike Nestoril’s remarkable treatments. We’re very lucky to have her.’

‘Indeed.’ Thranduil allowed himself a small smile. ‘Let us hope we have her services for the foreseeable future.’

‘Adar? What do you mean?’

Thranduil shrugged. It had occurred to him that if Iauron and Tharmeduil were to sail, then they would need a healer with them on the journey to the ship, perhaps even on the voyage. 

He glanced at Nestoril, thinking of the unstinting hours she had spent with his sons, and hoped that she would not feel it her duty to sail with them.


	191. Grappling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Triwathon has a gift for Glorfindel and Arveldir hear some disturbing news...

‘I have something for you.’ Triwathon’s deep brown eyes gleamed with excitement as he produced a bag from behind his back.

‘What, other than your lovely self?’ Glorfindel stirred languidly and rolled over to look at his friend. ‘That’s very kind of you.’

‘I had to guess the size… but I thought extra-long would probably be safest…’

‘And now I’m intrigued and, somehow, flattered…’

Triwathon laughed and passed the bag to the Balrog-slayer, who sat up, swinging his legs off the bed and rummaging excitedly inside to pull out an item of supple leather, dyed an improbable shade of blue.

‘It’s my colour, certainly… and…’ Glorfindel held up the gift and laughed delightedly as he recognised it. ‘A kilt? A fighting kilt? However did you know…?’

‘Well, everyone looks at Govon in his kilt, even when he wears it over his leggings… and I thought… I’d rather look at you in one…’

‘But we’ve only been here three days! You arranged all this in such a short time?’

‘It just happens I know one of the dyers, and Commander Govon was kind enough to endorse my requisition to stores and mark it urgent. It was intended as a thank you… I didn’t think, you see, that your kindness would extend more than a night, a day, and I thought it would show I didn’t expect more, that…’

The only way to silence Triwathon’s stumbling, and somehow heart-breaking explanation, was to fill his mouth with more than words, so of course Glorfindel had to kiss him.

‘Well, and I am very grateful to you,’ he said, disengaging with reluctance. ‘I’ll try it on, yes? Help me with the straps? How does it go?’

‘Like this… it crosses over, the pleating at the front stops any unwanted visibility issues… buckle on the hips… no, fold it so it curves… there...’ Triwathon stood back and took in the full effect of Glorfindel in just a bright blue kilt and a smile. ‘Oh. Oh, yes. Only now I just want to rip it off you…’

Glorfindel laughed.

‘That good, eh? Well, let’s have a look…’ 

He found his way to the long looking-glass in the bathing room and found himself grinning at his reflection. 

‘You know, it makes me feel like strutting… and posturing… well, who would have thought?’

‘You look amazing. If we could find the right shade of warrior paint to match that blue…’

‘Now, don’t go giving me ideas, beautiful, or we’ll never get out of here… when am I due at the arena?’

‘We’ve an hour…’

‘Oh, ho! Lots of things we can do in an hour…’

‘Yes… such as go over the rules, get you to the practice grounds so you’ve time to warm up…’

‘Cuddle? Not first, obviously.’

Triwathon grinned and began to help with Glorfindel’s buckles.

‘All right. As long as you listen to the rules. While we cuddle.’

*

‘My king? Forgive me, I hate to ask you to repeat, but…? 

Arveldir spread his hands in apology.

The fact was, it felt as if there was simply too much to take in. The king’s healing was wonderful, and had sent a wave of comfort and reassurance through the entire Great Cave Palace complex; if all was well with the king, then all was well with the forest and therefore all was well with the Silvan world. And now to learn that Thranduil had full sight, again, to see the twin ice-blue gaze again, to feel the force of the king’s eyes on him… slightly impatient, true – that was such a relief. 

But to follow such a triumph with this news? Had he heard aright? Were they to lose their princes?

‘Healer Nestoril or Healer Feril will put you in possession of the details, should you need them,’ the king was saying now. ‘But the main facts are these: It is unlikely that my sons’ healing will be completed here. If Iauron is to have any hope of life, we must send him hence. And it looks, too, as if Tharmeduil’s recovery will not take place this side of the Sundering Seas.’

‘I am sorry to hear it, sire. To lose your sons in this way…’

‘…Is actually far better than losing them as I did their mother. Or as we lost five warriors to dragon fire. But I find I need to keep reminding myself of that.’ 

Arveldir bowed.

‘The people will ask questions, sire. They will wonder why you brought them back, only to send them away again. They will worry that it means a failure on the part of our healers – so it is well that you are restored, my king, it will allay their concerns. They will worry for the future, without the Crown Prince… with your youngest son’s disinclination…’

‘Arveldir!’ Thranduil began to lose just a little patience. ‘Legolas is not disinclined – that makes it seem as if he has a choice, as if he would willingly let the kingdom down. He is simply different. He is vowed to an ellon, and those of our subjects who do not know this yet, or who think it is any of their business… they had better adapt their ideas swiftly. My son is my son and he is how Eru Ilúvatar made him. Let any dissenting voices take the matter up with our Supreme Creator and leave my son alone!’  
The advisor bowed, hiding a smile in spite of the seriousness of the situation.

‘I brought them home because it was the right thing to do,’ Thranduil continued. ‘It would have been unwise to split the company, and to attempt the journey to the Grey Havens, situated as we were, would have been folly. To have returned without Iauron and Tharmeduil would have worried and distressed the populace more, and there was always the hope that Nestoril would be successful. Indeed, she has been, for physically both my sons are stronger as a result of her interventions. But we will say none of this to the people. Instead, we will invite them to visit, to see for themselves, to make their farewells, if they wish it. Thus they will feel they have been a part of the choice, the decision. As to the journey itself…’

Thranduil considered for a moment.

‘I am aware we have only just got home. Therefore the choice of accompanying guard will reflect this, to a point. I will speak with our guests from Imladris later today – it may be that Arwen will want to leave, now that there is no husband for her here. Others, too, may wish to go… and do not look so sad, Arveldir, I do not intend to make them go, if Erestor wishes to stay through this most interesting time in our lives, he is more than welcome…’

The king paused to let that sink in, seeing his advisor sag a little as he exhaled, relieved. 

‘Investigate routes, opportunities, the best way of getting two comatose ellyn to the sea. Aside from the Grey Havens, there used to be a minor launch point at the mouths of Anduin; it may prove easier to take them to the river and float them down to the sea, changing boats at the delta.’

‘Sire.’

‘Liaise with the healers’ hall. Enquire as to when the expedition should set out – and at least one healer will be required to go to the havens with them, and possibly two. None is forbidden from going, but if Healer Hanben is competent and interested, he should be encouraged to consider it as an advancement in his career…’

‘Of course, my king. I will go to the healers directly.’

‘And if my son has finished his morning meeting with Erestor, have him come to me. I would not have him learn of this matter from common report.’

*

‘Well, Iphant-nin? Let me be sure you weren’t in reverie when I told you the rules?’

Glorfindel groaned as Triwathon gave him a little shake and moved away.

‘Standard gear… kilt and knee breeches, or leggings tied at the knee…’

‘Yes. Good. And…?’ 

The Balrog-slayer sighed and took the clothing Triwathon held out for him.

‘No finger-bending, no grabbing in the married quarters… or the recreational department, if you’re us… no hair tugging…’

‘Which is why you have to wear a single braid.’

‘Single braid. Yes. Help with that?’

‘Once you’re in your shirt. And how do you win?’

‘Me? Basically, by just turning up…’

Triwathon laughed and moved in to plait Glorfindel’s waving golden hair into one long, strong braid. 

‘If you’re ready, we’d better go, then. Unless you want to strut and posture in front of the looking-glass again while you tell me how a person wins in the wrestling bout?’

‘I’m ready… Pick the opponent up and carry them out of the circle… throw them on their back… or a surrender… if the bout goes on longer than a half hour, there’s a break, and a quarter-hour bout with judges scoring on ability and moves.’

‘All right. It sounds like you were awake enough… Come on, then.’

*

‘You wanted me, Father?’

Thranduil had descended the steps from his throne and was standing at the side table, pretending to be busy with the items on it, but really trying to be more approachable than he would otherwise appear. He would have preferred to hold this meeting in his study, but it was the business of the kingdom, not simply a family matter, and so demanded the formality of the throne room, but it did not suit his mood.

He turned to face his youngest son, and he felt his mask descend once more, the mask he had been unaware he had abandoned for so long, and so it was a king who turned to face a prince, not the father who spoke.

‘Indeed. It has been decided to send princes Iauron and Tharmeduil across the Sundering Seas for the sake of their health.'

He heard the sharp inhalation of his son’s breath, noted how he flinched and swallowed.

‘Will it help, Adar?’

‘Yes. Otherwise, we would not subject them to the rigours of the journey. The news will be made public very shortly; I wished to tell you myself, first.’

‘Thank you, Father. Have you… has anyone given thought to the fact that… that Flora’s child will be the only heir? Or, if not, that I will be the last of my brothers…?’

‘The matter is not relevant.’ Thranduil saw the fear and dread lurking behind his son’s eyes and allowed himself to come forward as the father, to push through the mask. 

He dropped a hand on Legolas’ shoulder and gave him a little shake. ‘Enough of that. We will never thrust a peredhel on our Silvans. And, indeed, we do not need Flora’s child… Come, ‘las! Do you really think, with all you know of Iauron, that Flora is the only unfortunate female he has left in these circumstances?’

‘But… Adar…’

‘I know of at least three by-blows dotted here and there throughout the forest… I hardly think there is anything you, or Govon, need be concerned about, ion-nin. Now, go. And do not worry. I hear there is to be an inter-command wrestling contest today, if you need a diversion…’

*

The sparring circle was already ringed with spectators and potential combatants when Triwathon and Glorfindel arrived. Over-Captain Rawon came across.

‘I hear you’ve been invited to join in, Glorfindel,’ he said. ‘You’re on in three bouts. Gives you chance to have a look at our style before it’s your turn.’

Rawon walked away and at Glorfindel’s side, Triwathon shook his head.

‘That’s our over-captain for you; his barracks, his command. Only the king and the princes get any kind of title from him on his territory…’

‘That’s how it has to be,’ Glorfindel said, following Triwathon to a vantage point on the outside of the circle where two warriors he didn’t recognise were grappling. ‘He’s in charge of all of you. There’s no room for titles, not on the training grounds.’

‘As long as you don’t mind.’

‘Of course not… Oh! Did you see that? Is that allowed?’

‘Not usually… see, the judge has spotted it…’

Sure enough, a warrior with a white sash tied around his the top of his kilt, had walked into the arena and pulled the two apart, lifting the arm of the one fouled against.

‘So, strict adherence, then. I’ll remember.’

The next two combatants presented themselves; Hador, he recognised, teamed up against someone he didn’t know. Both wore short kilts over their knee-length breeches.

‘One of Commander Bregon’s guard,’ Triwathon supplied. ‘By rights, it should be Thiriston Cut-Face in the circle, instead of Hador, but while his hand’s healing…’

‘Hador looks well set enough…’

‘Yes, he’s pretty good.’

Glorfindel draped his arm across Triwathon’s shoulders, a position that was fast becoming a habit for him, and the two watched the bout. While the combatants searched for holds on shoulders and neck and arms, braced against each other and bent forward from the waist, they circled, feet moving, each trying to entangle and trip the other. 

It was a clean, well-matched bout that lasted for some time before Hador seemed to tire, and his opponent’s leg sweep took him down onto one knee. But it also pitched the weight of his upper body forward, causing the other to stagger back, and Hador grabbed the warrior’s ankle as he surged up onto his feet, dropping Bregon’s man down onto his back, and the judge came forward to raise Hador’s arm in triumph.

When the shouting and cheering had died down, Glorfindel found Rawon at his side again.

‘You’d better get warmed up,’ he said. ‘You’re up after the next bout. Against Esgaron. Think you can take him?’

Glorfindel flexed his muscles and grinned.

‘I’m looking forward to trying,’ he said.


	192. The Bout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel and Esgaron meet in the fighting circle...

Govon was at the practice range, loosing arrows into the targets as the crowd assembled for the wrestling bouts.

He glanced over with tolerant amusement as the voices rose into an excited babble, but kept working, smoothly pulling and holding and releasing in a slick, strong rhythm that he found relaxing, even as it demanded all his focus.

So it was only after he’d emptied a quiver at the target and lowered his bow that he realised he’d had an audience; Legolas was sitting nearby.

Govon grinned.

‘How long have you been there?’

‘The last eight shots or so. Good clustering.’

‘Thank you.’ The commander wandered down to the target and retrieved his arrows, returning to sit at his fëa-mate’s side. ‘There’s something wrong, isn’t there?’

‘Perhaps.’ Legolas sighed. ‘My father asked for me this morning. Told me my brothers both have to sail.’

Govon put his arm around his fair elf and drew him in for a hug.

‘That’s hard to hear. I know you’re close to Tharmeduil.’

‘Of all the things I thought you might say, I never thought of that…’

‘Well, I dearly love my own sister. I would hate for Merlinith to sail, even if I knew she’d be fine and happy.’

‘Yes. I’ll miss them both. But Iauron less, I think.’

‘Can’t be nice for your father, either.’

‘No. When I went in, he was all king again – how he was before we went away, very stern, very unbending… then he just… he was just my Adar, worrying about us. And… he’s given it some thought, of course, what ever escapes his notice? He’s as good as told me whatever happens, he’s not expecting an heir from me…’

  
‘Well, that’s good, since neither of us are built for it.’

‘He said something… it was a surprise. That Iauron already has three elflings… by-blows, Adar called them, but…’

‘But how? Who would agree? And why would your brother agree? And…?’

‘I was just so glad to hear it, I didn’t ask.’

‘Well, it might not have been the right thing to focus on, if you’d just been told your brothers were sailing.’

‘Maybe Iauron was drunk. Or the ellyth were drunk. Or he had a secret life when he was away on patrol, I don’t know, but he took to being Belegornor very easily…’

‘Can’t ask him now, though.’

‘No.’

Govon released his hold on Legolas with a sigh.

‘Sorry, melleth. Rawon’s on his way through, and there’s a no-cuddling-on-the-practice-grounds rule…’

‘Is there?’ Legolas got to his feet. ‘Do you want to watch the wrestling? It looks like Hador’s up next.’

‘If you like.’

They made their way across to the circle, Legolas giving Govon a little nudge.

‘Look there! It seems like you’ve started a trend…’

‘Oh, kilts over knee breeches is traditional for these bouts… you’ve never watched the wrestling?’

‘No, I can’t say I have. My father mentioned today’s bouts… I didn’t know why.’

‘Possibly because Glorfindel’s competing?’ Govon suggested, spotting the seneschal dressed in his wrestler’s garb. ‘He’s looking the part, isn’t he?’

‘Ha, yes. And doesn’t Triwathon look proud?’

*

‘Are you ready?’ Triwathon asked. ‘Warmed up enough?’

‘Yes, if I was any warmer I’d set fire to the trees…’ Glorfindel rolled his strong shoulders and flexed his arms. ‘I’m ready. So what do I get for winning?’

‘From me? Anything you like tonight…’

‘Ah, now there’s a prize worth fighting for… but what if I find I have to let him win?’

‘Then I am sure you will be in need of solace and, of course, I will be there to comfort you…’

‘Ah, beautiful… I don’t know, now, which is better!’

‘Winning. You are Glorfindel, winning is always better!’

Yes. It was what he did, and on those few occasions when he didn’t win, it was generally quite catastrophic…

He went to step forward, hoping to give Triwathon a kiss, but his friend gave an almost invisible shake of the head and stepped back.

‘Sorry, my sweet. No… um… intimate interactions allowed here.’

‘What kind of stupid wrestling rule is that?’

‘It’s more of a general rule. Maintaining discipline on the practice ground, that sort of thing.’

‘Well… I’ll let you owe me one.’

He gave Triwathon a grin and a wink and strutted into the circle, a way clearing for him, voices shouting out support. He saw Legolas and Govon amongst the spectators, saw the crowd thickening as more people arrived.

And Esgaron stalked through the assembly to stand tall and glowering before him.

Glorfindel weighed up his opponent. Leaving age out of the equation – he was never sure, these days, whether he should start from the beginning of his days, or take the total and subtract the time he spent dead, or begin again from the time when he came back to Middle Earth… Esgaron was not a bad match. He was slightly taller – Glorfindel was a little broader around the shoulders. The commander’s musculature suggested swords and archery; himself, yes, he had the swordsmanship himself, and the different strength built from riding.

And a wealth of experience…

‘Warriors…’ Rawon stepped between them. ‘I’m judging this bout myself. You should know the rules; no grabbing the kilted region, the hair, no finger-bending… make it clean, make it good.’

The over-captain stepped back, clapped his hands…

And Esgaron lunged.

Glorfindel waited until Esgaron was almost on him then sidestepped so that his opponent rushed past him, only just managing to pull up within the circle, staggering, not expecting a first-age counter to his attack. He pivoted, watching his opponent as Glorfindel presented himself sideways-on and began to sway softly.

‘Was that legal?’ Esgaron called out, moving away from the boundary.

‘Not illegal,’ Rawon answered. ‘But it’s not wrestling. Glorfindel, you can’t win the bout just by making your opponent exit the arena; it has to be a lift and carry, or a throw with a back landing.’

‘Ah. Thanks for clearing that up, then,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Apologies.’

‘Just get on with it,’ Esgaron growled, advancing.

He extended his arms and focussed on the Balrog-slayer, reaching for a shoulder grip to properly begin the bout. Glorfindel knocked his hands aside so that he took hold first, plunging his thumbs into the hollows of Esgaron’s collar bones and folding his fingers over to fasten into the muscles behind. The commander took his own grip towards the outside of Glorfindel’s shoulders and both stepped back, taking their feet and legs out of reach of kicks and bringing their upper bodies down as they bent from their waists.

‘That’s a nice little massage you’re giving me, there,’ Esgaron snarled.

‘Thought you looked a little tense, Commander.’

They kept the stance for long seconds, testing each other’s strength, muscles bunching and straining as they leaned and pushed into the hold. Glorfindel felt Esgaron’s fingers as multiple points of pain, nothing he couldn’t cope with, not touching anywhere near the key nerve sites, while he was aware his own grip was probably the cause of the beading sweat on the Silvan’s brow. There was a pressure point which, if you got it right, could incapacitate an opponent… and it was there, between the collar bone in the front and under the corresponding muscle at the back… if he could…

Esgaron flexed his elbows to gather more strength in his arms, and Glorfindel knew another move was coming… probably a leg-sweep… but the seneschal was a part of the ground, his bare feet connecting with the ground beneath, the earth surging up into his body, the power in his body extending down, rooting him into the ground… he bent his knees a fraction, just a fraction to keep them unlocked so he could respond if he needed to, but he was still at one with the dusty surface, the packed soil beneath…

The kick came, Esgaron’s foot curling around Glorfindel’s calf like a hook and trying to pull him off balance. But Glorfindel was solid earth, deep-rooted in the ground, as sturdy as bedrock, and the foot bounced off, Esgaron’s shoulders rocking as his move failed in its expected outcome.

‘Very good, Seneschal!’ the commander sneered. ‘You’ll make quite an impression with your pretty friend back there, your standing skills are excellent…’

Busy as he was with monitoring his stance, Glorfindel still had enough attention to spare for the wider situation. Although he knew Esgaron had been the one to jilt Triwathon, he had been careful not to let the commander know he knew it was he… but Esgaron’s remark seemed intended to goad him, and why would he wish to do that if he didn’t know Glorfindel knew his part in Triwathon’s previous unhappiness, if he didn’t bear a grudge…?

‘Oh, my beautiful friend knows all about my standing up skills, my sitting down skills, my bending over skills…’ Glorfindel paused to grin. ‘It’s been an interesting few days…’

‘I’m surprised you’ve got the energy for a bout, in that case.’

‘Well… you know how it is.’ The Balrog-slayer shrugged in Esgaron’s grip. ‘Young lovers keep you young.’

‘Is there one young enough to do that for you, and yet old enough for it not to be improper?’ the commander asked.

‘Oh, I’m very well suited at the moment, my thanks…’

Esgaron pushed forward, thinking Glorfindel’s attention too divided for him to be properly focussed on the bout. The foot curled out again in another leg sweep, but this time the seneschal had his balance shifted enough so that he raised his leg out of the way and twisted his shoulders, transmitting the movement down his arms to unbalance the commander. As Esgaron tried to recover, Glorfindel turned his upper body, pulling an arm back to bring his opponent’s body towards him and get in under Esgaron’s shoulder, bracing his powerful thighs as he slung the commander onto his back.

A cheer went up and Glorfindel took a step towards the boundary as the commander wrapped his arms round the Balrog-slayer’s waist and squeezed fast and hard, trying to expel the air from the seneschal’s lungs. But Glorfindel was sucking air in as the move came, and was able to brace his abdominals and hold his breath against the attempt.

Glorfindel took a second step. Briefly, he wondered what would happen, once he had won the bout. How would Esgaron take it? Would he bear his grudge long enough to take it out on Triwathon, when Glorfindel had left for Imladris? For Glorfindel could not stay here forever, he knew it, Triwathon knew it…

  
Still, he took a third step towards the edge of the circle.

On the Balrog-slayer’s back, Esgaron twisted, tried to get a foot between Glorfindel’s legs to pull him off-balance, tried to roll down and off onto the ground. The seneschal was more aware, now, of the constriction against his lungs; he would need to breathe again, soon, and he knew that as soon as he exhaled, the pressure of Esgaraon’s grip on his ribs would build and breathing in again would be all-but impossible… he dug deep, bent his knees to lower himself, debated…

…and pushed against the floor, driving back as Esgaron read his move and tried frantically to disengage.

They hit the ground in a tangle, Esgaron flipping as he fell to land on his side and scramble onto his stomach, Glorfindel landing across him and wrapping his arm around Esgaron’s neck in a choke hold – not tight, but determined. The commander tried to get his knees beneath him and twist again to throw the Balrog-slayer off.

After several minutes of this, to a chorus of encouragement to get on with it from the sideleines, and once he decided Esgaron must have by now realised he wasn’t going to dislodge the Balrog-slayer any time soon, Glorfindel increased pressure on Esgaron’s throat.

‘Bored, now,’ Glorfindel said conversationally. ‘Will you yield?’

‘No.’

Would Triwathon be safe, with a grudge-bearing Esgaron on the loose? Glorfindel reassessed the situation. There was nothing in the rules about rendering your opponent unconscious, and then dropping him on his back…

‘Are you sure, Esgaron?’

‘Not yielding…’

Well, he could always offer to take Triwathon away with him, if he wanted…

Peripherally aware that Rawon was standing over them, watching intently, Glorfindel began to smile as he brought his face nearer to Esgaron’s ear.

‘Good. Now, one more chance: Yield. You know I’ve got you exactly where… Ow!’ he exclaimed as a sudden pain flashed through his scalp.

‘Foul!’ Rawon yelled. ‘Break apart!’

‘What happened?’ Glorfindel complied, releasing Esgaron who was laughing, wheezing as he did, but still grinding out his amusement. ‘What…?’

‘Hair-tug by Esgaron.’ Rawon hauled the Balrog-slayer to his feet, raising his arm as sign of his triumph. ‘Glorfindel wins by a foul.’

It took a moment for the full import to sink in. The Balrog-slayer had been on the brink of victory, of weakening Esgaron to the point where he could flip him onto his back, or carry him out of the circle, about to make his final move… and Esgaron… Esgaron had committed a deliberate foul… just to take the victory away from him.

But Triwathon was cheering and applauding and shouting his name anyway. He burst out laughing. He had won, so the prize Triwathon had offered was his for the claiming… and since Esgaron had tried to take all the gloss off the victory, Glorfindel would obviously also need the comfort and solace his lover had promised if required. All in all, it seemed like a double-triumph.

Still, Glorfindel mused, it would never do to let it seem he didn’t care…

‘Over-captain Rawon,’ he said. ‘I demand a rematch!’


	193. Arrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arveldir breaks the news about the princes to the Imladris contingent...

The knock at Nestoril’s study door was expected, but made her jump anyway. She smoothed her head-rail and folded her hands in her lap as she called out acknowledgement and Arveldir was ushered in.

‘Lord Arveldir, I had your message. Will you sit?’

Thranduil’s chief advisor nodded and lowered himself into the chair indicated.

‘Our king has sent me to enquire concerning the princes, Healer. There is a matter on which…’

‘Indeed.’ Nestoril tipped her head and smiled a little sadly. ‘Arveldir, we are old friends, you and I. Tell me, and we’ll put it into King Speak later for your report.’

‘It’s true, then? After all this, dragging the poor lads through Mirkwood, someone has to lug them all the way back again?’

‘I feel such a failure,’ Nestoril said. ‘Our king trusted me, he ignored the advice of Glorfindel and Elrond just to put his faith in Silvan cures I haven’t been able to give him…’

‘The king would have brought them home no matter what. The populace need to see Iauron and Tharmeduil, they need to have a chance to agree it’s for the best. It is nothing to do with them, but they must be part of the decision, do you see?’

‘I see that our king is very gentle with my feelings and my reputation as a healer…’

‘Yes. And this morning our king looked at me with both his eyes from out of his unblemished face. I see that your abilities are phenomenal; it is merely unfortunate that some things are beyond even our traditions.’

‘Thank you, Arveldir. What does Thranduil want of us now, then?’

‘He wants to know more about the journey. When must they depart, how long will it take, what is the best route, what support will they need…? He did suggest Healer Hanben might be of use?’

She laughed at that, shaking her head.

‘Oh, I see Hanben has made an impression – the wrong one, perhaps! As to the journey itself… the princes are stronger now than previously, so more able to cope with its rigours. A small company, all mounted and with one or two spare steeds, could be through the forest and as far as the eyot in the Langflood in ten days. Previously, those travelling to Mithlond have stopped off at Imladris to break their journey and say farewell to Elrond and his kin. That would be another week or so to add, over the mountains… I doubt our king will really approve of stopping at Rivendell… Beyond there, it would be a further three weeks to the Havens…’ 

‘There used to be havens at the mouths of Anduin, Thranduil said.’

‘True, it is a known departure point. But we cannot build a ship to sail the Straight Way… and even if we could… it would mean whoever went would need to be able to navigate the Undying Seas…’ She shook her head. ‘We could manage little boats, river craft. But the princes will need a healer, someone must sail with them… But a journey such as this cannot be prepared for overnight; even to get to the river a conveyance of some sort will be required, we cannot carry them on litters, not if we are in haste. We will need a guard, at least two warriors, four would be better… I will send a messenger hawk to Cirdan in the Havens and ask for his advice; he is wise in many things, and his people are used to transporting injured elves across the seas. I am sure he will help.’

‘Thank you, Nestoril. So… what do we tell his majesty?’

‘Mention the need for an armed escort, that I will need time to send to Cirdan and hear back, and that I am always available to him if he wishes to discuss the matter directly.’

‘Very well. Also, I have been told to gather the Imladris contingent later and address them. May I bespeak Feril’s presence for later?’

‘Of course. She knows already about the princes and has offered her services on the journey… is our king thinking perhaps our guests may be growing tired of caves so soon?’

‘He thought it might be an appropriate opportunity for them to depart, should they wish to do so.’

Impulsively she leaned across her desk and pressed his hand.

‘Oh, do not look so sad! I am sure Erestor will not wish to leave you!’

‘Perhaps not. But he may feel he ought to go.’

‘Then you will just have to convince him otherwise. I am sure you can be most persuasive at times. After all, as our king’s advisor, you have had to be.’

*

‘Lady Arwen! A moment!’

Arwen turned and saw Healer Feril approaching. She waved and waited for the healer to join her.

‘Did you receive an invitation to meet with Lord Arveldir, too?’ Arwen asked, as Feril approached. ‘Do you know what it’s about?’

‘Indeed, I have… and I do not know for sure, but I think I can guess…’

‘Guess at what?’ Glorfindel asked, coming up at an easy lope. ‘The meeting? Maybe old Arveldir is bored and wanted some friends for tea…’

‘You should not jest,’ Arwen said solemnly. ‘He is a very busy person…’

‘Yes, odd how he’s so busy and yet he has an advising assistant now… perhaps Erestor needs training up…’

‘I wonder whether I would be offended if I knew what you meant,’ Erestor said, joining the group. ‘Lady Arwen, Healer Feril, greetings. Lord Glorfindel. Congratulations on your victory this morning. A shame you did not see fit to grace us with your new apparel.’ 

‘Well, I didn’t want to shock Arveldir.’

‘What’s this?’ Arwen asked.

Glorfindel was half way through extolling the beauty of his kilt and the generosity of his friend Triwathon when they arrived outside Arveldir’s study. The door was open and the advisor within.

‘Welcome, all. Please come in, take seats. I need not keep you long…’

‘Did you hear back from the messenger hawk?’ Arwen asked. ‘Is that what this is about?’

‘No, it is not, my lady. It is another matter entirely which will soon become widely known… it has been decided that Princes Iauron and Tharmeduil must sail to Valinor…’

Glorfindel folded his arms across his chest, trying very hard not to say ‘I told you so.’ Arwen gave a little gasp and Feril patted her hand. Erestor stared at Arveldir as if he’d just lost everything.

‘The details are yet to be confirmed,’ Arveldir went on. ‘But they will not be departing immediately; it takes time to organise such a journey. His majesty wished me to inform you all so that, if you wanted to return to your own home, you could be part of the company.’

‘Is this his majesty’s way of saying he wants us to go?’ Glorfindel asked slowly.

‘No, indeed!’ Arveldir addressed the room in general, but his eyes were on Erestor as he spoke. ‘My king wanted me to be sure to let you know that you are welcome to stay with us as long as you like. Any and all of you.’

‘Well, it is very kind of him, but I intend to sail with Iauron,’ Arwen said clearly. ‘I said I would not abandon him, and… and in spite of everything, we had an arrangement. Even if he did fall ill before it could be finalised.’

‘My lady,’ Erestor said gently. ‘It is very noble of you to say so, but… but think of those you will leave behind. Consider your father…’

‘Why should I?’ Arwen demanded. ‘He has never considered me!’

Glorfindel stopped paying attention. The pit of his stomach had dropped away and an aching loneliness chilled his heart. He wasn’t ready to leave Triwathon yet, Triwathon wasn’t ready for another loss… Still, not meeting anyone’s eyes, he made himself speak.

‘I told Elrond I would take care of Arwen. If you choose to sail, my lady, I’ll go with you to the Havens.’ He lifted his head to look at Arveldir. ‘But tell your king, once I’ve done so, I’ll be coming back.’

‘You will?’ Arveldir said, and the seneschal shrugged.

‘Yes.’

‘When will this be?’ Erestor asked.

‘We are as yet undetermined.’

‘If I may…?’ Healer Feril looked to Arveldir for permission to reply. ‘Healer Nestoril was hoping for a potential leaving date in some three weeks or less… with such a potentially long journey, it would be better to travel in good weather.’

‘Well, I have business here I cannot simply abandon,’ Erestor said, flustered. ‘I… if Lady Arwen is not intending to return to Imladris, then I cannot possibly see why I should have to…’

‘Of course,’ Arveldir said, trying to hide his relief and keep his dignity. ‘I am sure Elrond will quite understand. And, besides, it is by no means certain that Imladris will be on the route… Be assured, we need you here far more than anyone in Imladris possibly could.’

‘Well. I’m glad that’s understood, Lord Arveldir.’

‘What about you, Feril?’ Arwen said. ‘That is, I understand why you weren’t surprised. But will you stay here?’

‘I rather think not,’ Feril said in her soft little voice. ‘I came back to help Nestoril with the princes. So it seems reasonable that I carry on doing so; if nothing else, it will provide them a continuity of care, at least to the Havens.’

‘The matter will be made known to the populace shortly – probably once we have a working timeframe in place,’ Arveldir went on, suddenly brisk and business-like and nowhere near as depressed as he had seemed on beginning the meeting. ‘And the people will be invited to visit the princes to say farewell. Something must be arranged so that it does not disturb the healers’ hall unduly – possibly their beds could be moved into a near-by room, Feril?’

‘I will bring up the matter with Nestoril.’

‘That is most helpful. Very well. Please; do not let me interrupt your day any further, I am sure you will have things you wish to be getting on with… my lord Erestor? Might I trouble you for a moment of your time?’

‘I am due elsewhere in a half-hour, but… yes, I have a moment…’

Arveldir ushered the others out and then closed the door.

‘Erestor?’ he began.

The dark-haired advisor rose to his feet and walked into Arveldir’s open arms to rest his face against his shoulder and press closely against him.

‘I should not stay. I ought to go. It is my duty to return, but… but what of all the nights I worked when I ought to have been resting? What of the days spent on Elrond’s life to the neglect of my own? Do I not have the right to a little brightness, a little joy?’

‘Of course you do.’ Arveldir stoked the midnight hair, aware Erestor was trembling, that he himself was shaking. ‘As do I. We have spent so long – decades, centuries in service with no thought but for my king, your lord; this is our time. And even if it proves brief, then we should revel in it, my beloved, and make every moment ours to store up against the disappointments of the past.’

Erestor released his hold on Arveldir to reach up and finger his hand through his friend’s heavy hair and pull his mouth down to kiss it.

‘And against the trials of the future,’ he added.

Arveldir returned the kiss.

‘Erestor-nin,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Did you really have somewhere else to be in half of an hour?’

‘I do indeed… in my bed, with you beside me.’

Arveldir smiled.

‘Well, I would hate for you to be late for that,’ he said.


	194. Honey Beer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel reacts to the news...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The latter parts of this chapter are not fit to be read in public... PWP...

Glorfindel went straight to his room and threw himself face down on the bed, his arms over his head. Three days. Three and a half days. When he told Triwathon he didn’t know how long they’d have, he hadn’t for a moment thought it would start to end after three short days…

Even if the expedition wasn’t going to set off at once, even if it was three weeks before they left, still, the time was marked, and all would be tainted, tarnished with the threat of departure.

Because Glorfindel would have to go. He had promised Elrond he would ride with Arwen and keep her safe. Even though, by rights, he should talk her out of this mad idea to sail with her prince, by rights he should tie her up in a sack, if he had to, and take her home, she was an adult now, and it was her choice. Even though Elrond was pretty sure to combust when he heard the news his beloved only daughter had sailed…

…would sail…?

What if someone told Elrond what Arwen intended?

Arveldir had said it wasn’t certain they’d go through Imladris, but it would be foolish not to if you were riding to the Havens… they would be near enough to Elrond, certainly…

Except it wouldn’t be right. Not only was Glorfindel’s reasoning wrong – it was, as he had already noted, Arwen’s business what she did – the only reason it had occurred to him was so that he didn’t have to leave Mirkwood.

No, not Mirkwood. Triwathon.

It wasn’t love, it couldn’t be, not so swiftly. Glorfindel knew what love looked like, what it felt like, tasted like, how it burned and soothed at the same time, and this wasn’t it.

But, in Triwathon’s gentle generosity of spirit, in his own delight in helping the warrior free himself from the burden of shyness, it was something like it.

He wanted longer. He wanted decades, years at least, time to help the penneth see himself through other’s eyes as the strong and beautiful creation of Eru Ilúvatar that he was. How could he possibly cram decades of encouragement and affection into three frantic weeks?

It might be fun trying, though.

A flicker of his old humour nudged him, and almost, Glorfindel responded. Get up, wipe your eyes, brush your golden hair, Balrog-slayer, legend, walking history lesson, put on your kilt and your best swagger and go and find him. Carry him off over your shoulder in front of everyone, grinning and strutting as you go…

Or not. Just stay here instead. Because, really, what was the point? Triwathon already didn’t need him, he just maybe hadn’t realised yet.

No point wiping his eyes, either. He hadn’t done weeping .

*

Arwen left Arveldir’s study with Feril and headed back with her to the healers’ halls.

‘Because I would like to sit with Iauron for a while. I need to talk to him… alone, if that could be arranged?’

Feril smiled.

‘I’ll have a word with Nestoril. But I’m sure it will be fine.’

Nestoril was looking slightly frazzled for once, but smiled and nodded.

‘As long as you are happy for Tharmeduil still to be present, Arwen, or it might take an hour or so to sort out where to put him while you chat.’

‘Oh, I didn’t mean Tharmeduil! No, I meant, just… no one else who might hear…’

Nestoril repressed a shudder. Still, if Arwen hadn’t realised by now that Tharmeduil could hear perfectly well, perhaps now was not the time to remind her.

‘Well, if you will come through, I will have them close off the corridor; none of the other rooms are occupied.’

Nestoril led the way and ushered Arwen in.

‘Has that… that woman been in today?’

‘If you mean Flora, I do not know,’ Nestoril said. ‘I have been busy elsewhere today. But now is usually her time for walking in the gardens with our healers.’

‘I don’t like the thought of her in here.’

Had any resident of Mirkwood said such a thing, had even the king himself said that, Nestoril would have had no qualms in pointing out that these were her healers’ halls and she decided who visited whom… but Arwen was a guest, and a sad one at that, so she was more gentle in her reply.

‘I do understand; it must be difficult for you. But then, it was probably difficult for Flora when you came in while she was visiting, you know. She had been unaware of your existence, too.’

With that she left, allowing Arwen to consider her words or to forget them as she pleased.

Arwen opened her mouth to protest, but, left with only the closing door to talk to, she sat by Iauron’s bed and took his hand.

‘I’m going to come with you,’ she said. ‘We’d decided. And I know you love me, and I love you. So it will be all right. I don’t know what this thing with the human girl was, but maybe it was just because Belegornor missed Gaelbainil, you were lonely. And, of course, you couldn’t look for solace from a Silvan, your father wouldn’t have liked it. Nor would mine, and… no. I don’t want to think about that. But once we’ve sailed…’

Once they sailed, once they arrived in Valinor, there would be no human females to trouble them. It was such a special place, it was bound to be better. Living with the Valar and the Maiar all around, well, who would even think of having an affair there, of cheating on their all-but-betrothed?

‘Besides, it looks as if the alternative is a human man, and I really don’t think that is a good idea! So, we will be leaving in a few weeks at most. And I began a new project yesterday, I was going to make a banner for your father’s throne room – it needs cheering up a bit, it’s so sombre…’

*

‘Your pardon, my prince, Commander, but have you seen Glorfindel?’

Legolas and Govon looked up to see Triwathon near at hand. Once more deciding to try lunch on the greensward, they had found far fewer persons there, and as the time for the meal had passed and the afternoon had spread out before them, had been enjoying the peace of lying in the sun and simply talking together.

Both shook their heads, and Legolas replied.

‘I’m sorry, no. Not since the wrestling match this morning. You must be very proud, Triwathon.’

The warrior smiled.

‘Indeed, it was a joy to watch him at work. But we had arranged to meet here for lunch… even the most generous of persons would have to admit that he is now late.’

Govon frowned.

‘It is unlike him, one would have thought. It’s been noted, Triwathon, that however unruly Glorfindel’s timekeeping, he is never late for you.’

‘Well, I have no intention of moving out of this sunshine yet,’ Legolas said idly. ‘So why do you not seek him indoors? If he arrives, we will tell him you were asking.’

‘Yes. Thank you, my prince. You may tell him he owes me a favour for keeping me waiting.’

Triwathon inclined his head and set off briskly down the track towards the palace. Legolas rolled onto his stomach to watch him go.

‘And there is a remarkably changed ellon,’ he said. ‘A year ago, if he saw me or my brothers, he would practically break in two trying to bow properly… always afraid of offending, always just too eager to please for it to feel comfortable. A few weeks in your command has done wonders for him.’

‘I’d like to take the credit, but I’d say it’s a few days in Glorfindel’s bed that’s done it.’

‘Except it’s more like Glorfindel in his bed… Well. What matters is that he’s not unhappy any more.’

*

‘Glorfindel?’

Triwathon paused in the doorway, seeing his friend lying face-down on the bed. It looked almost as if he were sleeping, except his shoulders lifted occasionally, abruptly, in a way that did not suggest ease. He knew, for Glorfindel had warned him, that the Balrog-slayer was prone to occasional bouts of melancholia – not surprising, considering his past – and he did not want to be an intrusion. But, still, everything Commander Govon had been hinting ever since he joined the Court Guard, and everything Glorfindel himself had been saying, urged Triwathon to have a little more faith in himself, and so with a tap at the door, he went in and sat on the bed at Glorfindel’s side. The Balrog-slayer froze, making a real effort to control his emotions.

‘What is the matter?’ Triwathon asked, laying a gentle hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder.

‘Nothing,’ Glorfindel muttered into the pillow.

‘I see.’ Triwathon took his hand away. ‘You know you missed our arranged meeting? I would like to know why?’

Silence. And for all it broke his heart to see Glorfindel prostrate, unhappy, Triwathon made himself not reach out again.

‘Mellon-nin, you have been telling me from the first that I should have more respect for myself. And so I must say, I do not like that you left me standing on the greensward alone, waiting for you, worrying about you, for nothing. How can I have self-respect when you, who were the one to bring the subject up, do not offer me any respect? You do not arrive, you do not explain, you do not even apologise. Instead it is nothing. Does that mean I am nothing?’

But still there was no reply.

Triwathon exhaled, his breath shuddery and unsteady, and he got to his feet and went towards the door. About to leave, he turned, wanting to say something, anything to stop himself. If he walked away now, he could never come back, not without losing all the confidence he had gained. He was not nothing. He could not let himself go back to being nothing.

‘I… I am glad I got to see you in the kilt, at least,’ he said, and reached for the door handle.

An audible sob from the bed stayed his hand. Glorfindel’s shoulders were heaving now, as he poured out his misery into the pillow and tried to stifle the sounds. Something broke inside Triwathon; self-respect was all well and good, but it wasn’t going to help him sleep tonight, knowing he had walked away leaving Glorfindel in tears for the sake of his wounded pride.

He resumed his place on the bed and stroked Glorfindel’s golden tresses gently.

‘Come. What is the matter?’

‘N… nothing.’

‘Ah. And is it the same nothing as the previous nothing?’

‘No.’

‘Well. This one I can comfort you for, then, without compromising my self-esteem.’

He sat smoothing his friend’s hair while Glorfindel tried to calm himself. Presently, his shoulders stilled, his breathing calmed, and Triwathon waited, keeping up the rhythm, softly stroking.

Glorfindel sighed, fully exhaling down into the pillows.

‘Triwathon of the gentle fingers… a shoulder rub would be nice…’

‘I’m sure it would. Come, what’s been distressing you so?

The Balrog-slayer pushed himself up, taking care to keep his back to Triwathon while he wiped his eyes.

‘How about one of those hugs of yours while I tell you?’

‘Well, all right. And if you tell me about both of your nothings, I’ll even take my shirt off first.’

‘Just your shirt?’

‘And my boots. I don’t want to ruin the bedding.’

Glorfindel sighed emphatically and pulled off his tunic and shirt. Triwathon, hastily divesting himself of his upper garments, pressed his thumbs into the tense muscles either side of the Balrog-slayer’s neck and made gentle circles there for a moment as Glorfindel groaned in delight and leaned back. Wrapping his arms around his friend, Triwathon pulled both of them down onto the bed, holding Glorfindel’s back closely to his chest.

‘Time to start talking, Glorfindel-nin.’

‘It is… I had some news today. Not the best of news. Arwen is talking of leaving.’

‘And…?’

‘And I promised her father I would look after her, I would take her home when she wanted it. Not that she’s going home, but I still have to escort her…’

‘Oh… oh, I see. So you will not be able to stay? When will she go?’

‘Not immediately. But probably in a few weeks.’

Triwathon suddenly felt the urge to grip Glorfindel more tightly against him. He nestled his face into the golden hair and pushed his thighs closer against the back of Glorfindel’s legs.

‘So, when I heard, I came here to think. And I was so distracted by thinking about not seeing you for much longer that I lost track of the time and didn’t make it to the greensward. I am sorry, I truly am, but honestly, I was not very good company an hour ago…’

‘It’s more like two hours, now. Very well; I will allow myself to forgive you. But do not think this is permission to let me down again.’

Glorfindel found he was smiling.

‘All right, Triwathon of the gentle fingers, Triwathon of the beautiful fëa. I will try not to.’

‘So, what was your other nothing? The one that started you off again and prevented me leaving?’

‘Just that; the thought that you would leave, that you had become strong enough to know you could leave. To realise you no longer need me…’

‘Of course I need you!’ Triwathon gave the Balrog-slayer a little shake. ‘I do not feel that strong, that confident, not yet. But, anyway, is it not nicer to be needed by a person who is not in need? Is it not better to know you are needed for yourself, not because of a lack in the other person? However strong I may be, however confident, I will never forget who told me I could talk of Fine Red Wine and keep my friend alive in my heart.’

He released his hold and pulled away, sitting up.

‘What are you doing?’ Glorfindel asked hastily.

‘Finishing off undressing. I want to do more than just cuddle, if that’s all right with you.’

‘Yes. Yes, that is very much all right with me.’ He heard the click as Triwathon secured the door against interruption, and the another noise that didn’t really fit with any he had expected; a cork coming out of a bottle. ‘What are you up to?’

‘Just a thought I had. You might like it. You might hate it, if so, well, tell me…’

‘What?’

‘On your back for me, my lovely one… just how flat is that abdomen of yours, I’ve been wondering?’

Glorfindel gave Triwathon a glimpse of his blinding smile and wriggled out of his leggings and onto his back, arranging himself in the middle of the bed, trying for the most alluring position possible.

Triwathon, now magnificently unclothed, straddled Glorfindel’s thighs and lifted a bottle of honey beer to his lips. He paused before he drank.

‘Excellent honey beer. Light, refreshing, heady. You can drink fine red wine and remember the vintage if you put your mind to it. But honey beer… ah, this honey beer, Glorfindel-nin, it lingers in the senses, it is sweet and delicious, and it is never forgotten.’

He took a sip and leaned forwards to capture Glorfindel’s lips in his own, allowing the honey beer to trickle into the Balrog-slayer’s mouth. Glorfindel pushed up with his tongue around the beer, a little noise of pleasure escaping him as Triwathon eased away and licked his lips.

‘You are honey beer, Glorfindel. One could drink, and drink, and drink and never have enough, and always want more.’ He took another sip, swallowing. ‘Such sweetness. Unforgettable.’

‘More?’

Triwathon nodded and took another mouthful of beer, leaning over to open his mouth over Glorfindel’s lips again, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the beer and feeling its cool tingle as their tongues met and merged and Glorfindel swallowed. The kiss ended, Triwathon edged back and stroked his hand on Glorfindel’s belly, smoothing the muscles before tipping the bottle to pour a very little beer into the Balrog-slayer’s navel. Glorfindel gasped and almost convulsed.

‘Careful! It will spill!’

Triwathon carefully slid back down Glorfindel’s thighs and bent forward to dip his tongue into the little reservoir of beer. He lapped slowly, feeling an urgent nudge from the Balrog-slayer’s erection against him. He lifted his head to look along Glorfindel’s body and up to his face and smile before returning to his task, fastening his lips around the semi-full indentation and sucking the beer out suddenly, finishing his task with a swirl of his tongue that had Glorfindel moaning and thrusting.

He set the beer down on the floor at the side of the bed, and slid up the hard, firm body to bring himself into reach of Glorfindel’s mouth.

‘Do you like honey beer?’ he asked as the Balrog-slayer pulled his head down for a kiss.

‘I like honey beer, yes, now…’

‘I love honey beer,’ Triwathon said, and slid back down Glorfindel’s body again, the Balrog-slayer’s hands in his hair, trying to capture him. ‘No, but trust me…’

He reached for the beer and took a mouthful, holding it in his mouth as he stroked Glorfindel’s arousal and then pulled him into his mouth. Honey beer swirled, its effervescence bursting in little fizzes around his mouth, his busy tongue, against Glorfindel’s erection, and he swallowed and slid his lips and teeth along and around while his hand was sliding beneath and under, touching and teasing, Glorfindel’s fingers holding his head, wanting to control the rhythm, thrusting in and out, his breath coming short and hard and vocal, and Triwathon gave a little moan of encouragement, and it was all Glorfindel needed to spasm and explode with heat into Triwathon’s mouth, hips lifting, crying out as the Silvan swallowed in time, again and again, until finally softening the pressure of his mouth and releasing him.

Glorfindel reached down to stroke Triwathon’s hair, caress the side of his face, drift over his ear tip.

‘Going to come back up here so I can kiss you, now? Bring the rest of the beer?’

‘Well, since you ask so nicely… But I’ve another bottle.’

‘Could we save that for later, perhaps? Might like to try that myself…’

Triwathon took a brief swallow of beer to rinse the last drops of Glorfindel’s essence from his mouth, and wormed his way back up the bed to roll on his back and pass Glorfindel the bottle, pushing his hips provocatively.

‘Be my guest,’ he said.


	195. Spillage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel and Triwathon talk. And wash away the beer stains.

Later, Glorfindel lifted a strand of Triwathon’s hair, sticky with the residue of honey beer, from where it had somehow become glued to his chest.

‘You know, it’s surprising how far a little beer can spread,’ he murmured.

‘You have to be quicker with your tongue, Glorfindel!’

‘I’ve never had any complaints before!’ the Balrog-slayer retorted, sounding just a little petulant, causing Triwathon to laugh.

‘I do not wonder… who would dare…? But I was talking about the beer games… is there any left in that second bottle?

Glorfindel reached across Triwathon’s body to lift the bottle. He shook it and, with a sly grin, tipped it up over his friend’s abdomen. The warrior gasped as cool honey ale splashed across his body, and then began to giggle helplessly as Glorfindel began to lick at the spilled, now-flat beer with his tongue. Presently, the Balrog-slayer stopped, sat up, and grinned.

‘No. Not now. It’s all gone now.’

‘Oh, you terrible, wonderful creature! I need a bath after that!’

‘In fairness, you needed one before. We both do. Come on. Playtime’s over.’

‘Only until tonight. Remember, I promised you for winning.’

Glorfindel smiled to himself as he pulled Triwathon towards the bathing pool.

‘Oh, I get a prize tonight as well as this afternoon?’

‘Yes. You’ve been very generous in letting me take the lead, but I think I’d like to know more of what you enjoy doing, as well as having done…’

‘I like a clean, dry and well-made bed to start out in, when I can get one. The maids are going to have a field-day, trying to guess what happened here,’ he said, surveying the wreckage of the sheets and blankets. ‘I suppose I can always say some beer was spilled; it’s almost true… So how about we go to your room tonight, after all?’

‘All right. It is, as you noted, good for cuddling in.’

‘As well as other things.’

It was only while Triwathon was soaping Glorfindel’s golden hair that a thought occurred to him and he stayed his busy fingers.

‘No, don’t stop… that feels wonderful…’

‘Sorry.’ Triwathon recommenced the scalp massage. ‘But I was thinking… I do not want to dwell, I would prefer to ignore the conversation earlier… but why does Arwen want to leave Mirkwood now? Has a spider frightened her? Or perhaps she does not like the cooking?’

‘Ha! No, it is nothing like that…’ Glorfindel paused. ‘I do not know if it is secret… but it will be a private matter, I think…’

Triwathon tugged lightly at the soapy golden strands in his grip.

‘Well, I can keep a confidence.’

‘Yes, I did notice… Very well. The matter will be known soon, anyway. It is that Iauron and Tharmeduil will sail soon.’

‘Oh. That is grievous news indeed.’ Triwathon was silent for a moment. ‘All my life I wanted to be good enough to be chosen to serve our princes. To be part of the honour-guard was such a proud moment for me, riding out with them… to learn they will not recover from their burdens of illness here, it is a shame… Our king will be most distressed. And Prince Legolas.’

‘And you?’

‘Perhaps, a little sad. We looked to Iauron as our future king, in our house, growing up. My Grand-naneth would not hear a word against him, even when there came stories of his escapades. It was elfling mischief, she would say, even though he was by no means an elfling.’

‘Now, that minds me of our twins in Rivendell. Perhaps when there’s a strong father in charge, there’s no need to grow up quite when you should. But your princes, they will be fine in Valinor. There is healing for all hurts, beyond the Sundering Seas. And that is not a guess, it is a fact.’

‘You comfort me. We… well, you know our Silvan beliefs are not so certain, not for ourselves. So, we will lose two of our three princes to the West.’

‘And Arwen will go, too, at the same time. All the way west.’

‘What? Really?’

‘Really. It does seem singularly inane of her to want to… the exact timing is still up in the air, but it’s not going to be long before they leave. And I have to go with her, I gave my word to her Adar.’

Triwathon’s circling fingers slowed, but did not stop their massage.

‘You do not mean – you mean she will sail, but… will you sail all the way with her?’

‘No, of course not! I was sent back here to do a job, I doubt they’d be pleased to see me there again in a hurry… I’ll watch her board the ship, and wave her off. But I do mean to come back, you know. I told Erestor, I would come back here.’

‘It is good to know you wish to return. And I am thinking now,’ Triwathon said softly. ‘I am thinking that the Court Guard has not yet been disbanded, in spite of all the talk. And the two princes are part of the Court… perhaps this is why the Court Guard still exist, it being our task of the Court Guard, to ride escort duty?’

‘Perhaps so.’ Glorfindel began to smile. ‘Which means we would be companions on the road, in all likelihood.’

He ducked out of Triwathon’s hold and turned to kiss him emphatically, smothering his face with suds.

‘But even if the Court Guard isn’t given the duty, would your commander give you leave of absence to come with me anyway?’ the Balrog-Slayer went on. 

‘I think he might.’ The Silvan paused to wipe soap from his chin. ‘He’s very understanding. And I would like to ride out once more, with you beside me.’

‘Thank you for that.’ Glorfindel kissed Triwathon again, repopulating his face with suds. ‘I feel much better now.’

‘Yes. You’ve told me before I give an excellent scalp massage. Rinsing.’

‘Rinsing. Then drying, dressing, going to table… I wonder if they’ll serve honey beer with the meal?’

Triwathon laughed.

‘Well, if so, I will have to be careful not to spill any. Although, if the king is not present, our table manners may not be quite so important, I still think we would cause remark should either of us try to lick up the spillage…’


	196. Planning a Rematch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arveldir reports to the King, and Over Captain Rawon enlists Glorfindel's help...

Arveldir bowed.

‘Good morning, my king.’

Thranduil inclined his head.

‘I hear the dinner table was eventful last night? Something about Lord Glorfindel and Triwathon laughing at nothing?’

The advisor’s mouth twitched.

‘In fact, at something quite specific; they seemed highly entertained by the serving of honey beer at table, particularly when Govon accidentally spilled some… if I may venture to say, sire, Lord Glorfindel is not entirely an asset at times…’

Thranduil barked a laugh.

‘Yes, that is true… but he is a legend after all. One cannot but allow a little leeway… Other than Glorfindel’s unruly sense of humour, was there anything more of note? Did Esgaron attend with Araspen?’

‘Indeed, but seemed to have eyes only for Glorfindel’s end of the table… concerning Commander Esgaron, there has been an incident which he was at pains to report to Over Captain Rawon and so he, in turn, has forwarded it to you as the highest authority…’

Thranduil tried to hide a sigh.

‘Proceed…’

‘Rawon has a strict rule that warriors on the parade ground comport themselves in proper manner at all times. Yesterday, one of the warriors was seen with an arm around another individual. They were not on the parade ground as such, and so had not, strictly speaking, broken this rule. However, the complaint was made, and the over-captain exhorted to do his duty, since no warrior should be exempt from regulations.’

‘This is true. But it sounds to me as if no regulations have been contravened. This is a waste of my time, Arveldir…’

‘Indeed. And it has been noted that you have passed your judgement without hearing the name of the alleged transgressor… Commander Govon…’

‘Esgaron is becoming a liability. This cannot continue, Arveldir!’

‘Quite, sire.’

‘And I do hope it was Legolas with whom Govon was not breaking any rules?’

‘I hardly think Esgaron would have made the complaint then; he would have gone straight to the prince.’

‘True. Very well. Report back to Rawon and inform him that if he wishes to take measures against Esgaron, I will not protest…’

‘Gladly, my king.’

‘Other matters. What has Nestoril said about the journey west?’

‘She has despatched a messenger hawk to the Havens to seek advice concerning how to transport the princes, sire, and she has agreed to accommodate more visitors to them. But as the populace do not yet know, she is not making it a priority. However, one point occurred to me… the human female…’

‘Ah, yes. Flora. It will become less easy to keep Iauron’s real identity and status from her once the plans for him are known…’

‘Perhaps she will be delivered and returned home before then?’

‘That is a hopeful thought, but I do not think it likely. Even if she gave birth at once, one assumes she would need a certain recovery time before facing an uncomfortable journey. Still, we have relatively few speakers of the Common Tongue who are likely to talk to her. Perhaps she will not find out. She did not seem to me to be the sort who would wish to renegotiate terms if she were to find her paramour to have more wealth than previously expected, however. Very well. Do not let me delay you.’

*

The sword pivoted out of Tinuon’s hand and he staggered backwards to land on his rump on the hard surface of the training circle.

Glorfindel reached out a good-natured hand to help him up from the dust as the watching elves applauded. His defeated sparring partner grinned as they bowed formally to each other.

‘Nice bout, Tinuon, you almost had me there for a minute.’

‘My lord Glorfindel, ‘twas an honour to lose to you. I’m glad we were not wrestling, though!’

The Balrog-slayer slapped Tinuon on the shoulder and was about to say something about it hardly being a fair fight as Tinuon was half a head shorter than he and with a correspondingly shorter reach, when he saw Captain Rawon heading towards them.

‘Before you get into another bout, Glorfindel, could I have a word?’

Raising his eyebrows to Tinuon before turning back to bow to the over-captain, Glorfindel sheathed his sword.

‘Of course, Captain.’

He reached for a towel to wipe over his bare torso and snagged his tunic as he followed Rawon towards the barracks and the over-captain’s office, aware of the eyes on him.

Still, they were getting used to the sight of his strangely-striped body now; the Balrod-slayer had learned, over the centuries, that the less he tried to hide the marks of his battles, the easier it was in the long run. But these Silvans, with the way they marked their own battle scars, they never seemed to be finished with looking at him.

Yet from these warriors, it wasn’t the awed, somehow pitying hero-worship he’d struggled to cope with in Rivendell. It was more that they saw and recognised his sacrifice of pain, and if their own battles had been different, still, they acknowledged a fraternity of shared experience. It was with respect that they looked at his body.

Well, perhaps with just a little bit of lust thrown in, too, some of them.

‘Take a seat, Glorfindel.’

Ah, that was Rawon! He was in charge of all the warriors and, although Glorfindel was an honoured and respected guest, he would never be ‘lord’ to Rawon, not on the training grounds.

‘My thanks, Captain. Is there something…?’

‘Nothing to worry about. I’ve had a message from the king’s advisor this morning…’ Rawon tipped his head to one side, measuring the warrior opposite him. A throwback, a relic, but still the most experience warrior here. ‘I was wondering if you might like to help me with something.’

‘Gladly, if I can. What might it be?’

‘I have a situation… When our king left here, he was accompanied by three different Commanders and their guards. All seemed well, each knew their place in the order of things… they return, and each have losses. And suddenly, there are tensions…’

‘I would not say, ‘suddenly’, Captain. In truth, it was after the losses that matters began to deteriorate.’

‘I suppose you would have been placed to see how it had come about, whose fault, if any, it may have been… but that is not the point. I have eyes, I can see... in some way it would be so much better if one would just call the other out and they settled it with their fists… but the one will never rise to the bait and so the other resorts to petty comments that upset the entire barracks… Oh, I could intervene, but what I really want is for my commanders to be able to settle this, to have some way of airing their differences that will ease tensions away from the barracks… and I feel, of all of us, you have the broadest scope of knowledge…’

Glorfindel was a little taken aback.

‘I am honoured by your confidence, Captain Rawon… let me think…’ After a moment, he brightened. ‘I think I have it. A time-honoured tradition, going back long before the days of Gondolin but practised there by no other than the great Ecthelion himself… but I would need to make it more than just the two commanders, so that they do not feel singled out… I have free rein?’

‘Let us say, as long as it is not life-threatening.’

‘Oh, nobody ever died from what I have in mind…’

‘I ought to be reassured, I suppose…’

Glorfindel grinned.

‘Well, Esgaron wouldn’t dare refuse to take part if I invited him to a contest, it would be insulting. And however he might feel, he would not want to be thought of as insulting the infamous Balrog-slayer, would they?’

Rawon gave a smile which had far too many teeth in it.

‘Indeed, Glorfindel, he would lose considerable respect if he refused…’

‘And I did say I wanted a rematch…’


	197. Part of the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil has some bad news to break...

Deeming it unwise to leave the high table in Legolas’ care for a second night, Thranduil ensured it would be known that he would be officiating that evening. He sent no formal invitations round, but sent word to Legolas that he and Govon were expected.

The hall that evening was fuller than was usual, perhaps because the populace of the palace environs still had not quite finished looking at their newly-returned king, or his newly-restored face. Or it could be the novelty of elves from Imladris who drew the people in; Glorfindel was notorious for his legendary past, and Arwen was, it must be said, rather decorative. Govon and Legolas were there, as required, Glorfindel had brought his warrior friend, Erestor and Arveldir were trying not to seem too engrossed in each other, while Arwen had asked, most politely, for her friend Merlinith to be included, too… and how that had happened, Thranduil was unsure, but Govon’s sister was perhaps a calming influence on some of the high table. Certainly, Glorfindel had not been laughing inappropriately through the meal this night. 

Eventually, once everyone seemed to have finished eating, Thranduil signalled Arveldir to have the table cleared and more wine passed around. After the move from eating to drinking had been made, and Thranduil had taken enough from his goblet for politeness, he turned to Legolas, on his right.

‘I am done for the evening. I want to see you and Govon in my study as soon as you can get away – do not worry, there is nothing wrong…’ As such. ‘I merely wish to talk to you both… as a father, not as a king.’

‘All right.’

Thranduil signalled Arveldir, who stood, causing everyone else to do so, and the king departed. Govon frowned as he turned to Legolas.

‘Should we be worried anyway?’

‘Probably.’ Legolas refilled Govon’s glass. ‘Drink up, then let’s go and find out what’s on the old villain’s mind.’

Sidestepping an invitation from Arwen to join her and Merlinith in her quarters, the fëa-mates left the table and headed for Thranduil’s study. 

The king was at his desk, waiting for them.

‘Close the door, ion-nin. Then come through.’

Thranduil removed his robes of office and cast them casually over a chair, signalling the end of his kingly day. Expecting to be offered seats in the sitting room behind the study, Legolas raised his eyebrows as instead his father opened a door in the far wall of the room and beckoned.

‘Bring the wine, and the glasses. I think we will all need a glass.’

Beyond the sitting room was a much smaller room with bookcases around the walls. In the central space, several chairs were arranged, facing, not towards the small and currently empty fireplace, but a cupboard on the wall between bookshelves. Thranduil went to this cupboard and opened its doors. Within, on a small support and with a black background behind it, a huge diamond glinted.

‘Sit,’ Thranduil ordered. ‘You know what this is?’

‘I do,’ Legolas said, taking a seat beside Govon. ‘It’s my naneth’s starlight jewel.’

Thranduil poured wine into three glasses, held two out, and took a seat.

‘It is some comfort to me, to know that she is probably already out of the Halls of Mandos and waiting for us somewhere in Valinor. That Iauron and Tharmeduil will have their mother back. I miss her. I regret that I could never convince her to become my wife, you know.’

‘I never understood, Adar, why you couldn’t make her, if it meant so much to you…’

‘Ah, well, you remember your naneth. When could anyone make her do anything she did not wish to do? Perhaps that was part of the attraction; she saw right through the king to the ellon behind the mask.’ Thranduil smiled fractionally. ‘It was my hope, my ambition that one day, I would persuade her. But no. There was not time enough.’

Govon sipped his wine. It was awkward, being here, listening to such intimate family matters. Thranduil saw him shift position, and ghosted another smile.

‘You’re not intruding, Govon, if that’s what you think. I am sure she would have approved of you, you know.’

‘I… we, your Silvans, know so little of Legolas’ mother, sire,’ he said. ‘And, of course, even if we could ask, it is not our place to do so…’

‘Well, it has become your place, Govon, for you are a part of the family now. Ask. I think it would be easier if you were to ask Legolas, but once you have, if there is anything more you would wish to know, simply ask. She was one of my elk-trainers, you know. That’s how we met, she trained one of Nelleron’s forebears and brought him to the stables. My first elk, and she had the temerity to laugh when the beast dislodged me over his antlers… after that, it was a foregone conclusion.’

He smiled softly in memory.

‘Govon, I would like for you to feel you do not have to call me ‘sire’. While I would much prefer you did not call me ‘honour-adar’, I do not object to your using my name, in private.’

‘Thank you. You’ll understand that I find it difficult – I had ‘his majesty our king’ in my ears all my elfling years – you were a figure of such magnificence to my naneth… I think she was less awed at thought of the Valar…’

‘Yes, I do understand.’ Thranduil broke off to stare at the starlight jewel. ‘See how it glints!’

‘What’s the matter, Adar?’ Legolas asked softly. ‘You didn’t ask us in here just to introduce Govon to my naneth, I’m sure?’

‘No. But I wanted it to be absolutely clear I am speaking as your father, as Govon’s honour-father…’ He shrugged and quirked an eye as he used the title. ‘Something was brought to the attention of the king this morning, and the king has to find an answer. Esgaron is not your friend, Govon.’

‘I know. He has his reasons…’

‘I do not care about his reasons! The dragon that burned my face had its reasons, the one which almost killed you with its breath, it had its reasons, too… no. but the king must make answer. The king must act. Esgaron saw you with your arm around my son at the practice range and took the matter up with Rawon, insisting I be informed…’

‘Adar, I’d just found out about Iauron and Tharmeduil – Govon was only supporting me…’

‘I know. And no rules were being broken for that matter. But Esgaron is not behaving rationally; I have to give him something, or he will never stop. He will grow more and more determined in his dislike. And so I have come to a decision. I cannot let all my intention be known at this time – there is still some uncertainty and until all is known… but to begin with, the Court Guard must disband.’

Govon drew a sharp breath and Legolas reached to cover his hand with his own.

‘But, Adar, you can’t do this to Govon… or the rest of the warriors!’

‘Over Captain Rawon can. It will be announced in a few days’ time and you will present yourself and your guard to dinner, in full honour dress – kilts, if they wish – and I suppose Glorfindel will wish to be an honorary member of the guard for the night – you will not stand down immediately, you will have several weeks’ grace…’

‘Adar…’ Legolas protested again.

‘Legolas, your concern is touching, but will you cease? If the Court Guard does not disband, then who but they will escort Tharmeduil and Iauron to their ship? It is a far longer journey that the one we have just endured, and you cannot go, I need you here – do you wish to be separated from your lover for so long?’

‘N…no, Adar.’

‘All will be done in such a way as to celebrate the work of the Court Guard, in gratitude for their care of the court, their sacrifices and their bravery. As a thanks for this service, they will all be on full pay for at least a month after the disbanding… by which time, things will have moved on, I assure you. You’re very quiet, Govon?’

‘Do you wonder?’ Govon shook his head. Even if he was part of the family, now, that had almost been impolite. ‘I… suppose I should thank you for the warning. And it’s true, I have no wish to be parted from your son for months on end… but… my command does not deserve this. If Esgaron has issues with me, then let it fall on me alone…’

‘But it is not only you.’

‘Triwathon. But he has never said a word to reveal the identity of the one who… while it is common knowledge, he is entirely innocent of the revelation that it was Esgaron who abandoned him… indeed, I do not think, now, he minds…’

‘True, Govon. But Esgaron, as has been said, is not behaving rationally at present. Govon, I have given this matter much thought. It is the best way, I assure you. But… it may not seem so, at first. I ask only that you do not tell your command, not yet. It must come from Rawon to have the most impact on Esgaron.’

Govon sighed,

‘Understood… sire. Thranduil. But what will you do, who will you send?’

‘That rather depends on the outcome of Nestoril’s message to Cirdan at the Havens.’ 

‘I will need a job, Thranduil, I can’t just be fëa-mate to a prince, I have to have a purpose beyond that. For his sake as well as for my own self-respect…’ 

‘Oh, you will have duties a-plenty, soon enough. But you have been commander for what, several months? I have been king for considerably longer than that, you know.’ The king turned to his honour-son. ‘But, for the moment, you must trust me, Govon. However difficult that might seem.’


	198. Unfair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Over Captain Rawon makes it official - the Court Guard will be no more...

Legolas cradled Govon in his arms, holding him against his chest. His fëa-mate had been too silent for too long, pretending to be in reverie, but not fooling Legolas for one moment.

‘What are you thinking, friend captain?’

It seemed a long time before Govon answered.

‘I am thinking soon, that will not be an appropriate name for me. I am thinking, I will lose my command, I will lose my place in the king’s army… what else will I lose?’

‘You will not lose respect. I wish I knew what Adar was up to, I’d tell you, then… perhaps that’s why he hasn’t said, he knows I’d not keep it from you. And you will always be my friend captain, just as I will always be your fair elf, even if I should stop being fair.’

‘You will never stop being fair in my eyes… It is just… my own concerns aside, it feels that they are being punished – my warriors – because of me. How will they take the news, what will they do? More change for Triwathon, just when he was starting to gain confidence… Thiriston, Canadion… when I took charge of them, I was half-afraid to give either of them orders, now I worry their next duty will separate them… Hador and I have served together for almost as long as we have been warriors… Tinuon, I barely know Tinuon, yet he has always been supportive, such an able second… he will be all right. So will Hador… but… oh, it is not just them I’m worried about, it’s me, it’s… it’s us…’

‘Hush.’ Legolas stroked Govon’s dark honey hair softly. ‘We will be fine. Adar has a plan. He always has a plan.’

‘Yes. You’ll understand if I’m not entirely comforted by the thought.’

Legolas laughed.

‘It’s true, he can be more devious than a matchmaking naneth when he puts his mind to it.’ Legolas shifted position, rolled so that he could look into Govon’s eyes. ‘But it is not yet. Until Rawon makes the announcement, it has not happened. And for the sake of your command, you cannot let them know anything is wrong.’

‘I know. It has to be business as usual. Morning practice, afternoon lazing…’

‘You know, I do like the afternoon lazing. And watching the morning practice. But perhaps I’d better stay away tomorrow, just in case I get accused of interfering with the warriors at work…’ Legolas sighed. ‘Perhaps it would be simpler if you and Esgaron just settled it with a good, old-fashioned brawl…’

‘Oh, wouldn’t Rawon just love that?’

‘Not as much as some of the other warriors would; I’m sure you’d win…’

‘I’m not so sure; he’s got the reach of me. And, besides, it would set a very bad example.’ He sighed. ‘I wonder for how long I’ll have to pretend all’s well? I can’t keep it up forever.’

‘No.’ Legolas pushed forward so that he was lying over Govon, hip to hip and smiled, changing the mood. ‘But I’ve never complained yet, have I?’

Govon couldn’t prevent a smile in return, but turned his head away.

‘I know what you’re trying to do, my fair elf…’

‘I should hope so by now…’ Legolas gave a little bounce with his hips. ‘And you can’t deny, it seems to be working…’

And, indeed, for a joyous space of time, Govon was able to lose his worries in the glory of his fëa-mate’s eyes and the heat of loving union.

But even as Legolas whispered words of endearment and snuggled closer to sink into reverie, Govon was worrying, again, about the future of his warriors and how they would react when they heard the news.

He didn’t have long to wait. The next day passed, as predicted, in morning practice and afternoon idleness – Legolas dragged him to visit Flora again, and he managed a brief, if random conversation in Westron with her about the weather and the trees. That night, they kept to themselves, eating in their quarters, Legolas respecting the dourness of Govon’s mood and realised the best way for the Court Guard not to realise something was wrong was to keep Govon out of their way.

So the following morning, when, after an archery session that had ended up in an impromptu contest with the Honour Guard, Rawon called him into his office and told his warriors to stand by on the parade ground, Govon pretty well knew what was coming.

‘This is a sad task, Commander,’ Rawon began. ‘Although I am ordered to make it look like a celebration. You probably have an idea what’s coming; I am sorry, but the Court Guard is to be disbanded.’

Govon had thought he was prepared for the news, but the reality was still hard to bear, He took a sharp breath, his head dropping to his chest. 

Rawon allowed him a minute before speaking.

‘Chin up, Commander Govon! You have served with honour, your warriors are accomplished, all speak highly of you. You have no reason to reproach yourself…’

Govon lifted his head as ordered and squared his shoulders.

‘All, High Captain?’ he queried.

Rawon’s mouth twitched.

‘All who matter,’ he corrected. ‘Sit down and listen a moment. I know it must feel unfair. But it’s really not so bad as it sounds.’

Govon lowered himself into a chair as Rawon shuffled papers until he found the right one.

‘From Lord Arveldir. His majesty has noted that the purpose of the Court Guard – to protect the royal persons and the court on their recent travels – has ended successfully, with their safe return home. He extends his appreciation but regretfully needs to disband the company to free its warriors for service elsewhere. The official time of the dispersion of the company will be four weeks from today, and in the interim the Court Guard will continue to function as an individual unit, principally for ceremonial purposes. The Court Guard is invited to present itself in full regalia and battle dress as first worn for the meeting with Imladris…’ Rawon paused to raise his brows. 

‘I heard about that,’ he said. ‘Warrior paint and kilts? I’m not surprised the Lady Arwen came back here if she’d seen your warriors present themselves in the old way… I digress…’

He cleared his throat and continued reading.

‘So… full regalia… two nights hence at the high table where the Court Guard will be formally thanked and honoured by his majesty as befits their service.’

Rawon looked his amusement under raised brows.

‘Kilts will be worn, leggings not required for the evening. I’ve put in the requisition slips – and our esteemed Balrog-slayer will be an honorary guard for the duration of your last hurrahs, Commander. There will be a series of inter-command competitions and contests to celebrate your achievements and let you go out on a high note, including something the aforesaid Balrog-slayer is cooking up… Arveldir says that by the time the full four weeks of celebration are up, he hopes to have some idea of what the king wants to do with you…’

Rawon set down the paper and gave it a tap.

‘I have my own theory, of course. There is a rumour that the two older princes will soon be leaving on a more permanent trip west…’ He left the phrase hanging to see whether Govon could, or would, offer any insight. ‘No? Well, if this is the case, and the Court Guard were still extant, it would be your task to go. But as it stands – as it will stand one this announcement is made – you will not have to leave the forest again so soon.’

He gave a small, formal smile and began to get to his feet.

‘So, go out to your warriors, say something suitably kind and friendly about how it’s been a joy and a delight to order them all around, and I’ll come and break the news. And I suggest you find yourself a big empty chamber in the palace tonight and have a private party for them and their family. It will help them all feel better. I’ll give you a moment with them. Dismissed.’


	199. Celebrating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a party for the Court Guard...

At home, Legolas was waiting, the door open so he could listen for Govon’s footsteps. Hearing his tread, he leaned out into the corridor.

‘Are you all right?’

The anxious note in his fëa-mate’s voice helped Govon find a grin.

‘Yes, the worst is over. The warriors know. They took it really well, all things considered.’

The prince pulled him inside and shut the door.

‘And?’

‘And apparently I have to throw them a party tonight, somewhere. Somehow. They have been told they can bring whoever they want – their fëa-mates, their friends, their parents…  
’  
‘I hardly think they will do that. Although it would be interesting if Canadion’s naneth were to show up…’

‘It’s meant to be a happy occasion, a celebration, it needs to be. But I have to organise everything by tonight…’

‘But these are warriors; ‘everything’ is not so much… beer, and food, and a place big enough. Merlinith will be your ally, I think.’

‘True… Ai! I also said I would eat with the warriors on our greensward in an hour…’ 

‘Bear with me.’ Legolas opened the door and tugged twice at the bell on the wall opposite to summon a servant. Before more than half a minute had passed, one arrived, and bowed.

‘My prince?’

‘Send to the kitchens at once, lunch for eight in a hamper to be collected in half an hour. It’s for warriors, so don’t stint the beer and the wine… and seek out Lord Erestor for me and tell him I need his services.

‘At once, highness.’

He went back in and smiled at Govon.

‘There. Lunch should be ready to collect by the time we’re ready to leave. I can’t offer to wash your back, I’m afraid, not with Erestor on the way, but you go ahead and wash away the morning, if you want. How many are you expecting for this party?

‘Up to twenty, depending on who brings whom.’ Govon collected clean clothes and headed for the bathing room. ‘You know where I am if you get finished with Erestor soon... Invite him and Arveldir to the event, why not?’

‘Oh, and Adar, I suppose?’

Govon laughed, the sound lifting Legolas’ heart. In truth, the prince had been worried his friend captain would brood on the disbanding, take it personally, lose faith in himself, but for the moment at least, he seemed in good spirits.

A knock on the door, and Erestor was there.

‘You sent for me, my prince?’

‘Yes. I need your help with something… you may need to liaise with Arveldir…’

‘Oh, I am sure I can cope with that,’ Erestor replied. ‘How may I serve?’  
*

Lunch, on the greensward, even in company of all the Court Guard, was pleasant. Glorfindel tagged along with Triwathon, so Legolas didn’t quite feel he was gate-crashing a warrior gathering.

‘There’s to be a celebration tonight, I hear,’ the Balrog-slayer said. 

‘Indeed so,’ Canadion replied, relaxing back against Thiriston. ‘Our good Commander’s idea.’

‘And if any of you know how many guests you’re bringing, it would be helpful,’ Govon said.

‘If we all say we will bring three people, and only bring one, does that mean there will be more wine than we need?’ Tinuon asked.

‘We are warriors, we are still the Court Guard; there will never be more wine than we need!’ Govon replied. ‘But you might bear in mind, perhaps, when you choose your guests, some of them might not appreciate the rowdiness of a warrior party…’

‘Perhaps I’d better stop at home, then,’ Glorfindel said with a wide-eyed, blinking look. ‘We were not used to such things, in Gondolin…’

‘That’s not what you told me,’ Triwathon said with a grin. ‘Although you have yet to explain just why they called Ecthelion the Lord of the Fountain…’

‘Oh, I’m saving that story for a very special occasion…’ Glorfindel grinned. ‘Is there any more of that beer left?’

Govon waited until the warriors had eaten and drunk enough to be relaxed before rising from his spot on the grass and holding out a hand to help Legolas up.

‘Well, I’ve a lot of arrangements to make for tonight. Tinuon, I’ll send you word when I’ve found us a party room, if you can let everyone else know…’

‘It’ll be my pleasure, Commander!’

*

Arveldir stared at Erestor with a smile twitching at the edges of his lips.

‘I have never been asked to assist in organising a drinking session for warriors before!’ he said.

‘Perhaps it is because you are one who would savour a glass of wine rather than guzzle a barrel. But that does not mean you would not know where the barrels are stored… they will need somewhere to themselves, not for fear of offending others with their rowdiness, but so that they can feel they are all family… it is, after all, the beginning of the end for them.’

‘No spirits, then. There is nothing like a dose of spirits for making one maudlin. Beer and wine… if we requisition more than they could possibly need, and store half in an adjoining room… I think I know where we might start looking…’

Arveldir picked up a bunch of keys and led Erestor off through the tangle of corridors, orienting towards the warriors’ quarters. He stopped outside a passage which was barred by a sturdy iron gate, seeking the right key.

‘After Dagorlad…’ he shook his head sadly, trying to keep his voice brisk. ‘Thranduil brought back a third of the warriors his father led to battle. We are still recovering our numbers. This corridor, and many like it, housed warriors who fell that day. Only one or two of the chambers had occupants who returned. And they found it sad to be amongst the homes of their lost friends, so we moved them. The empty sections were barred – we did not need them, it was a waste of time to light the corridors... they are cleaned, twice a year, but have been empty ever since.’

Unlocking the gate, he swung it wide and stepped through, walking towards the far end.

Erestor looked around him, noting six doors on each side. One was slightly open, and, curious, he entered.

He found himself in a large chamber, lit by two or three lightwells that made little spots of brightness on the floor and which gave enough illumination to see that the room was nicely proportioned with fire and cooking hearth on one wall, a door out leading to a room almost as big beyond – a sleeping chamber, he supposed – and beyond that, hygiene facilities and a small area that could serve as storage.

‘Who would have lived here?’ he asked, hearing Arveldir’s step behind him. ‘I must say, it does not feel as despondent as the story suggests…’

‘None died here, after all,’ Arveldir replied. ‘These were couple’s rooms; those who were vowed but who had no elflings as yet. This quarter, I recall, was mainly for warrior ellyn and ellyth who were vowed together… At the end of the passage is a common room – there were shared bathing rooms, too, but those were drained, since falling from use.’

‘Arveldir… you remember being told to find other options for our unconventionally-paired warriors…?’

‘Yes…? Ah. Yes. I see. Do you know, you could be right? There is far more room here than in the single quarters...’

‘You should ask Thiriston if this kind of space would be suitable for him,’ Erestor suggested. ‘Although, after the honour of being in one of the guest chambers…’

‘I’ll speak to our king on the subject first. These are far more spacious than the rooms for the single warriors! But I was going to show you the common room, I thought it might do for tonight.’

The common room promised to be exactly what was required.

‘We will need to get it swept, and have seating and tables brought. But I think it will do.’ Arveldir turned to his friend. ‘It is far enough away that they can all sing as loudly and as rowdily as they want and disturb nobody, and talk and rail at the unfairness of things with none overhearing them. So. Now all we need to do is get it ready for them…’

*

Legolas spent the long afternoon helping Govon where he could with his arrangements, glad that something was taking his fëa-mate’s mind off the loss of his command. He noticed a shadow behind the commander’s eyes at times through the day, but since his friend captain was determined not to say anything, Legolas let matters lie. Adar had a plan. There was always a plan.

By the time they were ready to inspect the room Erestor and Arveldir had found, Govon seemed cheerful enough, or determined to appear so. 

‘It’s all ready,’ Erestor said. ‘Your sister Merlinith has been very helpful… and thank you for our own invitation…’

‘Come and see,’ Arveldir said. ‘I remembered the uninhabited warriors’ quarters; they have their own common room…’

‘…which we have appropriated for the evening. But looking ahead, these are much more spacious than the rooms the single warriors are in. It is a consideration for those such as Thiriston and Canadion…’

‘Who are still in that rather fine guest room…’ Arveldir added. ‘Perhaps we could ask Triwathon’s opinion? Not tonight, of course.’

‘Maybe not tonight,’ Legolas said. ‘I think tonight they – we – just want to celebrate.’

‘This way, then.’

The common room looked as if it would easily hold thirty guests, and had that empty, echoing feel of a room waiting for people. Merlinith was there, and Arwen, eyeing the laden tables with satisfaction. Beer and wine and food waited for the onslaught, and there was plenty of seating.

‘We thought it would be more of a sitting-drinking thing than a mingling-chatting thing,’ Arwen said.

‘Hopefully,’ Legolas said. ‘Those are no fun.’

Within an hour, the room was filled with warriors and their friends and family, the atmosphere lively and laughing, and if Govon’s smile seemed a little determined at the edges, still, he did smile, and laugh with his warriors, and stopped the party from becoming a wake. Glorfindel held forth amongst a little cluster of drinkers, Triwathon close by, watching with a grin.

Legolas slipped an easy arm around his fëa-mate.

‘You know, I’m sure Glorfindel isn’t quite as drunk as he’d have us believe…’

‘He’s a showman, a consummate artist. I suppose he’s had to learn all manner of tricks over his long years…’

‘Govon!’ Glorfindel called with an expansive wave and a smile. ‘C’mmander, over here, if you please… have a question for you…’

‘On my way.’

Legolas and Govon made their way to Glorfindel’s table. The Balrog-slayer made room for them, drew Triwathon into an amiable cuddle.

‘Wanted to ash… ask… When Arwen goes… goes… when she leaves, an’ I go with… c’n I take Triwathon? Hmm? C’n I? C’n I?’

Govon cast Legolas an amused glance. His fëa-mate grinned.

‘Well, if we’ve disbanded by then…’

‘Only, do him good. I’m Riv’ndell’s sensh… senen… sne… s… I look after all the knights. Do him good to see how it’s done… Good f’r his fush… future…’

‘If that’s what Triwathon wants, and if it’s in my power to permit it, that will be fine… are you all right, Glorfindel?’

‘Fine, am fine… just need a little lie down… somewhere… old bones and a young heart don’t always go together…’

Triwathon got his shoulder under Glorfindel’s and helped him to his feet.

‘Come, then, Iphant-nin. I’ll help you back to your quarters… Commander, could I ask…?’

Govon got beneath the Balrog-slayer’s other shoulder as he decided now would be a good time for a burst of song. With Legolas darting ahead to open the door, and following after, they headed along the corridor towards the guest quarters.

By the time they reached the junction, Glorfindel had stopped singing and was no longer leaning on Govon.

‘Thank you, Commander, for a most entertaining evening. You know, I think I just needed a little fresh air… Want to talk to you about something, but I’ll catch you tomorrow. Goodnight.’

‘I knew he wasn’t that drunk!’ Legolas exclaimed.

‘It made for a very happy party, though,’ Govon said. ‘I don’t think any of my warriors were considering the future tonight, they were just fascinated about what Glorfindel was going to say next.’

As they headed back towards the party, they heard a voice rise in song to begin an occasionally-bawdy song about the perils of drinking in taverns.

‘I’m sure that’s Arwen singing!’ Legolas exclaimed. ‘Well, friend captain. Do you want to go back and join in the chorus?’

Govon leaned back against the cold stone wall with his shoulders, pulling Legolas towards him.

‘Do you know, I think I’m more in the mood for a private party. Shall we leave them too it?’

Legolas slipped his arm round Govon’s waist. 

‘Good idea,’ he said.


	200. Reasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erestor tries to hold a breakfast meeting with Legolas, and Glorfindel insists Govon take part in a special contest...

Erestor looked up from his plate, trying to decide whether there was any point attempting to begin the business part of his breakfast meeting with Legolas yet.

It had seemed such a good idea; arrive with breakfast each morning and, while the prince’s attention was on the food, begin to engage him in the matters of business about which he needed to be informed for the day ahead.

Certainly, Erestor had inserted himself into the place of assistant and advisor to the prince with unexpected ease, but there was a slight complication… in Rivendell, when one arranged a breakfast meeting with Lord Elrond, there would never be anyone else present.

Currently, the prince was halfway down a mug of allegedly-energising herbal tea, but he really did not appear energised. Rather, he looked tired, distracted… although there were splashing noises coming from the bathing room, so there actually was a distraction happening…

‘My prince, if you wish, I will leave you to your meal and return presently?’ Erestor suggested.

Legolas gave himself a little shake.

‘Erestor? Sorry, it’s just… it was quite a party last night.’

‘Indeed.’ Erestor forbore to remark outright that Legolas and Govon had left comparatively early on in the proceedings, but could not prevent a little hint. ‘It is a pity you missed Lady Arwen’s rendition of some of the more traditional barracks songs… but one does now realise why Lindir discourages her from performing in the Hall of Fire in Rivendell…’

‘Oh, we heard her start up… in fact, that’s why we didn’t come back after helping Triwathon with Glorfindel,’ Legolas admitted. ‘And, well, as you’re here, you might as well stay. Grateful for the food.’

‘It occurs to me that you need a proper study, my prince. An office of your own, at least, where you can keep the rigours of your formal duties away from your private life…’

‘Really? Do you think so?’

The splashing noises ceased and, presently, the bedroom door opened, Govon emerging, still towelling his hair and lacking a shirt. He leaned over the table to kiss his fëa-mate and steal a piece of toast before retreating again to seek a comb on the dressing table.

‘Good morning, Commander,’ Erestor said in formal tones.

‘Good day, Erestor… don’t mind me, I’ll be out of your way in a moment…’

‘You’re going to be late for muster,’ Legolas called through.

‘Rawon set it back a half hour this morning,’ Govon called through, indistinctly because of the toast. ‘Plenty of time.’

‘You see, my prince, had I known this,’ Erestor said, ‘I would not have disturbed you quite so early… Is there, perhaps, an adjoining chamber you could open out into? Or, if you do not like the idea of your own office, perhaps a room for Commander Govon…?’

Legolas grinned; Govon’s kiss seemed to have woken him up, or the herbal tea was finally working.

‘I’ll let you investigate the possibility of opening out into next door,’ he said. ‘But there can’t be that much business today, can there?’

‘That is not the point…’

Govon appeared again, tidy now, hair combed and braided and dressed in working uniform.

‘Coming to watch practice later?’ he asked, dropping a kiss on the top of Legolas’ head. ‘We’re working with some of Bregon’s warriors this morning. Multi discipline, too.’

‘I’ll be there,’ Legolas assured him, smiling as his fëa-mate left. ‘So, Erestor… Where were we?’

Erestor sighed. Knowing when to make a strategic retreat was all part of the business.

‘I hardly think it matters, my prince…’

Legolas grinned.

‘I’m sorry. I’m a sore trial to you, Erestor. I expect it was never like this back home?’

‘Perhaps not. But I find there are… compensations…’ He cleared his throat. ‘A matter of some moment… you will not have forgotten, of course, but tonight is the formal presentation of the Court Guard at the high table so they can be properly honoured and their dispersion announced with due formality…’

‘Kilts and warrior paint. No, I haven’t forgotten.’ Legolas grinned. ‘In fact, I’m looking forward to helping Govon prepare… And is Glorfindel still considering himself an honorary Court Guard member?’

Erestor pressed his lips together and breathed out slowly through his nose, his brow furrowing.

Legolas laughed.

‘No, really, it is most awkward!’ Erestor protested. ‘To properly seat them on either side of the king, there should be an even number – which would be fine, were it not for Glorfindel’s inviting himself to participate...’

‘Put him at the far end, next to Triwathon; he’ll stand out less there.’

‘I beg pardon? We are talking about the same Glorfindel? Conspicuous chap, dresses in bright blue just in case you missed the golden hair and the loud voice and the muscles?’

‘Well, it’s either that or find me a kilt from somewhere…’

‘Valar, no!’

‘… and let me be an honorary guard for the night…?’

‘My prince, your royal father would have a fit! It would be most improper, and… and not at all befitting and…’

‘You may have forgotten, but when you and Arwen sought sanctuary with us, my father faced Elrond wearing paint instead of armour…’

‘Yes, indeed, a most impressive sight… but it is not the same…’

‘I was burned by the red dragon, I shot and wounded the black one, I almost lost my fëa-mate to the grey… I have my own scars, Erestor…’

‘This matter is outside my jurisdiction, I must confess… allow me only to put the matter before the king…’

‘But you’d better source me a kilt anyway; it wouldn’t do if he says yes and one can’t be found to fit me…’

‘Very well, my prince. The high table will be kept as empty as possible so that the Court Guard makes as much of an impression as possible… I will see if there is a room near the banqueting hall which they can use for getting dressed and – ah – prepared in… I will put the matter before his majesty and let you know the answer by mid-afternoon at the latest…’

‘Thank you, Erestor. And, also, thank you for your hard work yesterday, yours and Arveldir’s. The party seemed to be a success, by all accounts.’

‘I am glad it met with approval, my prince. Would that all my tasks were so straightforward.’

He got to his feet and inclined his head.

‘As I said, I’m a sore trial.’ Legolas grinned at him. ‘But I am grateful.’

*

Legolas made it to the practice ground to find the session had not long got underway.

He sat and shouted encouragement to all the working warriors, not just Govon’s command, even applauding Glorfindel when he bested Hador in a light-hearted wrestling match, and if he spent longer over near the archery targets, well, he could claim a professional interest as he saw Govon hitting gold after gold in succession.

Afterwards, as Govon was collecting his kit to leave and Legolas preparing to walk back with him, the Balrog-slayer called their names, and fell into step between them, slapping each on the shoulder.

‘I have news for you, Govon,’ he announced. ‘You are going to be part of the most magnificent contest ever between specifically picked companies of the Mirkwood army…’

‘What?’ Legolas asked.

‘A special event to be held after the inter-command competitions, one which will settle for once and for all which of the three companies is the best…’ Glorfindel shrugged. ‘We all know the Court Guard are the better archers, but the Honour Guard claim to be better at hand-to-hand while the regulars are better at open-hand… and then some of the others say open-hand doesn’t count, it’s too much like brawling and so it goes on and around…’ The seneschal grinned. ‘And whatever the outcome of the official bouts and tournaments, this is one which was held in far higher honour in my day. Anyway, it’s mainly for the commanders and a very few only of their command. Proportionally chosen, so I get to choose two assistants, Bregon three, and Esgaron four…’

‘That hardly seems fair!’ Legolas protested.

‘Ah, but this really is a challenge where personality is more important than specific ability. Besides, and with respect, nobody asked you. You will not even be required to judge.’

‘Then who will?’ the prince asked.

Glorfindel grinned. 

‘High Captain Rawon,’ he said.

Govon, who had kept quiet through this exchange, now shook his head.

‘I’m not interested,’ he said. ‘Let Tinuon and one of the others…’

‘Oh, no, you don’t get to decline!’ Glorfindel shook his head. ‘Captain Rawon has given his permission for this – his orders, in fact – that all those invited to take part must do so. And I have been ordered to lead Team Court Guard, because of my previous experience in the discipline. If it helps, Bregon wasn’t keen, either. Said he’s got far too much work to do already…’ The seneschal paused to roll his shoulders. ‘Rawon threatened him with the king, which wouldn’t work on you, obviously, but it made the point to Bregon… as it should to you.’

‘But…’

‘Esgaron’s up for it. He’s in a really good mood this morning, did you notice? It’s almost as if he knows something he thinks he shouldn’t…’

‘It’s no longer a secret we’re being disbanded,’ Govon said with a sigh. ‘And while I know we have to compete in the tournaments, I have little heart enough for that, never mind your mysterious challenge…’

‘Govon, your warriors need this. You need this. Ever since the eyot, after the dragons attacked, there’s been something brewing between Esgaron and you. And I know – we all know – he’s blanked you, ignored your suggestions, taken some of your duties on himself – and then made a real Balrog’s arse of them, begging your pardon, prince – and you’ve met it with courtesy and patience and dignity…’

‘He seethes, Glorfindel,’ Legolas said in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘My Govon, he broods and he worries and it takes me hours to untie the knots in his shoulders after Esgaron’s been playing his little power games and it is all so unjust…’

‘Peace, Legolas,’ Govon said, his voice tired. ‘Rawon knows what is going on. Your father knows what is going on. It is unfortunate, but that is how Esgaron is…’

‘And it is so unfair, you cannot formally protest because then Esgaron will think you have been using our relationship to be listened to…’

‘Really, it is unfair of Esgaron,’ Glorfindel said. ‘It is not as if he has a good reason – or, indeed, any reason…’

‘No,’ Govon said. ‘He has a reason, and he may be justified, or not, I do not know any more. Do not forget, when the dragons attacked, his command bore the brunt of it. His warriors were chased all over the plain by the black one, toyed with, flamed. He saw his people burning...’

‘Bregon’s warrior suffered too,’ Legolas put in.

‘But not as badly. And what did I do? I yelled one warning and then I slept through the whole thing.’

‘Govon!’ Legolas protested. ‘You almost died! You didn’t sleep, you were unconscious, sick, and then you were left on the battlefield, alone in the dark and…’

‘Melleth! That is not how Esgaron sees it. I lost one warrior and I did not even have to see him die, I saw none of my friends burn. I can understand his anger. That I cannot do anything about it, that I did not choose not to fight… is not my fault. But he is too full of his losses, yet, to be reasonable.’

‘I can see how that would rankle,’ Glorfindel said. ‘It may seem unfair to him. But it was unfair to you, also, for you would have fought if you could. Your bravery is known.’

Govon sighed.

‘That is not the point. But I do not feel the need to prove anything…’

‘Perhaps not, mellon-nin,’ Glorfindel said. ‘But your warriors do. And they are all looking to you.’

Govon sighed and looked to Legolas for rescue. But for once the prince couldn’t back him up.

‘He’s right, melleth. You’re still their commander. These last few weeks will show how the Court Guard is remembered, after all. Isn’t that so, Glorfindel?’

‘Indeed, yes.’ Glorfindel replied. ‘Oh, and Legolas? I will need a bit of help with a venue…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting may be a little sporadic over the next few days. please bear with me, and be assured, I have not abandoned my elves...


	201. 'Poor Flora...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arwen is disconcerted to learn she doesn't have exclusive visiting rights with Iauron...

A sharp and determined knocking disturbed Nestoril, causing her to look up from the papers on her desk. She had particularly asked the duty healers for an hour alone with her documents, so this had better be an important matter; if it were not, she would have to have Words with her duty staff and that was not something she liked to do.

‘Come in,’ she called, and almost before her words were out, her door opened and Arwen presented herself.

‘That Woman is there again!’ she announced. ‘In Iauron’s room.’

Oh, dear.

‘I assume you refer to our human guest, Flora?’ Nestoril said calmly.

‘Well, of course! Unless there are any other pregnant women here?’

‘I’m sure I would have noticed.’ Nestoril smiled. ‘You know, Flora was told she could sit with him whenever she wanted… it would be unfair to…’

‘Is it not unfair to me? We were on the point of being betrothed, and then he’s taken away from me by a dragon’s breath, and now I come back here and find she’s pregnant by him…’

‘Allegedly,’ Nestoril said firmly. ‘And, yes, you do have my sympathy. But… Arwen, can you not see that your position is really much stronger than poor Flora’s? All she will ever have of him is the child, whom she cannot acknowledge as his, but instead must pretend otherwise. She does not even know Iauron’s real name. You, Arwen… you have determined to sail with him. You will have an opportunity to be part of the rest of his future. It would be a shame if Flora’s brief time here with Iauron were curtailed when it really will be such a short moment…’

Arwen set her mouth in a semi-pout that would have had her father quailing and hurrying to placate her. Instead, Nestoril laced her fingers together as she tipped her head and smiled in her usual friendly way.

‘Flora generally sits with him in the afternoons, after the day meal, but then later goes to rest. And although she looks in before the dinner hour, she is rarely there after it. I do hope this information is of use to you. But you can always check with the duty staff when you arrive… or you could even share the visit… I am sure Flora would not mind.’

‘But… you closed the corridor so I could have time alone with him before…’

‘Yes. When you first had the news that he would not recover his health this side of the Sundering Seas. But, my dear Arwen, if sharing him with one person is so distressing to you, how will you cope once the news is out and the entire population come to bid him farewell?’

Arwen paled at the thought.

‘And… and will that be soon?’

‘Not until I hear back from the Havens – there will be at least a few days before we can possibly have any word. It will be better for the people not to know they will lose their princes until we have a definite date for leaving.’

Nestoril gathered together her papers and tapped them into a neat pile.

‘Come, let us go and see if Flora is still there. I wish to check on Tharmeduil anyway.’

*

Flora was, indeed, at Iauron’s bedside, knitting and talking in her soft Westron voice to him, and Feril was also there, holding Tharmeduil’s hand and humming a soft tune. Both looked around as Nestoril appeared, Arwen at her back.

‘Feril, are you doing my task for me? How is our friend today?’

‘I was sure, a moment ago, he was joining in with the song,’ Feril said. ‘But I fear that may simply be my hopes imagining. He is no worse, and the improvements made are still holding. He has taken nourishment and been turned, so all is done for him.’

‘Thank you. Could you help with his brother for a moment? He needs turning, too.’

Feril nodded and relinquished Tharmeduil’s hand to come to Nestoril’s aid.

‘It is time for your friend to lie on his side,’ Nestoril said in the common tongue. ‘His back will be towards you, unless you move.’

‘It is almost time for my rest,’ Flora said. She laid her hand on Iauron’s – Belegornor’s head and brushed a wisp of hair out of the way. ‘I will come back for a while, later.’

Arwen watched her go, trying not to show her triumph as she seated herself near Iauron once he had been suitably repositioned with pillows at his back. She schooled her expression to one of polite interest as Feril resumed her place at Tharmeduil’s side.

‘Are you staying too?’

‘I am indeed,’ Feril replied. ‘It is better for Tharmeduil not to be alone.’

‘I take it you have no objections, Arwen?’ Nestoril asked, causing Arwen to flush and raise her chin.

‘None at all. Why should I mind a healer attending the brother of my Iauron?’

‘Why, indeed?’ Nestoril smiled. ‘I will get back to my work, then. Feril, if you need a change, the duty staff will help.’

She returned to her office where a new piece of paper had been added to her stack of documents; her attendance was required at a formal feast that night, at the second high table. Well, she would prefer not to go, but this was not an invitation to decline lightly… she had thought, though, that all the honouring of the guard had been completed now, and although she had been used to dining with the court, while travelling, it had been so very different from the formal setting of the High Table that she felt a wistful longing for the simplicity of sitting down to eat amongst the king and the princes.

Well, that was one piece of paper successfully dealt with; but had she just been privy to another potential issue; was Arwen’s recent possessiveness over Iauron’s bedside going to be a problem?

She raised an eyebrow to herself and sighed. Even if it was so, it wouldn’t be for much longer, whatever happened; there would not be time, for one thing.

And, while on the subject of possessiveness, Feril had been spending an inordinate number of hours at Tharmeduil’s bedside, especially after their work in the Fëar-Tree Grove. True, it was good for the prince to have company, to be talked to and comforted with a hand in his… and Nestoril did not in the slightest begrudge Feril her time at the bedside… but was her friend perhaps becoming too attached?

Yet how to broach the matter without it sounding wrong, out of place, perhaps even proprietorial in turn? 

Perhaps, though, that was another matter that time would sort out; Feril had already said she wished to attend the princes on their journey to the Havens. Not a short journey, however long or often one stared at the maps, so at least there would be enough time for the reality of where they were going to sink in for Feril, for her to realise there would have to be a time when she said goodbye to Tharmeduil.

*

Arwen stayed with Iauron, telling him about the party of the previous night, about Glorfindel’s inability to say the word ‘seneschal’, about how she’d started singing and, two songs in, how she had been surprised when her new friend Merlinith had joined in with a previously-unknown verse of ‘Where the Sargent-at-Arms Put his Staff in the Dark…’ but not nearly as surprised as Lord Arveldir had been.

‘All told, it was such a fun evening! I can’t imagine why I was never allowed to go to the barracks parties at home…’

Feril got up to leave after an hour or so, patting Tharmeduil’s hand gently and bidding him goodbye, and Arwen broke off her own chat to glance up at her.

‘You know, I do think it’s sweet, how you talk as if he can hear and understand you.’

Feril smiled.

‘But you see, it is different for him, from Iauron. Tharmeduil is quite aware of everything that happens around him; he is simply not able to communicate yet. One day, perhaps, he will free himself from his trap and return to us. But he has predicted silver sails and grey ships before that happens, and so, that is why he must   
sail.’

Another hour passed. Arwen still sat, waiting, wondering, beginning to debate with herself whether she was doing the right thing. But the more she thought, the more sure she became. While it was all very well for Nestoril to have sympathy with poor Flora, she did not seem to realise that what she really should be feeling   
sorry for Poor Flora about was that Poor Flora was not in possession of all the facts, and until she was, Poor Flora was at a decided disadvantage.

Presently, the door clicked and opened, and Arwen heard the little indrawn breath that signified she had been seen. She turned, put a smile on her face and a different language in her mind and spoke in the common tongue.

‘Hello, Flora! I hope you don’t mind my still being here, but I thought perhaps you and I should have a little chat. If that’s all right with you? Yes?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that posting may be sporadic over the next few days, but don't worry - I'm not abandoning the story and I will be back...


	202. 'A Good Note to End on...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the king announces the standing-down of the Court Guard

Erestor knocked smartly on the door of Prince Legolas’ chambers and tried not to permit his disapproval to show. As the door opened he took a step back and bowed, bringing out a parcel from behind his back.

‘My prince, I have here something for you from your esteemed father the king. His compliments, and you are to follow his instructions exactly on the matter.’ Erestor lowered his brows and his voice. ‘Or else.’

‘Oh, you talked him into it? How…?’

‘Arveldir helped, I’ll confess.’ Erestor handed over the parcel. ‘He did say your honoured sire seemed to find the idea amusing, however. I will leave you now to read your instructions and to prepare. There is little more than an hour before you will be needed, will that be enough time for all you have to do for yourself and for your warrior?’

‘In that case, why are you distracting me? My thanks, Erestor. I’ll see you later.’

Govon was towelling off in the bathing room as Legolas shut the door and walked through.

‘What have you there, melleth?’ 

Legolas began to smile as he opened the parcel.

‘Erestor was complaining that Glorfindel’s kilt would unbalance the table, so I suggested if I wore one, too… Oh. Oh, there really are instructions… will you help me with this, friend captain?’

‘Let me see… Yes. Yes, this sounds fun… and is that really…?’

Legolas held up the contents of the parcel.

‘A kilt, indeed.’

‘So, the guard will be wanting me. Will you get ready with us?’

‘I’d love to.’

*

Near the feasting hall a chamber had been set aside for use of the Court Guard, and the warriors had already begun to gather outside when Govon and Legolas arrived. If there were some raised eyebrows to see the prince there, there were also welcome greetings.

‘Who do we lack? Ah, Triwathon and our honorary guard member Glorfindel… why are we not surprised? Well, let’s get started,’ Govon said. ‘I know some of you have a lot of work to do.’

‘Is it acceptable to ask for some help with the kilt?’ Legolas asked quietly. ‘I’m not quite sure how it goes…’

‘As long as it’s me you ask,’ Govon said, grinning. ‘Someone thought to set us out some screens, at least. Get behind one of those and see how you get on while I start the others off.’

‘Shy, my prince?’ Thiriston called out from across the room, grinning.

‘No more than your Canadion, there,’ Legolas answered. 

‘He’s just getting out of the draught…’

‘Indeed, I can understand why.’ Legolas found the fastenings of the kilt and began to work on the buckles. ‘They seem far more noticeable, suddenly…’

The room brightened as everyone understood what was behind the remark and wanted to know what was going on.

‘What, are you kilted, too, Prince?’

‘Our prince in a kilt? Your doing, Govon?’

‘No, but you can thank me anyway…’

‘Melleth…?’ Canadion’s voice raised in plaintive query. ‘How is this thing meant to go…?’

While Thiriston was distracted with Canadion’s buckles, Govon came to see how Legolas was getting on.

‘See? No problem.’

‘No problem indeed,’ Govon grinned, working to fasten his own kilt and shed his leggings. ‘But I think I understand why kilts are suddenly so popular. Did your instructions mention what else you were to wear…?’

‘Boots and no leggings.’

‘Ai, it is another flet dream coming true…’

‘But the paint. I must be careful with the paint; you see what it says...’

‘Are you all early?’ Glorfindel’s voice came from the doorway.

‘Hardly.’ Govon came out from behind the screen. ‘It is rather you who are not early…’

‘Well, never mind! Look at the kilt I was sent… my blue one will not do…’

‘Not if you are claiming to be part of my command,’ Govon said. ‘Standard issue brown, look, even the prince is wearing the same colour. Well, I’m ready for painting…’ He turned to Legolas. ‘You first, Prince?’

‘No. Let’s get you warriors sorted first…’

‘But Triwathon spent ages matching the paint to the dye of the kilt…’ Glorfindel protested. 

‘Well, you will make good contrast, then. Get yourselves kilted up.’

With time to prepare, Govon had been able to acquire new paints in a wider range of colours. Reserving his preferred shades of blue, green and ochre, and snaffling a pewter stick from the box, he laid the rest out on the table before handing Legolas the green.

‘Off you go, then. Paint me, melleth.’

Glorfindel emerged from behind his screen with a swagger and swooped on the paints with glee, appropriating several in triumph.

‘Do not worry about the blue,’ he called out to Triwathon, ‘see what you think of this?’

The room began to fall silent as the warriors concentrated on their work. In one corner, Thiriston was reprising his artwork on Canadion’s face, drawing dozens of small flowers in an array of colours, white and pink and pale blue over the site where he had been burned. At another table, Tinuon and Hador good-naturedly helped each other with the places they couldn’t reach.

Glorfindel’s striking pink flame scars had been outlined in a bright blue which presumably had been intended to match the Balrog-slayer’s other kilt, and then the blue lines limned in copper. Triwathon had used the same copper to pick out the white scars of Glorfindel’s other trophies, making them gleam and shimmer.

‘Now, that’s a fine piece of work,’ Govon said, grinning and nodding towards the Balrog-slayer. ‘I think only Canadion will be a match for style…’

‘I will do my best for you, friend Captain,’ Legolas said. ‘But I am glad you are not so badly scarred as our friend Glorfindel. And as for Canadion; well, Thiriston just likes drawing flowers.’

Legolas set to work on Govon’s marks of battle, circling the puncture wound on his shoulder, outlining the arced scar curving around his hip, marking the bite marks so that it looked like the commander wore a necklace of green and ochre rings. He outlined Govon’s arm band and stepped back to admire his handiwork.

‘Now you, my fair elf,’ Govon said.

Legolas still bore a scar on his shoulder from the dragon flame, but it was faded now, and Govon, following the instructions sent with the kilt, left it untouched.

‘It pleases me to have so little work to do on your body,’ he said. ‘To mark your scars, that is. Now, what am I supposed to do…?’

He lifted the paint stick and began to write in soft grey smudges the sigils for all those warriors who had been lost, the flet guards dead of spider venom during their outward journey, those who had fallen to dragon fire.

‘There. As required. You honour our dead for us.’

‘Can I see?’

Whoever had set out the room had also thoughtfully provided a pair of looking glasses, so angled that with care a person could see both their front and their back reflection at the same time. Currently, Glorfindel was performing in front of them, admiring Triwathon’s handiwork, but stepped aside when Thiriston growled at his reflected artwork, and presently, Legolas had chance to approve Govon’s handwriting.

‘If you’re all done, everyone check your work or your friend’s work,’ Govon called out. ‘But I think we’re ready. We’ll give them a fine display tonight, my friends, and allow the king to honour us one more time. Let’s have a little order, there now.’

The Court Guard fell into line, Glorfindel next to Triwathon and Legolas ending up near Thiriston. Govon walked along, trying to cast an objective eye over them. But truth to be told, Glorfindel excepted, he felt fiercely protective of them all, for one reason or another. 

‘The fact is, gentlemen, that the king cannot help but honour you. You deserve it, and I am proud that you have been in my command…’

He tailed off, not knowing what else to say that would not sound mawkish or trite, and was grateful when a knock at the door gave him another focus.

‘Yes?’

Erestor entered and inclined his head.

‘I am come to enquire if you are ready… and I see that you are. Most impressive! So. Arveldir will announce the Court Guard. You will then go to your places; my prince, the king wishes you to enter with him tonight. So the guard will line up in this order; the two royal seats left empty, Glorfindel, to the left of the king with Triwathon, Canadion and Thiriston beyond. Govon, to the right of what will be the prince’s seat, with Tinuon and Hador along from you. I will flank Hador, and Arveldir Thiriston, but that is the full complement of the High Table tonight; it is yours, gentlemen. Once you are ready, the king and prince will enter and his majesty will speak. He will sit, and the meal will be served.’

‘Come, then, Erestor,’ Govon said. ‘Lead on.’

The Court Guard marched into the feasting hall with their heads high and their trophies of battle displayed on their strong bodies. A murmur came from the other tables; it sounded like a full hall tonight, but then, Govon thought to himself, if the king wished to honour the guard, then it was pretty certain that as many of his subjects as possible would also wish to be seen to honour them.

They lined up according to Erestor’s orders, and waited, standing tall and erect and proud behind their seats.

The hall fell silent as Arveldir announced the king and the prince, and Govon found Legolas beside him, saw Thranduil take his place, heard a second murmur start from the assembly. A glance to his left, his eyes sliding past Legolas, showed him why as Thranduil raised a hand.

The king was bare-chested, marked with the names of all his Court Guard in stark black and red. His own burns scars, arm and shoulder, had been circled in grey, and Govon wondered who had won the task of decorating the king. He would have to ask Legolas if he recognised the handwriting…

Thranduil addressed the hall.

‘This night we honour the Court Guard once more as we mark the end of their service. Created for the specific task of acting as our bodyguard and closest protection while we travelled, our return now calls for them to stand down. For the next several weeks there will be contests of arms between our various companies in honour of this event.’

The king waited for this news to be assimilated by the waiting diners.

‘The Court Guard was not the only company to have losses, and our son Legolas, the Prince Regent, honours all our recent dead in traditional Silvan fashion. Just as I honour our living guard.’ 

Thranduil closed his eyes and inclined his head to Govon.

‘Warriors of the CourtGuard, tonight you sit first. Your service honoured us and we will miss it.’

It felt odd, wrong, to be seated before the king, but it was a direct order; Govon signalled his warriors to comply and took his seat with proud dignity while the king, Legolas, and everyone else in the hall remained standing. 

Presently the king took his place, Legolas slid into the seat next to Govon, and Arveldir gave the signal for the meal to begin.

‘Arwen’s late,’ Legolas said, pressing his bare thigh against Govon’s beneath the table as he saw her hurrying in. ‘Adar won’t like that.’

‘It doesn’t look as if Arwen likes her place at the second table tonight, either,’ Govon said. ‘This is an honour, really, but I am sure my warriors will be thinking it too high…’

Thranduil leaned forward so that he could reply.

‘Yet there are those who are unwilling to acknowledge the worth of the Court Guard. It is to be hoped that this will show that their king at least sees their worth.’

‘My king, we truly are honoured by your attention,’ Govon replied. ‘It does not matter what others of your subjects think; the guard was created to serve you, and your commands, and if you are pleased with our service, there is no more we could want.’

‘Except, perhaps, to know that you will have a job, going forward.’

‘Yes, sire, if I may speak plainly, except that. Some of my warriors are concerned for their future careers.’

‘Reassure them. By the time the planned contests are done, High Captain Rawon will have had sufficient time to properly take advice on the matter.’

Govon sighed. That answer was hardly reassuring, nor would his warriors see it that way. But there was a glint in Thranduil’s eye that made the commander forebear from pressing the matter.

The wine went round, and gradually the Court Guard relaxed. 

‘It is odd,’ Tinuon remarked, ‘to be so much where all can stare at us. I’m glad were behind tables, otherwise, in this gear, we would all feel quite exposed!’

‘I know what you mean. But at least it isn’t likely to happen again for a while.’

‘Aye. Still it’s, a good note to end on, Commander.’


	203. 'A Little Chat...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arwen and Flora talk...

Flora paused in the doorway. There was a sort of determination to Arwen’s expression that was somehow worrying. But then the elf-lady smiled, her face softening as she went on.

‘They tell me you like to sit in the garden during the afternoons and then you rest. I hope you enjoyed the garden; I noticed that there were clouds gathering. The weather has been lovely. I fear it will break soon, however, and there will be a storm within the next few days, if I do not mistake my guess. Come, talk with me for a moment or two. There are few Westron speakers here, I am sure you must be lonely…’

Arwen moved across to sit on the chair beside Grochonar, turning it so she could face Belegornor’s bed and gesturing to Flora to take the seat she had just vacated.

‘Just a little while, Flora, that is all. It is just… there are some things you might not know…’

Flora sat down and took Belegornor’s hand, not noticing how Arwen looked away for an instant.

‘It is true that there are things I do not understand,’ Flora said. ‘About how my child will be peredhel, and if that is my choice that matters or my baby’s… and what it means, really, to choose…’

‘My own father is peredhel,’ Arwen said. It was not what she wanted to talk to Flora about, but it might be a way in, perhaps. ‘So I am well-placed to help you there. It is always the choice of the individual whether to be counted amongst elven kind or humankind – but you are the mother and until your little one is old enough to understand, to know what it means, then your wishes should be considered. But for my father, he chose to be counted with the elves. His dear brother, my uncle, he felt more pulled towards humankind…’

‘So, your uncle? Is he content?’

‘I do not know, I never knew him.’ Arwen smiled sadly. ‘Being human, of course, he died. And my father misses him.’

Flora was silent for a moment, thinking about this.

‘But I expect to bring my child up amongst my own family, with humans. Belegornor – Melleth – I will have nothing more to do with them, or the elves here, except for the support they have offered us.’

‘Then I am sure your child will grow up comfortable with humans and it will be an easy choice for him or her…’

‘Thank you.’

‘But there is something you should know. Some things have been kept from you, and… and many people are unhappy about it. I do not think it was done to deceive, and I know it was not to be unkind, but once started, it would have been difficult not to continue… you see… and only you will know if this will bring you pain or not – Belegornor is not your friend’s real name…’

‘No? But I do not understand, he told me himself!’

‘Yes.’ Arwen gave a sad little smile. ‘It’s what he used to do, whenever he was away from home. Just in case his father wouldn’t like what he was up to. I think that happened a lot. When I first met him, he told me he was Belegornor, too.’

‘And… and Grochonar and Melleth? Not Melleth, I know that’s just what his spouse calls him.’ Flora glanced towards Tharmeduil. ‘But…? Are they even, really, brothers?’ 

‘Yes, they are brothers. Belegornor was alone when I met him, so I do not know about the others.’

‘I know my child’s sponsor, he simply did not give a name. Well, he stayed with the horses, mostly. Who are they, then?’

‘They are Iauron, who called himself Belegornor, Tharmeduil and Legolas, who you called Melleth.’

‘Legolas… it suits him. But then, who is Ernilen?’

‘Ernilen? It is not a name. It simply means, ‘my prince’.’

‘Prince?’

‘You did not know?’ Arwen rather thought it impossible for Flora not to have known, for someone not to have let it slip – Iauron himself, even… and all the time these two princes had lain here… ‘They are all princes, Iauron and Tharmeduil and Legolas. They are the sons of King Thranduil.’

‘Oh, no!’ Flora exclaimed, her hands flying to her mouth. ‘Oh, what will they think of me? What do they think? That Lord Arveldir, the way he looked at me… now I understand! And the king… that’s why he saw me when I first… They thought I knew, that I was… a prince! Oh, this is awful!’

It was incoherent, certainly.

‘Calm yourself, dear child,’ Arwen said kindly, repenting of her previous thought that Flora was some kind of opportunist. ‘I told you, it was his way, to pretend to be an ordinary person. As the oldest, his responsibilities weighed on him. Perhaps he needed to pretend, at times. And so, his choice of you was unsurprising… besides, there is nothing to be done about it now. The kingdom has obviously acknowledged its responsibility to you; Legolas will support your child… I am sure that you will need for nothing…’

'Oh, I don’t want it! Not if they think I was chasing him because he was prince, I…’

‘My dear,’ Arwen said firmly. ‘This is one of the things they were deceiving you over; Belegornor’s true identity. Because that is how he named himself to you, I think… I do not think his father wanted you to think Iauron had lied to you,’ Arwen said, in a hurried flash of inspiration. ‘And so everyone has felt they needed to keep up Belegornor’s pretence… But do not worry that they might think you were an adventuress… there could be no possible chance of him marrying you…’

‘I know. It was not what my father wanted,’ Flora said softly.

‘Because he… what?’

‘My father. Better to keep to my own kind, he said, if I must have the baby. And I thought, thanks to the king’s kindness, I could. But that was before I knew… and now I cannot accept such charity…’

‘Yes, you can. From Legolas, for your child, you can. Besides, I was going to tell you. Belegornor – Iauron – he wrote to ask my father for a meeting; he wanted to marry me.’

‘Oh.’

‘And we were on the point of being betrothed when he was taken ill.’

‘I see.’

‘Do you? Do you see? I am not trying to hurt you, and you said that your father did not want… and his illness… And, Flora, we are elves. We do not age or die. Think how hard it would have been for him to watch you grow old and fail…’

Flora gave a small shake of her head.

‘No, I knew we would not ever marry. I had never expected that. But… I had thought he cared for me, at least…’

‘I am sure he did,’ Arwen said swiftly. ‘But once told he could not marry you, once he had thought about your mortality, my dear… and knowing that his father did not want a peredhel as heir, that it would have been unkind to suggest it, with all its implications for your relationship to your child… he set you aside, for your own good, and remembered me.’

She tried not to sound smug.

‘I am sure this is very sad for you, then,’ Flora said in a small voice. ‘To find your almost-betrothed so ill. For how can you marry while he is ill?’

‘Well, that is the thing. There is no healing for him here. But we elves have the Promise of Ilúvatar, that we can sail to the Undying Lands beyond the Sundering Seas. There he will be healed. And I am going with him, so when we arrive we can continue what was started before he was stricken.’

‘Then will you come back when he’s better?’

‘No. Once we sail, we cannot return. But he will be healed, and his brother Tharmeduil will go with him and there be restored, too.’

‘But never to see their father and brother again… and what about your father? You won’t ever see him again…’

‘Well, matters between my father and I are not simple,’ Arwen said. ‘In time, Adar will sail, and we will be all together again.’

‘You know I did not know,’ Flora said. ‘That you and Belegornor were so dear to each other.’

‘Well, why should you? Why would you need to, why would anyone think you would need to, since they did not, do not know what Belegornor was to you?’ Arwen smiled. ‘Perhaps we can be friends, in spite of this? Or perhaps even because of it?’

‘I hope so,’ Flora said politely, not sure she meant it.

‘And, oh, look at how late it is! I have to go, I am expected elsewhere.’ Arwen got to her feet. ‘I will see you again, Flora. I am so glad we had this little chat.’


	204. 'Mistaken...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Lady Arwen once more speaks out of turn...

Thranduil lingered at the table, allowing the Court Guard plenty of time to be seen and admired by the lower tables. He had noted Arwen’s late, flustered arrival, seen Nestoril speak to her with a question in her face. He noted Commander Esgaron, on the second table tonight, with his ellyn Araspen at his side, saw her nudge him more than once for attention when he was looking at the top table instead of at her, his eyes hostile… Really, if Esgaron could not see now that the Court Guard had the king’s support and favour, if this would not stop his disproportionate responses, then Thranduil was going to have to take more direct action…

‘Adar?’ Legolas interrupted his train of thought. ‘Govon was wondering – and I would like to know, too – who helped you with your paint? I have been trying to recognise the handwriting…’

‘Really, ion-nin, have you two nothing better to talk about?’

‘Well, yes. But this is a public event, after all. Come on, tell. The rest of the guard are going to be just as curious and you don’t want them to start guessing, do you?’

Thranduil repressed a shudder.

‘Sweet Eru protect us from such imaginative warriors, especially if Lord Glorfindel is encouraging them in their games… if you must know, I did it myself. I stood in front of a mirror and it took an inordinate length of time… perhaps I ought to have asked assistance, but you were busy and it would have been inappropriate to ask anyone else…’

‘Although I’m sure you’d have found at least a few volunteers…’

‘Quite.’

Thranduil turned back to his goblet of good red wine, ignoring Legolas’ grin. He looked for rescue from his other side, even though it meant talking to the Balrog-slayer instead…

‘Will you be joining in with the warriors’ contests, Glorfindel?’ he asked. ‘In your honorary capacity, that is?’

‘Only for the wrestling. And there is the special competition, of course, the one Rawon put me in charge of…’

‘Indeed? How intriguing… tell me more?’

‘Currently looking for a venue. And picking my team.’ Glorfindel grinned. ‘It’s going to be spectacular…’

‘Do let me know the details; I intend to be present for all the contests, and so I will look forward to it.’

*

Nestoril had watched Arwen surreptitiously throughout the meal. She had arrived late, out-of-sorts somehow, and had complained at her place on the second table until it was explained why.

Thereafter she had been mostly silent, eating and drinking as if she had more thirst than hunger and keeping her conversation to the bare necessities for politeness. Towards the end of the evening, as the table relaxed, her odd mood became more noticeable and Nestoril, worried that something was really wrong, waited for an opportune moment to speak.

‘Arwen? Are you all right?’

‘Oh! I…’ 

Arwen flushed, aware that Flora was in Nestoril’s care and that the healer might not be entirely pleased when she learned of her conversation with the human girl. But perhaps better to admit to it than be found out…

‘You know how concerned you have been that Flora has been deceived…?’ she began. ‘It is possible that… we were talking, she and I… it may be that you no longer need worry about that, you may find she now knows…’ Arwen’s voice dropped to a whisper, ‘all the facts…’

‘Which facts, Arwen?’ Nestoril asked. ‘Come – which facts?’

Arwen’s head raised with a hint of her occasional imperiousness.

‘Those which were troubling you. The real identity of Belegornor and Grochonar… and I mentioned that she need not worry about Iauron’s illness, as he will be well of it after he sails…’

The latter part of her speech fell into a temporary lull in the hall, and while her voice did not carry far, it carried far enough. Araspen heard, and to turn to Esgaron at her side.

‘Did you know of this? Is it true, the prince must sail?’

‘It is the first I have heard of it,’ Esgaron said. ‘Healer Nestoril, is it right?’

‘Now, this is not a matter which I may mention…’ Nestoril said. ‘I beg of you, please, do not speak of it… I have been instructed myself to keep the topic of the princes’ condition within the Healers Hall…’

‘But if it is true – Healer, you must be able to confirm the tale…’

‘It is not my place to give any such confirmation,’ Nestoril said. ‘And if you will excuse me…’

Hastily she rose from her seat and went to Arveldir’s side. He looked round in surprise.

‘Is all well, Healer?’

‘Arwen has inadvertently announced that Iauron will sail… you may wish to warn the king…’

‘I may wish to strangle Arwen…’

Nestoril patted his shoulder.

‘I think you will find yourself at the back of a very long queue…’

She returned to her seat to find herself the centre of a barrage of questions, the earlier exchanges having spread to the lower tables and she raised her hands to her temples for a moment before turning to Arwen. 

‘Arwen, I think you and I had better leave the table before you cause any more trouble!’

‘I am sorry, I did not mean…’ Arwen looked around, fixed on Esgaron as her target. ‘I was making an assumption; it is possible I was mistaken. I am no healer…’

‘But there is a Healer here who can tell us…? Nestoril, come. now…’

From the top table, a ringing as Arveldir hit cutlery against a goblet to call the hall to attention. Gradually, silence fell on the hall.

Thranduil rose to his feet and looked out over the lower tables.

‘Tonight we gathered for the purpose of acknowledging the work of the Court Guard and to announce their standing down,’ he said. ‘But it would seem that common rumour demands they share the honour with other matters.’

He waited for a moment before continuing.

‘We have heard voices in the hall tonight asking if it is true that our son Prince Iauron will sail. We have heard you demanding our esteemed Healer Nestoril to tell what she knows, even when you are told that she is not able to speak.’

‘But, your majesty…’ Esgaron got to his feet and bowed towards the high table. ‘Surely it is not inappropriate, when such a thing is mentioned, for a concerned subject to ask for clarification?’

Oh, Thranduil would have to find a very particular reward for Command Esgaron’s officious concern…

‘It was our intention to make this announcement at a later – and more appropriate – time. But since you will have it now, then, yes. It is possible that Prince Iauron – and also Prince Tharmeduil – will need to cross the Sundering Seas for the completion of the recovery begun here under Healer Nestoril’s guidance…’

‘We do not understand,’ a voice called out. ‘They seem to have healed your majesty; why could the healers then not help our princes? Is there no other help since they have failed?’

‘Who said that?’ Thranduil drew back, raised himself up, leaned across the table. ‘Do not you ever dare to speak disrespectfully of our healers hall! Simply because this matter is beyond them does not mean they have failed…’

The rage building in him, he stared towards the voice in the dark.

‘That is true!’ Arwen got to her feet. ‘Healers Nestoril and Feril have been tireless in their care of the two princes; none could have done more… and they will have to sail! I am sorry, King Thranduil, but I think you are mistaken to…’

Erestor clattered back his chair as he made a dive for Arwen, intending to take her arm and forcibly remove her from the feasting hall before she could do any more damage. But he froze as the ice of the king’s tone washed through the room.

‘I beg your pardon, child?’

Arwen was nothing if not brave. She had endured slugs in her salad on the journey from Imladris to the eyot, dragons, and the discovery of Iauron’s past and she was not about to be daunted by someone she dismissed mentally as just one of her father’s contemporaries. Moreover, her scant acquaintanceship with Thranduil meant she didn’t know yet to equate this particular tone with danger.

‘But, surely the people need to know their princes will sail? And that I will sail with them for Iauron’s sake so that we can…’  
Thranduil came out from behind the table, stalking towards Arwen, punctuating each stride with silken, furious speech.

‘Do not presume to use my halls as an excuse to announce your intentions…’

In the hall people gasped and cried out, staring at Thranduil’s face. His outrage at Arwen mounting, he felt fire and ice flaming in his cheek and jaw and a moment’s agonising pain that caused him to shudder even as blindness clouded half his sight again and he stood with the fullness of his injury revealed in all its former ugliness.

Erestor continued on towards Arwen, managing to take hold of her arm. Nestoril took charge on her other side, and together they hurried her out of the feasting hall in silence.

Thranduil’s vision cleared, the pain subsided. He looked around at the pale, frightened faces in the hall, not quite knowing why everyone was staring in quite that way at him.

‘To clarify,’ he said, his voice venomous with menace as he fixed his attention on Esgaron as the initiating troublemaker. ‘Iauron and Tharmeduil are both improved. It is a fact that the work of our healers here has made them stronger, less ill. But their healing cannot be completed this side of the Sundering Seas, not by any healer on Middle Earth. Do you understand, Commander?’

‘Your majesty…’ Esgaron bowed his head. ‘I meant only to express my concern… the princes are dear to me… as to many…’

‘Your concern is touching and I will remember it. Express it privately, if you must, in future.’ Thranduil looked to the top table. ‘Legolas. With me.’

The prince stood, the Court Guard following suit as Legolas headed towards his father. Govon glanced the length of the table.

‘We’re still on duty, warriors,’ he said. ‘Escort protocols, at once.’

They stepped back and fell into place behind the king in two rows, in good order, following him out of the hall. Behind them, the noise levels rose, and Arveldir could be heard trying to bring order to the room.

Presently turning down the corridor that led to his chambers, the king raised a hand, slowing.

‘Tell me if I am mistaken, ion-nin, but I think we are being followed,’ he said as he stopped.

‘I wouldn’t dare, sire.’ Legolas glanced round with a grin as the Court Guard came to a smart halt. ‘Besides, you’re right.’  
Thranduil turned to face them and inclined his head.

‘For your escort from the hall in such high style, my warriors, my gratitude. Superbly turned out, too. It is regrettable you must be stood down, I do not remember when I have felt more pride in my guard… be assured I will be attending all the company contests. Dismissed, then, go and get yourselves cleaned up. Legolas, a moment of your time…’

In his study, Thranduil reached for a robe and sank into a chair.

‘What happened, ion-nin? For a moment it felt as if my face were on fire again…’

‘Adar, for a moment, it looked as if it had been.’ Legolas found the spirits decanter and poured hefty doses into two glasses, passing one to his father. ‘It was as if you were freshly burned again, right through the bone, your teeth showing…’

Thranduil drank deep, exhaling fumes.

‘Nestoril said something about excessive anger leading to unexpected effects. If this is an event which will happen each time I grow enraged, then I must learn to moderate my temper… Can we pack Arwen off home to her Ada yet, do you think?’

‘I’m not sure she’d go. She’d be more likely to run away from the guard and get lost in the forest…’

‘Yes, you are right. She would probably worry the spiders.’ Thranduil managed a small smile. ‘I find myself almost wishing I could be there, in the Undying Lands when Iauron is restored and finds his beloved Arwen there waiting for him… but an attempt should be made to dissuade her, I suppose… for Iauron’s sake, if not for hers…’

‘Maybe we should just let her dissuade herself. It seems to be with Arwen, she’ll take up an opposite position just because she can and if no-one notices, she tends to lose interest and come to her senses a bit.’

‘You see, ion-nin – not that this will have any bearing for you – this is what happens when one spoils one’s child…’

‘Indeed, Adar. But tell me… are we talking about Arwen still, or about Iauron here?’

About to draw breath to answer with a reprimand, Thranduil ended up shrugging with one shoulder.

‘Both, perhaps. Make sure they know to keep Arwen out of my way for the considerable future, will you? We really do not want another kinslaying, do we?’


	205. Right Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erestor and Nestoril begin to tackle the fall-out from Arwen's announcements...

Erestor and Nestoril hastened Arwen through the corridors towards her guest chambers. She seemed unconcerned about the consternation she had left behind her, and began exclaiming and complaining about the transformation in Thranduil’s face as if it had been directed personally at her.

‘…and I am sure it was a very good trick, but I am not to be intimidated by…’

‘A trick?’ Nestoril broke her own silence. ‘That was no trick. I had healed my king of that injury! But at moments of extreme emotion, when his fëa burns, then it takes him back to the time when he was burned. It is temporary, but indicates his extreme anger…’

‘Why would he be angry with me?’

Nestoril stared.

‘Do you mean apart from telling him in front of his entire court that he was wrong?’

‘He was wrong. Everyone who knows Iauron will sail thinks he’s wrong. But I only said mistaken.’

They had reached Arwen’s rooms. Uninvited, Erestor and Nestoril followed her in.

‘Arwen, you cannot call Thranduil mistaken in public…’ Erestor said, gentling his voice, but insisting. ‘He is a king, after all…’

‘I tell my father he’s wrong all the time! He says it’s the sign of a good leader that he’s not afraid to admit his mistakes…’

‘No, it’s the sign of a leader who makes so many mistakes he has to find an excuse for them,’ Nestoril said with determination. ‘My king is never mistaken, he is never wrong. He is the king of a large and dangerous realm, and he is constantly evaluating events and making value judgements based on his latest information. Occasionally, misinformation suggests slightly inappropriate directions but he is always looking to redirect his course should new information come to light. Thranduil was doing exactly the right think in waiting for more information before distressing his subjects who will no doubt now be seeking reassurance that none can yet give…’

‘Erestor… you know I was right!’

‘Indeed, I cannot say. But I will find it difficult to support you in this. In fact, it would not surprise me if you were told to leave the kingdom…’

‘But I’m going to sail with Iauron!’

‘And as for that, my lady, whatever else was right or wrong in you speech, it was entirely unnecessary to announce your intentions to the populace,’ Nestoril said briskly. 

‘You are a stranger to them; they will not care, and all you have done is potentially alienate the king further…’

‘Erestor! Say something!’

‘I find myself in agreement with Healer Nestoril; it was most unwise to criticise the king in public. Most unwise. King Thranduil would be well within his rights to have you tied to a cart-tail and whipped…’

‘He wouldn’t! You wouldn’t let him!’

‘I would remonstrate that such actions were more fitting to his grandfather’s day, but this is his kingdom, after all…’

‘I know why you won’t defend me; it’s because you’re so cosy with his Silvan advisor…’

‘No, my lady. It is because, in this instance, you are indefensible. I would advise you to keep to your rooms and consider an appropriate apology…’

‘I? Apologise?’

‘It would be prudent, to say the least. Now, if you will excuse me, I will go and see what headway Arveldir has made with the crowd in the feasting hall and try to determine where you stand, my lady. Goodnight to you.’

Nestoril watched him go with a mixture of annoyance and admiration. Admiration at Erestor for daring to tell Arwen to her face that she’d behaved badly, and annoyance because he’d now left her alone with his charge.

Arwen’s lip was trembling, but Ness was having none of it.

‘Well,my lady, I had better go and see how poor Flora is after this shock,’ she said, turning to the door.

‘Poor Flora, again?’ Arwen said. ‘You know she needed to be told the truth, that it was unkind to hide this from her.’

‘Yes, and I also know that Flora is very near her time now, and an upset like this could send her into labour early. I know that one of her relatives died from complications in childbirth and Flora is frightened about what is to come.’

‘Oh. You see, I did not know that and…’

‘For your information, I had already decided to break the news to her that Iauron would sail – but only once she had given birth and was holding her child in her arms. Once she has that baby to care for, bad news will seem much less harsh. But as for telling her she couldn’t have Iauron, that he was yours, now… Arwen, that was unkind.’

‘But it is true!’

‘Perhaps. But Flora was never going to be a threat to you, she did not need to have the little bit of comfort she gets from sitting with him snatched away…’

As Arwen drew breath to protest, a loud rolling boom swept through the chamber, rambling overhead.

‘Oh, what was that?’ Arwen gasped, outrage forgotten in shock.

‘Just thunder. There are some odd acoustic effects in the cave system.’

The noise came again, and Arwen paled. Nestoril nodded to her from the doorway.

‘Please do not come to the healers’ hall again for the present, Arwen. If you should have need of our professional services, tell one of the servants and they will come to us. Healer Hanben will probably be the one to attend you, in such case. Goodnight.’

With that Nestoril left Arwen to cower at the thunder and repent of her public announcements in the feasting hall and her unthinking unkindness to Flora, and hastened back through to her halls, going immediately to the princes’ room.

Flora was sitting with Iauron, holding his hand as if he were a lifeline. Her head was bowed and her back to the door. Nestoril tapped lightly, and with a little start, Flora turned around.

Nestoril smiled at her.

‘Are you all right, Flora?’ she asked. ‘I understand Arwen was here, telling stories again…’

‘Stories?’

‘Well… Arwen is a… a lively person, an imaginative child…’

‘She said that Belegornor… Iauron? That he is a prince. That he has to go away…’

‘Would you like to come and sit in my study with me?’ Nestoril asked. ‘We can talk more privately there, and more comfortably.’

She held out her hand and helped Flora to her feet, pausing at the desk to bespeak refreshments.

‘In my study as soon as may be, please,’ she said. ‘Come, Flora. This way.’

*

Settling her guest in one of the comfortable chairs, Nestoril made small talk until the servant arrived with the drinks tray.

‘I am sure you heard the thunder; it sounds very loud, here in the caves.’

‘Yes. At home, near the lake, the noise of a storm runs around and around across the water for ages. It can be very frightening.’

A soft tapping at the door and Nestoril took charge of the drinks.

‘Hot spiced milk with honey. I heard from your friend Legolas that it’s your favourite. I thought I would try it, too.’

Flora managed a smile as she sipped.

‘I would bring it to him, in the stable,’ she said. ‘He was always kind.’

Nestoril wasn’t quite sure how kind Legolas had actually been lately, but let it pass.

‘Iauron is the oldest of our three princes. There is a lot of pressure on them, you know. They represent the kingdom, and are expected to behave accordingly. I think this is why Iauron took another name for use on his trips away from home. I am just their healer, not their advisor.’ She sighed, and sipped at her own spiced milk. ‘So far, Arwen has spoken truly, and it was perhaps wrong not to tell you…’

‘Perhaps. But I liked him better, when he was Belegornor.’ Flora sighed. ‘And does he have to go away to get well?’

‘We think so,’ Nestoril said cautiously. ‘I have written to one who knows about such things. But nothing is arranged yet, and it was wrong of Arwen to speak of it to you. In fact, she is quite in disgrace because of other things she has said publicly tonight… she is not one of us, and she has some strange ideas…’

‘Will they be married? She and Iauron?’

‘I really do not know. I am sure you see that crown princes need to consider the future of the kingdom when considering who to marry, and Arwen is, when all is said and done, most eligible. But it was not settled between them, and if he goes away, there will be no point in his marrying her unless they like each other enough.’

‘Please, do not think I mind. I do not… that is, I know that elves and humans should not… my father says it is wrong, not natural. Elves are elves and humans are humans. So I did not expect… but I thought he would like me to sit with him…’

‘I am sure he would like it, if he knew.’ Nestoril smiled. ‘Arwen says she did not mean to be unkind.’

Flora didn’t answer. When she did speak, it wasn’t at all what Nestoril would have expected.

‘There was a man – no, an elf? He brought papers… Legolas explained, signed to say they would help me, but I don’t want it, not now. Legolas – he said, that if he were to die, then all that was his should be mine. But that was before he was married – vowed, and it would be wrong… I like Govon, he makes me laugh when he gets the words wrong, so… so I need to see the elf with the papers and get it sorted out. And now, he is a prince, too, and it would be wrong, I did not know. One thing to accept help from a person who… but a prince? They will think it was my plan, my fault and I would not have that…’

‘Arveldir. You mean the king’s advisor, Arveldir. I can certainly send a message saying that you would like to speak to him.’ Although he was likely to be busy for a little while, sorting out Arwen’s mess. ‘But as for the matter of thinking it your fault, that is silly, my dear! How could you know, when Iauron went so far to make you believe he was Belegornor?’

‘Well…’ 

Nestoril smiled reassuringly.

‘And, anyway, it is obvious you are not the sort of girl to take advantage. You are too… too…’ Not simple, that was the wrong word, it was not that Flora was unintelligent. Uncomplicated, yes. Straightforward, honest… ‘Nice. You are too nice, Flora. Now, if you have finished your milk, let me walk you back to your room. I would like to make sure all is well with you and your baby, if you will let me? Yes?’

‘Will it be much longer, do you think?’ Flora asked. ‘I have finished my knitting, at last.’

‘I am sure you will not have to wait many more days,’ Nestoril told her. ‘Your baby is probably just waiting for the right moment.’


	206. Audience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the king finds it necessary to reassure his subjects...

At their breakfast meeting next morning ( a good idea of Erestor’s, that, Thranduil was glad Arveldir had taken it up, too), the king could not help but notice his advisor was looking rather fraught.

‘Busy night, Arveldir?’

‘You could say so, sire. The matter of the Lady Arwen’s unexpected pronouncements…’

‘Indeed. I would be well within my rights, all things considered, to pack her off back to her loving father’s arms… unescorted, as he sent back my son to me…’ Thranduil sighed. ‘I suppose I will have to content myself with the mental image instead.’

‘Erestor has advised her to keep to her rooms and to consider an apology…’

‘If she takes after her dear Ada, that will not come easily to her. How much harm has she done, can you say?’

‘The people are largely ignoring her announcement of devotion to Iauron, being more concerned for his well-being…’

‘Good.’

‘…And your own health, sire, is giving them concern. Many expressed alarm at the transformation of your face, my king.’

‘Legolas said it was extreme. It certainly felt so. I was unaware that any such effect might happen. However, it seemed to silence Arwen, at least.’

‘Indeed. And if such an effect could be harnessed… imagine the uses to which it could be put…’

‘Unfortunately, it also brought with it a memory of the pain of the initiating event.’ 

‘Forgive me, sire. I had not realised.’

‘So. No doubt we will need to prepare a statement for our subjects to clarify Iauron and Tharmeduil’s position. We will also need to ensure them that my injury really is healed. We must reiterate our confidence in Nestoril and her staff. If in doubt, we could even point out that Lord Elrond himself was unable to help as much as our own healers have done.’

‘There is a draft already prepared, my king; I will amend it according to your orders. Also… your majesty was in the habit of holding weekly audience with his subjects…’

‘I was. Although very few ever presented themselves outside the audience chamber.’

‘That is not the case this morning.’

‘Indeed? Then you had better fetch my ceremonial summer crown and robes of office.’

‘And we will need to confer on exactly what we’re telling them…’

*

Some small time later, satisfied his and Thranduil’s statements would tally and all he would be called on to do was have persons ushered in and out, 

Arveldir saw Thranduil installed in dignity on his high throne and went forward to the doors, signalling the guard to open them.

Outside, hundreds of people gathered, crowding the halls, waiting without jostling. Far more persons were gathered than could have been present at the feast last night… word had obviously spread…

Perhaps Arveldir needed to attempt a form of triage, first, or everyone would be here all day…

He went out into the corridor and once the doors had closed behind him, cleared his throat for attention.

‘His majesty our king is anticipating discussions on the health of our princes and the temporary transformation in his own appearance last night. Are there other matters which any of you wish to raise?’

An elleth Arveldir knew slightly – she was Commander Govon’s sister – stepped through the crowd and raised her hand.

‘Mistress Merlinith. On what topic do you wish to speak to the king?’

‘The matter of the Court Guard, my lord,’ she said. ‘My brother is part of them, his position is uncertain and I am worried…’

Arveldir could have said that, on the contrary, Govon’s position was quite well known, but he refrained; Merlinith had not named her brother, had not drawn attention either to Govon’s position as Commander or as consort of the current Prince Regent.

‘I understand his majesty is still considering possibilities. But we are looking to celebrate the achievements of the Court Guard over the next few weeks, and any further announcements on the future of the warriors therein could be taken as disrespectful and draw attention away from their works, which our king is loath to do, in such high esteem as he holds them.’

He allowed himself a warmer smile than protocol strictly demanded.

‘Do not be worried. If you wish to speak further to me on the matter, I will be glad to spare you some time tomorrow.’

Merlinith sighed but tipped her head in thanks. Arveldir was already scanning the crowd.

‘Anything else?’

‘My lord, the matter of the betrothal between our Prince Iauron and Arwen of Rivendell…’

So much for Arveldir’s declaration to the king that nobody was interested; the people had obviously had time to go over events again and really gossip them out…

‘Ah. That is easy. There is none. There was no formal betrothal in place when Prince Iauron fell ill, and he could hardly be expected to announce such a thing while he is ill. Disregard Arwen, she is accustomed to speaking too freely at home, perhaps. Anything else? No?’

He paused to assess numbers.

‘Well, as there are but two topics you wish to raise, we had better see if we can fit you all into the hall at once, then, to save our king from having to repeat himself…’

*

Thranduil watched from his raised throne as the people filed in.

Glancing at the bowed heads of the assembled elves, the king estimated rather more than two hundred of his subjects were presently making obeisance to him.

Perhaps it was gratifying that so many were willing to come forward and seek audience. Perhaps it was alarming. For if any of these harboured thoughts of regicide, then the guards were considerably outnumbered.

‘My people,’ he began. ‘My Silvans, it is our wish that you be at ease.’

This statement, as Thranduil had expected, had rather the opposite effect, reminding his subjects that they were in the royal presence.

‘Rise,’ he said, with the languid lift of hand that accompanied the command.

Those who did, and who dared raise their eyes saw his majesty in relaxed and regal pose, one leg crossed over at the knee, his face passive.

Picking a spokesperson apparently at random, he chose an elf whose name he knew, one of the weapon smiths, the fellow who made the superb long bladed knives that Legolas favoured.

‘Duinor, speak to your king. What brings you to us?’

An elf with lighter hair than the majority of the Silvans present and standing to the left of the second row swallowed, feeling the eyes of his fellows on him as well as the gaze of the king.

‘Your majesty,’ he said. ‘Forgive the apparent impudence of the question, but you are, my king, important to us… Are you quite well, sire?’

‘Quite well?’ Thranduil found Duinor’s phrasing rather amusing. But did not allow it to show. ‘Thank you, yes. Your concern is gratifying. We have seen you in the halls, Duinor, since our return, we know you say our injury uncovered.’ 

The king turned his face so that the light from the lamps fell on the formerly-damaged side of his face. 

‘And today, you see us restored to our former state. Yet last night, for a moment, you may have seen our wound as it was when first it occurred. We have been healed to this extent, restored unmarred, for you, by the grace of the Valar and the unceasing efforts of our most skilled healer and by the traditions of Silvan mysticism. As a result, there are occasions when the healed flesh reverts, remembering its outrage. But without this wondrous cure, without Silvan traditions – your traditions – I would forever wear the scars of my encounter with dragon fire for all to see.’ He bowed his head. ‘My Silvans, le fael.’

A murmur ran through the crowd at Thranduil’s public expression of gratitude. He could not have said it in front of one or two of them, of course, but with so many present it would be considered a gesture of respect for the old ways, and Thranduil was known as a traditionalist at heart.

He’d hoped, too, that it might satisfy them, encourage them to withdraw.

But no.

‘There was something more, Duinor?’ he asked.

The beleaguered Silvan gulped, but his king’s previous reply had been courteous, and so he took courage and asked what everyone else in the hall really wanted to know.

‘Your majesty is most gracious to answer more than one query. And, indeed, my king, I myself am most truly answered. But – but some of us – your subjects, I heard it asked, but what of Prince Iauron? What of his brother? We rejoice that Prince Legolas is in good health, but his brothers, sire?’

‘Indeed. To speak first of Tharmeduil, then. No doubt many of you here remember his mother…’

Again, murmurs from the crowd. Yes. They remembered.

‘My king, forgive the distress my question must…’

Thranduil raised his hand.

‘Enough, Duinor. I said I would answer. Prince Tharmeduil is not dying, he will not face his mother’s fate. When we brought him home, he was in far worse state than currently – again, our Silvan healers are most tenacious and able. But the particular vision quest which he was undertaking has entrapped him. He himself has prophesied that his restoration will be found beyond the Sundering Seas. And so that is where he will go, and Iauron with him.’

The king paused as words reached the crowd. He gave them time to settle.

‘Your crown prince lies ill of the breath of a cold drake, and but for the sacrifice of one of our own Court Guard, Iauron and Commander Govon would undoubtedly have died, and many others, too. But no-one – none – can heal him here. His fëa has gone ahead and to reunite him with his fëa, he must sail also. It will be a long and arduous journey, necessitating much planning, and that is why nothing has been announced. That, and a hope that our healers might find just one more miracle from somewhere. But this will not be, and now we lay our plans.’

Thranduil waited for a moment for the crowd to assimilate the information.

‘Our advisor Lord Arveldir will have summaries of your questions, and our replies, posted on the notice boards throughout the palace complex for your information. You will, of course, be kept apprised of the situation and once our plans are settled, there will be an opportunity for you to visit the princes and wish them well on their journey. Very well. We thank you for your interest.’

And with a nod of the head and a circle of his hand, he dismissed them, and closed his eyes for a moment while he heard the susurration of their departing voices, the whisper of their soft steps.

Presently, thinking the Hall of Audience had emptied, he opened his eyes and was already beginning to rise when he saw a lone figure, down on one knee, head bowed and waiting.

Thranduil’s mouth twitched as he schooled himself not to smile.

‘There was something more, Duinor?’

‘If your majesty will permit…’

‘You had better rise, then.’ Thranduil got to his feet and descended the steps to the mid-way point of the raised approach to the throne. ‘What do you wish to know now?’

‘My king… sire… We missed your presence, while you were away. And it just occurred to me… you will not sail too, will you? You will not leave us, to go with your sons?’

What, and consign himself to an eternity of Iauron and, possibly, Arwen? Thranduil repressed a shudder. In truth, it hadn’t crossed his mind that any of his subjects might suppose he would abandon them in such a way…

‘No, Duinor, I will not leave the forest.’

He descended all the way down the steps to stand eye-to-eye with the curious Silvan and smile at him.

‘I do not intend to sail yet, if ever. Nor will I even accompany my sons to their ship; I have been away quite long enough.’ In a sudden gesture of reassurance he rested his hand on Duinor’s shoulder for a moment. ‘Now, go about your day with an easy mind.’


	207. Bumps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion gets a little bump...

The two warriors moved in the ancient dance of empty-handed combat, arms locked, bare bodies glistening with the sweat of exertion, heads down, feet searching for new positions, fresh purchase. It looked to be an uneven contest; one was shorter by a head, but wiry, while the other was long-limbed and lean, tawny-skinned and younger. A circle of onlookers shouted encouragement from the sidelines, including one big and brawny warrior with a bandaged hand who could not take his eyes off the tawny-skinned combatant.

Suddenly, it was all over; the taller elf seemed to lose focus for a moment, and that was all his opponent needed to perform a quick leg sweep the knock him off balance. He fell badly in a tangle of limbs, his head connecting with the ground in a sickening thud that had the brawny warrior from the sidelines pushing forward and the winner hastening to his opponent’s side.'

Commander Govon, alerted by the commotion, broke off his single-sword practice with Triwathon in an adjacent sparring circle and hurried over.

‘Thiriston?’ Govon looked to the big elf at the fallen warrior’s side. ‘Is Canadion all right? What happened?’

‘It was just a leg sweep,’ Tinuon, the winner of the bout was saying. ‘No different from hundreds of bouts we’ve had…’

‘He lost focus,’ Thiriston said, gently manipulating Canadion’s skull in his hands. ‘Tinuon’s right, nothing out of the ordinary. Except the penneth was daydreaming again…’

‘Again?’

‘Second time this morning,’ Tinuon corroborated. ‘Archery practice. While you were at the day meeting with Rawon. He missed the target completely. Not like him.’

There was a whimper from Canadion as he began to regain consciousness.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Sorry, Tinuon, sorry…’

‘Just rest,’ Govon told him. ‘Take a moment. Thiriston, when he feels able, get him to the healers. Stay with him, as long as he needs.’  
‘Aye, Commander.’

‘Not Tinuon’s fault…’ Canadion murmured.

‘I know,’ Govon said. ‘And I’m not about to berate him. Be well, Canadion. Thiriston, let me know what the healers say. As for the rest of you, let’s have you back on the archery range now.’

*

Left alone with Thiriston, Canadion eyes filled with tears and he swallowed, struggling not to weep.

‘Easy there, callon-nin, it’s just the shock of the fall. Going to sit you up, now. Lean back against me… there you are. You feeling sick yet?’

‘No. Well, a bit.’ Canadion rested back against Thiriston’s strong body. ‘Oww…’

‘Bit of a bump on your head, there.’

Canadion managed a shaky laugh. ‘Just a bit.’

‘Well, hard of head and soft of heart, that’s you. Good thing you’ve got me to look after you. Come on, let’s get you to Nestoril. Can you walk, or shall I carry you?’

‘Yes. But carry me anyway.’

‘Up you come, then.’ Thiriston got to his feet and lifted his fëa-mate easily into his arms. ‘Link your hands round my neck.’

They began their way back towards the palace complex and the healers’ halls. Overhead, thunder rumbled around the overcast grey and brown sky.

‘I wish that storm would break,’ Thiriston grumbled. ‘Can’t be much longer, surely?’

‘The sky’s the wrong colour, still,’ Canadion said. ‘It hasn’t gone green and purple, yet.’

‘Green and purple. Of course, it’s a while off yet.’ Thiriston grinned. ‘You did hit your head heard, didn’t you?’

‘No; have you never noticed the skies here before a storm? It will be tonight at the earliest, I’m sure.’

‘So, am I going to put you down and let you walk in under your own power, or shall I keep carrying you and panic all the healers?’

‘No, I’d better walk. But thank you. I just needed…’

‘Yes, I know.’

Canadion was still a little unsteady, so Thiriston put his arm round him for a little support as they went in to the building and threaded their way to the healers’ hall where an anxious Gyril came forward.

‘Oh, my! What happened?’

‘Wrestling bout, he fell badly.’

‘I landed on my head, so nothing important got broken…’

‘Oh, listen at you! Well, let’s find you somewhere to sit down while I get someone…’

‘Not Healer Hanben,’ Thiriston said. ‘Fellow’s an idiot.’

Gyril raised her eyebrows.

‘Let me see if Nestoril is free; I know she has a fondness for you, Canadion. Here is a nice room. Sit down and rest while I look for her.’

There was a treatment table and two or three chairs. Thiriston helped Canadion onto the table where he sat, legs dangling over the side, his fëa-mate holding his hand.

‘So what distracted you today?’ Thiriston asked. ‘You weren’t yourself this morning, either, not that you gave me chance to ask…’

‘Didn’t want to be late.’

‘Come on, penneth. Out with it.’

‘Last night, in the hall, we were all there, just us and the king. And I’m sure I saw my Naneth… I thought, maybe after, she might come and speak to me, seeing how the king honoured us… and then everything was Arwened…’

‘Your Naneth, again?’ Thiriston exhaled, using the pause to think. ‘Well, if it matters so much, why do you not go and speak to her?’

‘Because I had hoped she would come to me.’

‘Why not ask her to visit? While we’re in the nice rooms, maybe? We never did get beyond saying we’d make vows, she might like to be in on the planning. Naneths enjoy that sort of thing, I think.’

‘Maybe, then.’ Canadion smiled, and shivered. Thiriston draped a blanket round his shoulders. ‘You’re very kind.’

‘Ah, it’s easy to be kind to people you love. Being kind to their naneths who don’t appreciate them, that’s the hard thing.’

A light tapping at the doorway and Nestoril smiled at them.

‘I hear you’ve been fighting the ground with your head, Canadion! Let me have a look at you, then.’

She looked into his eyes, had him follow her finger with his gaze, gently probed the back of his head and then nodded reassurance.

‘I think you’ll be fine, no serious harm done. I expect the ground came off worst! So, you may have a headache, and a bit of a bump for a while. I’ll get you a cold compress. Stay away from practice for a couple of days, and you should be fine. Thiriston, make sure he doesn’t do anything reckless, won’t you?’

‘I’ll look after him.’

‘I’ll get that compress.’

The healer was back in a few minutes with a bowl and a cool, folded cloth.

‘I’m sure you’ve both of you had enough bumps to know what to do. Sit here for a little in the quiet with that on your head, Canadion, and then you can go whenever you feel better. If you need anything else, Gyril’s on the desk for the next few minutes. Let someone know when you leave, won’t you?’

They stayed for about twenty minutes, Thiriston holding the compress in place against the back of Canadion’s head and sitting beside him on the treatment table, the door open so they could see what was passing outside in the corridors.

‘Melleth…? Canadion said softly as someone walked past the room. ‘I think we should get Nestoril back in, I am sure I saw a human woman walk past…’

‘Don’t worry, penneth; I saw her, too.’

‘But… did you also see…?’

‘You’re not the only one with a bump? Yes, I noticed. Hers was a bit lower down, though.’

Canadion stared at the corridor, his curiosity taking precedence over any lingering discomfort from his tumble.

‘You know, I’m feeling much better… maybe we should go…’

‘Follow the human, you mean?’

‘Only because she went the same way we’re going…’

Thiriston hid a tolerant smile and helped Canadion down from the treatment table.

‘Come on, then. But we’re not hurrying after some random human…’

‘Of course not,’ Canadion agreed. ‘We’re just… leaving.’

When they reached the main hall, the human girl was trying to explain something to Healer Hanben in a mixture of Westron and a few words of Silvan. It didn’t seem to be going well, the woman trying to talk and Hanben just saying the same thing – ‘I don’t understand you,’ – only louder each successive time.

‘You have more Westron than me,’ Canadion prompted. ‘See if you can help. I’ll come with you.’

‘You do the talking, then. I’ll translate.’

‘Yes?’ Hanben asked, abandoning Flora as Thiriston approached and moving up to the other end of the desk.

‘Nothing, trying to help,’ Thiriston said. 

Canadion, meanwhile, had touched the woman lightly on the arm.

‘I am Canadion,’ he said softly in Westron. ‘Are you ill?’

‘Ill, no. But…’ she rattled off a whole lot of words Canadion didn’t understand, putting a hand on the small of her back and the top of her bump. ‘And it is bad,’ she finished. ‘The thunder.’

He gave her a little smile and led her away from the desk to sit on a seat near one of the doorways.

‘Thunder is bad,’ he agreed. ‘My friend, he speaks well. Will talk.’

‘The… (a word he did not know), he… my peredhel, the thunder…’

‘Your baby? Peredhel, yes, does not like the thunder?’

She nodded.

‘It will break tonight, next day. My Older Naneth, she would say, it is the trees. The storm goes to sit above the oaks, and the oaks, they don’t want it, and send it away to the willows. And they will have none of it either, so on goes the storm to the beech. And the beech stand, they send the storm off to the chestnuts…’ He smiled as his fëa-mate came across. ‘Here is Thiriston. He will explain about all the trees and how the storm looks for a place to settle until finally, the forest stops playing and allows it to rain.’

Thiriston shrugged, and translated after a fashion.

‘Canadion tells what his mother’s mother told him as a child. Stories to calm a baby. The trees make the storm wait.’

Flora hadn’t understood much of Canadion’s speech, but his soft voice and air of concern had reassured her, so she nodded at the bigger elf’s explanation and turned to Canadion with grave eyes. 

‘Le fael, Canadion,’ she said.

‘I don’t know what is up, I think she says the thunder upsets her baby?’

Thiriston tried to make his gravelly voice soft as he asked Flora if that was what she’d been trying to say.

‘Yes. And I have pains in my back, and all around, and where is the healer who is nice? Feril or Nestoril?’

‘I’ll ask. Let my friend sit with you. He is a very gentle, nice person who had a bang on his head today. So if he is silly, that is why.’

It made her smile, and Canadion smiled back at her as Thiriston marched over to Hanben.

‘We need either Healer Feril or Healer Nestoril now for the girl.’

‘Oh? And why would that be?’

‘Because she asked for them, and she’s frightened and I can start shouting for Ness if you want? I really don’t mind and I have a voice that carries quiet a long way…’

‘That will not be necessary.’ Hanben sniffed and left the desk. ‘Do not touch anything,’ he said.

Thiriston went back to Canadion and the human, translating the words of an old children’s song about sending the thunder away while his fëa-mate sang it gently to Flora.

‘Oh, I haven’t heard that for decades!’ Nestoril said as she came up. ‘Flora, will you wait in your room? I will come and see you in just a moment.’

Flora nodded and got to her feet.

‘Le fael, Canadion.’

As soon as Flora was out of range, Nestoril turned to Thiriston and Canadion.

‘Thank you. She is frightened. And she is a guest, and she is not to be discussed outside these halls. Do you follow me? Not to anyone, not amongst yourselves when anyone can hear, not even in the privacy of your minds, understood?’

‘Understood,’ Thiriston said.

‘Of course,’ Canadion agreed.

‘Thank you. Now, Thiriston, take your melleth back to your rooms and look after him there for the rest of the day. He shouldn’t do any practice fighting for a couple of days.’ She walked with them to the doors of her healer hall. ‘And thank you for helping with Flora. She’s been a little upset lately.’

‘She seems nice,’ Canadion said. ‘Except she seems sad. She will be better when her bump has gone.’

‘As will you, penneth,’ Thiriston said. ‘Now, let’s leave the nice healers in peace.’


	208. Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arwen has a visit from Merlinith and Canadion is curious...

There was a knock at Arwen’s door.

It was the first in several hours, but she still felt like throwing something and yelling at whoever it was to go away and leave her alone.

Instead she went to wrench the door open and give Erestor or Nestoril or Arveldir a piece of her mind…

But she froze in mid-scowl when she saw Merlinith standing outside, clutching a bag.

‘Oh. It’s you.’

‘Indeed so. And from the look on your face, you were expecting spiders, or orcs or something equally pleasant?’

Arwen managed a smile.

‘It has been a stressful morning,’ she said, standing aside so Merlinith could enter.

‘And for me. It was the king’s audience today, and I had not realised so many would be there… I wished to ask about my Govon, and his future when the Guard disbands, and my chambers and everything, but it seems there was more going on than I had realised and so I let Arveldir fob me off with some vague assurance that it’s nothing to worry about. Obviously the two hundred other elves had much more important matters to discuss than my brother’s future…’

‘Oh, dear. I wonder if it might be my fault…’

‘That the Court Guard is disbanding? I cannot see how… But, I am here because I was going to show you to knit and you were trying to teach me to crochet…’

‘Not about the Court Guard! Did you not hear? Were you not at the feast last night?’

‘Well, yes…’ Merlinith took a seat. ‘I was trying to be nice, I thought you might not want to talk about it.’

‘No, I don’t. But then, I sort of do… because I do not understand, and I have had so much of my life not understanding…’

‘Well, tell me what you find complicated and I will try to help,’ Merlinith said, settling herself comfortably in a chair with her knitting. ‘Our ways are perhaps different from yours.’

‘So many things are different! All I did was say that the princes will sail, and it is known in the healers’ hall…’

‘Yes. But you were not in the healers’ hall. And, I might ask, does it happen at home, that when you have an ill person in your sick rooms, that you make an announcement?’

‘No, it would not be right. But I said it to Nestoril, and quietly… it is not my fault that someone overheard and then provoked me… In any case, it is different, they are princes, the people surely have a right to know…?’

‘And the family does not have a right to privacy?’

‘It is different.’

‘So you say. But I am not sure why.’

‘People wanted to know…’

‘Well, having seen them gathered outside the audience chamber, I cannot argue with you! But, Arwen, this is a father’s concern, a parent’s sorrow… simply because your own father may be less than perfect does not give you the right to suppose that my king was holding back the news because he doesn’t care about his sons…’

‘I had hoped you would not be against me, Merlinith…’

‘I am not against you; I am for my king, yes, because he is a good and wise king and cares for us and, mark you this, he is never wrong. And now he will be constantly having to speak of his sons, and it will simply cause him more sorrow.’ Merlinith sighed. ‘And what can they say to him, or he to them, of comfort?’

Arwen was silent for a long time.

‘I should apologise, I suppose,’ she said finally. ‘But I do not know how without making things worse.’

‘You could try writing a pretty letter,’ Merlinith suggested. ‘And I can bespeak my brother to ask his fëa-mate to deliver it for you.’

‘Yes! And I can make the king a present, too, in honour of Iauron’s courage. He will like that, I am sure.’

Merlinith wasn’t quite so certain, herself.

‘That’s a lovely idea,’ she said tactfully. Besides, anything that kept Arwen away from Thranduil had to be a good idea at the moment.

Arwen reached for her workbag and drew out a ball of wool and a crochet hook.

‘I think, as well, I wanted to be sure everyone knew that I had been going to be betrothed to Iauron,’ she admitted. ‘And not to that Flora person…’

‘Flora? Who is Flora?’ Merlinith asked.

*

‘Who is she?’ Canadion asked as he and Thiriston walked back to their chambers. 

‘Who? The person we’re not talking about outside the healers’ hall?’

‘Yes, she. And whose is her child?’

Thiriston gave his fëa-mate an amused and tolerant smile.

‘Hers, I suppose…’

‘No, but she said…’ Canadion lowered his voice. ‘Peredhel…’

‘Quietly, now,’ Thiriston muttered. 

‘Why? If anyone overhears, I’m talking gibberish, I’m concussed… don’t you find it in the least bit interesting…?’

‘Me?’ Thiriston shook his head. ‘In truth, no. I think she’s just a girl who’s either fallen prey to a pair of handsome ears and didn’t have the sense to know she might conceive, or else she wanted a pretty baby and seduced a Silvan. It’s not hard to do, apparently, some of them.’

‘That doesn’t explain why she’s here for the birth, though.’

‘Ask Nestoril tomorrow, if you dare. Or Feril. I don’t know.’

‘Feril, I think.’ Canadion nodded decisively. ‘She tends to be freer in speech with me, I can’t think why…’

Reaching their rooms, Thiriston unfastened the door and helped Canadion inside.

‘Did you mean it, ask Naneth to visit?’ Canadion asked, allowing his fëa-mate to help him sit on one of the plumply-upholstered sofas.

‘If it makes you happy, penneth, yes. I don’t know what it’s like,’ Thiriston plunged on. ‘To have parents, not really. Even parents who don’t love you as they should, it is… I think, if something were to happen for you to lose them, it would be a shame if we hadn’t at least tried to mend things. And perhaps it will be different, now you have someone permanent, someone to make vows with.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Only we had better do it soon, while we have the nice rooms, do you think?’

Canadion sighed and smiled and lay back on the sofa, resting his head on Thiriston’s lap.

‘I will write a note later. Just now, my head hurts. I think I need a little tenderness… carry me to our bed, please? And… then stay with me a while?’


	209. More Than Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Flora speaks with Arveldir, and Canadion makes a suggestion...

Nestoril took a moment to flick through one of her manuals (Birthing Other Races) before joining Flora and, muggy though the day was, taking with her a glass of spiced honeyed milk.

‘Will you tell me what’s worrying you?’ she asked kindly as she passed Flora the milk.

‘I have the backache, and pains below… within…’ flora indicated the area beneath the swell of her stomach. ‘And my baby does not like the thunder.’

‘Ah, and that will be why Canadion was singing to you! He is a very sweet person, perhaps a little silly, but he banged his head this morning.’

‘I think if he were a girl, he would be very pretty.’

Nestoril laughed. 

‘Indeed, I am sure he would be lovely! But then, you see, Thiriston – his fëa-mate, who was with him today – he does not like girls, so I am sure Canadion is better off as he is.’

While she spoke she gently repositioned Flora on the bed and pressed lightly here and there on her belly.

‘You’re fine, my dear,’ she said. ‘And your baby is well-grown and eager. He has turned so that his head has dropped into the right place, ready to make his way into the world.’

‘Do you mean now? I am not yet ready! It is not long enough, is it? Can it really be time?’

‘Not quite now, not this moment! For a peredhel, yes, it is quite long enough, and all the signs are that your child is fully developed. It is not unknown for babies to be in this position for several days before labour properly begins. But this is why your back aches and you have this sense of pressure. There is absolutely nothing wrong, my dear, all is perfectly well.’ She smiled reassuringly and helped Flora sit up again. ‘Your baby is very aware, you know. He will feel all your emotions, and of course can hear your voice.’

‘That is good, for I find it comforting to talk to him, but I felt a little foolish…’

‘Of course it is not foolish! But, you know, if you are afraid, he will know it, just as you know he fears the thunder. But you are both in the right place, here where you are surrounded by healers.’

Flora nodded.

‘Thank you, Healer.’

‘Do try not to worry!’ We will take care of you both – you are quite safe amongst us.’

Left alone, Flora sipped her milk and sighed.

‘So, my dear baby, Healer Nestoril is lovely, and Healer Feril is kind, and do you remember the song that nice Canadion sang?’

She began humming the little tune to herself, and soon both she, and her baby, grew calmer.

‘I have been thinking,’ she said presently. ‘Now that I know it was only a pretend name, perhaps I can call you Belegornor after all. I think that would be nice.’

About twenty minutes later, as she was debating going to sit with Iauron for a little while and tell him what she would call her baby, there was a knock at her door and Healer Feril was there.

‘If you feel well enough, Flora, you wanted to see Arveldir? He is here now…’

‘Yes, I feel better now.’

Feril led the way to one of the sitting rooms in the convalescent wing where Arveldir was waiting. Also there, sitting quietly in one of the high-backed chairs and trying not to be too visible was Legolas. Once Feril had left and the door shut after her, he got to his feet and came over with a warm smile.

‘Hullo again, Flora. You look well today. Will you sit with me?’

‘Thank you.’ She took a seat next to his and tried to get comfortable.

Arveldir took his place and inclined his head.

‘Mistress Flora, you wanted to change the settlement that was agreed between us, I think?’

‘Yes. That’s it.’

‘But you understood at the time that it was binding and you would not get a better offer…?’

‘I do not want a better offer. I just do not want it. I do not want anything, except to have my baby here. But nothing more. It was already more than enough.’

‘What?’ Legolas asked. ‘Flora?’

‘I did not know Bel – Iauron was a prince, or you! I thought it was just kind, to look after us, to stop my father being angry, maybe. Responsible. But if you are all princes, then I cannot take anything, I do not deserve…’

‘If you had known who we were, I don’t think you’d be in this situation,’ Legolas said.

‘But I am not a… what did she say? An adventuress… But it is what everyone will think…’

‘What who said, Flora?’ Legolas asked. ‘Because none of us think you are that. Not my father, and people tend to take their opinions from him, or at least, they do if they are wise…’

‘It was… the dark-haired lady. Not… not dark hair like your Govon, but almost black…’

‘Arwen.’ Legolas’ fair face creased in a frown. ‘She does not know what she’s talking about half the time. Ignore her, Flora. My father does. Or at least, he tries to.’

Flora smiled.

‘But something you must change for me, Legolas, whatever else. Now you have Govon. I cannot be your heir. It must be him, it is only right.’

Legolas glanced at Arveldir.

‘I will be glad to amend that immediately, my prince,’ he said in Sindarin. ‘If you remember, I always thought it was a foolish idea…’

‘Well, I knew I wasn’t going to take a wife; at the time it seemed the right thing to do. I’d no idea I had a Govon in my future.’ He turned back to Flora, and to Westron. ‘We can do that. But, please, Flora. Let us help with your child. Just to make sure you and your baby are always warm and well fed and secure.’

‘I don’t know. It seems wrong…’

‘It would seem wrong to me, to my father, not to support you. When it is my brother’s fault you’re in this situation. And yes, I know you want your baby, that you will be a wonderful Naneth, but we want to help. Not interfere, I promise you.’

‘Well… may I think about it?’

Arveldir gave the smallest of nods.

‘Yes, Flora, of course,’ Legolas went on. ‘And if you need anything, just send word. Arveldir, will you see to that document at least and have Erestor bring me the amended copy to the breakfast meeting tomorrow?’

‘Yes, my prince. Good day to you, Mistress Flora. Be well.’

*

‘Enough tenderness for you?’ Thiriston asked.

Canadion smile languidly and stretched out across his fëa-mate’s body.

‘Thank you,’ he said, snuggling his cheek against the strong shoulder beneath him and settling in. ‘I feel much comforted now for my dreadful injury of this morning…’

A minor earthquake beneath him as Thiriston laughed at this, bringing his arms around his penneth to pull him closer.

‘You heard what Nestoril said, the training ground came off worse.’

‘Do you know what I would like to do next?’ Canadion said, his voice slow and relaxed.

‘What, again? Already? Fine by me, but…’

The young elf giggled, a delightful sound to Thiriston’s ears.

‘I didn’t quite mean that… it is, you know, I do love a good thunderstorm. Have you ever experienced one, been out when it hits, up in the canopy, riding the branches?’

‘No, and there’s good reason…’

But Canadion continued as if he hadn’t heard.

‘They say it is the closest you can get to being at sea without actually sailing. The tree rocks with the wind, and the leaves rush and shush and sough like the sea sucking at the sand… and you sit out the storm and it is like riding a tall ship over huge breakers…’

‘Perhaps you hit your head harder than I thought…’

‘Do you remember, when we had fought the spiders and camped by the river, and we stole the raft and spent some time in a flet, just the two of us? I would love to try something like that, with the tree and the flet rocking…’

‘Yes. Concussed, mad, deranged…’

‘We could take the cream cheese and the damson paste…’

‘No. Not in summer. Not even if it is raining and drowns all the insects.’

‘Well, bread, firm cheese, red wine… a blanket…’ Canadion lifted his head, reached his mouth up to Thiriston’s ear so his breath was a frisson of suggestion as he spoke. ‘That sandalwood oil they use for honing…’

‘And a hide tent we can pitch when the storm breaks over us?’

‘That’s a wonderful idea!’

‘It was meant to be sarcasm.’

‘But, we could huddle together and be safe from the storm…’

‘We could be safer here and still huddle together. On a nice, soft mattress with our own bathing pool to hand…’

‘But I love being out of doors with you… I feel so free, so like a wild creature, part of the forest…’ there was a pout in Canadion’s voice. ‘Don’t you like being up in the canopy with the leaves all around us?’

Thiriston could say no, don’t be silly, there’s going to be a thunderstorm. He could say, we will get wet, we might be hit by lightning, it will be cold and uncomfortable… you have hit your head and you should be careful… and if he said it in the right tone of voice, Canadion would backtrack, would say he had been teasing, really, of course he didn’t want to be out in the rain…

‘We can take a tent?’ Thiriston asked casually.

‘And a blanket, and provisions… the winter flets will be unoccupied, they start only a mile or so from the palace…’

‘The ones out to the east? More like two miles… and that’s just a guard flet. No, if we’re going to do it, we want to have a bit of space around us, we’d want the command flet further in… that’s three miles… we’d need to check there’s been no spider activity that close, given your aim this morning and I can’t draw a bow yet…’

‘But we can? You will?’

‘And we’ll have to think up an excuse for why we’re staying out overnight…’

‘Overnight?’ 

Canadion repositioned himself so he could express his gratitude with a series of searing kisses.

‘Well, I’m not hiking three miles each way just for a quick encounter amongst the canopy! It’s got to be worth my while…’

‘Oh, it will be, melleth-nin, I promise… Anything…’

‘There’s no need to make promises like that! I just meant, an hour’s march each way needs more than an hour’s lying down after, and then this storm of yours might not show up on time… but… bring your kilt. And the warrior paint.’

‘All right.’ Canadion sat up with shining eyes. ‘This is going to be wonderful…’

Thiriston raised himself, too, taking his fea-mate’s chin lightly between his thumb and forefinger.

‘Penneth, it’s always wonderful. We don’t need to go up a tree or into a bathing pool or onto a flet, you do know that, don’t you?’

‘Well, yes… and if you don’t want to…’

‘No, it sounds interesting, now. Fun, if I’m not too old for such things as fun. But you’re enough, you know. More than enough, you’re plenty. Just you. But let’s do it anyway, go and wait for your storm and ride it out. And just hope we don’t get hit by lightning.’


	210. Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thiriston and Canadion set off on their hike, and Arveldir visits Flora again...

‘And you bring this before me now, Arveldir?’

Arveldir inclined his head. By tradition, Thranduil spent time in his study each afternoon, and the rule was not to disturb his majesty unless at the utmost necessity. 

‘Forgive me, my king. But the human girl was very insistent and I gather she may shortly be rather busy with other matters – pushing, and such… Legolas agreed at once to the woman’s request, I should add, but it leaves rather an issue…’

‘Her name is Flora, Arveldir. It is permissible to use it when we cannot be overheard. No, we must support her somehow, whether she likes it or not… Well, Iauron is no longer a drain on our coffers, make out all the funding he leaves behind to the child’s upkeep.’

‘I will try, sire, but she does not want charity, she has made it quite plain that she has her pride and now she knows her child will have a connection to the royal family… your son convinced her to consider it, but I am not sure she will accept…’

‘You must make her accept. Tell her that to refuse would be treasonous. Or that if she will not accept financial assistance, then we will be compelled to take the child from her to ensure it is not raised in poverty. And, yes, I know referring to a child as ‘it’ sounds harsh, but do so. It may push her to reconsider accepting our help. Do whatever you must, Arveldir, and do it swiftly.’

‘Very well, my king.’

‘Dismissed,’ Thranduil said, just in case Arveldir was in any doubt about the matter.

Alone again, the king turned his attention back to the letter on his desk. It was a very pretty letter, neatly worded in tidy script, with many flourishes and expressions of apology, and it was from Arwen.

‘I had not realised,’ Arwen had written, ‘that things were quite so different here from what I am used to at home. I am assured that a king is never wrong, and that it was very rude of me to say such a thing…’

Very pretty words. But still it was the apology of one who had been told they were in the wrong, not one of genuine contrition or of even understanding the need for apology. At least Arwen would not be in his charge for much longer; if she did not leave with Iauron as she had continually threatened to, then he would pack her off home at the same time, anyway.

As yet, it was far too soon for Nestoril to have heard back from the Havens; indeed, if the messenger hawk had even arrived yet, it would have made good time. But surely not more than a week would pass before there was some word and they could begin to prepare for the journey in earnest? 

It was not that Thranduil wanted his older sons to sail, far from it; but the sooner they left, the sooner they would be safe, would find their healing. Who to send with them, that would be a problem… not the Court Guard, obviously, since he had announced their standing down. Well, he had one or two thoughts on the subject… more difficult was sending the right healers with them… while he would dearly love to be rid of Hanben, it would mean trusting his sons’ care to the fellow… 

Time enough for that, later. No doubt Nestoril would have something to say herself on the matter.

*  
Thiriston checked the security alert boards for spider activity, found a spacious-enough tent for if it started to rain while they were out, bespoke a substantial pack of food and wine from the kitchens and returned to their chambers with his booty. It seemed like a lot of trouble to go to, but Canadion seemed so keen… and Thiriston enjoyed making Canadion happy, when he could. It was worth the effort just to see the look of gratitude in those beautiful gold-rimmed brown irises, and, well, the penneth did have some very nice ways of expressing his thanks…

He shook his head as he packed a couple of blankets and spare shirt and leggings, stowing everything into his backpack, rolling the tent tightly and buckling it on top.

‘Are you home?’ Canadion called from the bathing room.

‘Yes. Are you bathing before we go?’

‘Just washing my hair in the basin. There was blood in my braids, and I thought it might not be nice for you…’

Thiriston abandoned his pack and went to the door of the bathing room.

‘Are you sure you’re well enough for this?’

‘I will be fine. It hardly hurts at all, except when I touch the bruise.’

‘Well, the sooner we set off, the sooner we’ll get up there, so to speak.’

‘I packed the oil. And my kilt.’

‘Very helpful.’ Thiriston shook his head, hiding a smile. ‘However did you manage all that?’

‘What?’

‘Never mind. Want any help with anything?’

Canadion came out of the bathing room, patting his hair with a towel.

‘No, I am fine,’ he said, but let Thiriston take the towel from him and help dry his long chestnut hair, darkened by the damp of its recent washing. 

‘There. That’s better,’ Thiriston said. ‘Are we ready, then?’

‘I think so.’

Pinning a note to the outer chamber door to say they would return on the morrow, Thiriston shouldered the heavier of the two packs and led the way through the palace to the outer doors.

Outside the sky was still grey and brown, but the thunder was silent. It was as if, as Canadion had told Flora, the storm was moving from one area of the forest to another, looking for somewhere to rest.

Once clear of the palace, Canadion reached out to take Thiriston’s uninjured hand and gave a happy sigh.

‘Thank you for this, melleth! I have missed being out in the forest…’

‘You seemed glad enough to be home.’

‘I know. But we had been away such a long time.’

‘A few months, that was all…’

‘But such a lot happened… I missed the forest, our bit of the forest, I mean, the near-at-home places.’

They walked easily through the forest, the trees complicit in their passage, and within an hour had passed the first of the winter flets, used to guard the march overland to the dock where the king’s barges were loaded and unloaded when harsh weather made the way dangerous. Their intended destination was a more substantial flet, designed to hold a company of up to six guards rather than the usual three, not far from a crossing of paths.

‘Shall we stop here for something to eat?’ Canadion suggested.

‘Here, on the forest floor, if you like, yes. Not up the flet; I have a feeling if I let you get me up a flet, you won’t let me down again for a while… And it’s no use pouting; if I’m going to climb up to a flet with a dodgy hand, then I only want to do it the once.’

‘No? Well, maybe food anyway. It will lighten the load,’ Canadion said. ‘Especially as you’re doing all the carrying.’

So he had noticed, then? Thiriston smiled and unpacked food and water from the pack.

‘Here you are, penneth,’ he said. ‘Eat up. You’re going to need your strength.’

‘Oh? What for?’

Thiriston grinned.

‘Later,’ he said.

*  
‘I do not understand,’ Flora said, shaking her head. ‘What is this?’

Arveldir smiled reassuringly.

‘It is the redrafted document as we discussed. I have already signed on behalf of the king, and you just need to add your own signature here… and here…’

Flora automatically took the pen Arveldir handed her and was about to touch it to the parchment when suddenly she stopped, shaking her head.

‘But there is more here than before and there should be less. Those numbers, they are bigger, I am sure. Healer Nestoril?’

Nestoril had been sitting just inside the door, moral support for Flora, not interfering in any way. Now she got to her feet and came over.

‘Yes, Flora?’

‘Would you please tell me if this says everything or if it has more?’

‘Let me have a look.’ Ness read through the document quickly, purposefully not looking at Arveldir who was desperately trying to get her attention and shake his head at her. ‘Well, it says that your peredhel is no longer to be Legolas’ heir, but it is the king’s wish your child should be Iauron’s instead…’

‘Oh, no, I cannot agree to that!’ Flora said. ‘It would be wrong!’

‘But, Mistress Flora,’ Arveldir put in, ‘Iauron is not going to die; he will sail, and get well, and live forever…’

‘Oh… I see…’

‘All this means is those funds he has not spent while he has been indisposed will go to your baby…’

‘But…’

‘That is written here, Flora,’ Nestoril said. ‘Indeed, there is nothing wrong with this document. It does not promise you wealth, my dear, just some support for your child. And Iauron will not need it.’

‘I really do not want to…’

Arveldir cleared his throat.

‘His majesty has said that he is concerned for the future of this child, which is likely to be the only grandchild he will ever know. He has told me that if you will not accept financial aid, then we would have to consider removing the child from your care…’

Nestoril breathed in sharply, her eyes dangerous, and Arveldir made a placating gesture.

‘Peace, Healer…’

‘I think you had better leave, Arveldir. And tell His Majesty I wish to consult with him at the earliest opportunity on this matter…’

The advisor got to his feet.

‘I will leave this document with you, Mistress Flora. Please consider it with care; it is not a great legacy, but it is his majesty’s wish you accept. For the sake of your son, if not his.’

‘I will see you out,’ Nestoril said, holding the door.

No sooner had they got out into the corridor than she changed to Sindarin and turned on him.

‘What do you think you’re doing, saying such things to the girl? She is distressed enough already without you adding to her troubles… and as for the king, if he dares to try to take the baby away I will…’

‘Nestoril!’ Arveldir came to a halt. ‘I promise you it is not our king’s intention; he only wishes to make sure that the woman accepts help…’

‘Well, he should have asked me the best way to go about it! Honestly, you and he between you… and you are meant to be running the kingdom? You had better get out of my halls. Arveldir, and don’t you dare approach Flora again without letting me know exactly what you’re planning!’


	211. Canadion and Thiriston up a Tree... ****I-N-G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion and Thiriston arrive at the flet and settle in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandalwood Alert, PWP... in case, after the title of the chapter you were in any doubt, this chapter is unfit to be read where one might be overlooked...

Mid-afternoon, Thiriston and Canadion reached the command flet that overlooked the main trail to the dock. Thiriston went up first, calling down that all was well, and his fëa-mate came after him.

‘Oh, this is lovely!’ Canadion said, happiness dancing in his eyes, vibrating in his body as he set down his pack and looked around. ‘And in an oak, too! It could not be lovelier, the shapes of the leaves are so delightfully random!’

The flet was fitted around the branching limbs of the oak near the splay of the canopy, a free-form platform of curves and rounded edges, the whole space partially divided by the habit of this particular oak, rising through the flet. Green leaves clustered and rustled conversationally overhead and around the boundaries of the platform. There was no rail, but the density of the canopy and the sapience of the tree made it highly improbable that anyone would fall, and even if one did, then the lower branches would give plenty of opportunity to slow one’s descent.

‘I’m going to the forward watch!’ 

Canadion grabbed up his pack again and passed around the central branches to the eastward side of the flet where a long thick branch ran out from the trunk, ending with a small platform at the furthest possible point. This platform was enclosed lightly on three sides with posts joined with rope, and Canadion ran lightly across to it.

Thiriston smiled to himself at such youthful enthusiasm and set about organising the flet. He unpacked a blanket – the boards of the flet were smooth, well-worn, but he was loath to risk anything damaging Canadion’s lovely skin once he had him laid down beneath the green dappled roof overhead.  
Up here, the air was warm, close, and he soon forsook his tunic and shirt, welcoming the light stir of air he could now feel drifting across his skin.

‘Melleth? Oh, my thalion, will you come and see what I have for you?’

…as if he didn’t know by now. Yet every time, Canadion somehow made himself anew for Thiriston. Each occasion was a different gift.

‘Give me a moment,’ he said, and went round to look along the branch to where Canadion was waiting.

And there he was. Bare-limbed and bare-bodied, clad only in his new ceremonial fighting kilt, his long chestnut hair now concealing, now revealing different areas of his burnished chest and shoulders as he turned for Thiriston’s inspection. He gave his fëa-mate his brightest, loveliest smile, spreading his arms wide and throwing back his head.

Oh, such a show-off! But the show was all for Thiriston, so he didn’t mind in the slightest…

He crossed the branch to stand behind his penneth and wrap his arms round him, dropping his chin onto Canadion’s shoulder.

‘Beautiful,’ he said into the delicately-pointed ear, feeling Canadion shiver in response. ‘Just beautiful, how your skin glows in this light. And the softness of you, in spite of all that muscle. It must be sorcery, for I don’t know how you do it, keep yourself so hard and fit and yet still be so yielding…’

‘It’s you,’ Canadion said, leaning back with a cheeky wriggle of his hips that brought his rounded buttocks against Thiriston’s groin and made him certain he’d explode out of his leggings were he stood. ‘You, melleth. You make me melting, yielding…’

He turned in Thiriston’s embrace and brought his arms round his beloved’s neck, looking up with wide, trusting eyes.

‘Let me yield to you, now. Make me melt in your arms, beneath your body, lay me down and spread me out and make me yours, my love, claim me, here, up in the canopy, where we are as free as the light on the leaves…’

Thiriston’s mouth found Canadion’s, his unbandaged hand exploring upwards beneath the fall of the kilt. It felt illicit, somehow, the sense of touching beneath a known boundary, carnal and erotic…

He stopped himself with an effort.

‘Not here. Not enough room. Don’t want to drop you. Come back across.’

‘All right.’ Canadion nodded. ‘Yes.’

Thiriston gathered him up in his arms and bore him swiftly back to the main flet, kneeling to lay him gently down on the blanket. Canadion reached up to kiss him with a little whimper, one hand holding his lover’s neck, the other working Thiriston’s lacings, pushing into the fabric to slide his hand over the hardness waiting inside, to work his fingers around and under, lightly grazing the more delicate skin, encircling and squeezing Thiriston’s erection as he scrambled out of his leggings, his mouth locked into the kiss, until they were lying together, Canadion beneath, only the leather of his kilt separating his own erection from Thiriston’s urgent arousal. 

Pressure on the buckles of the kilt, the leather folded back, and Thiriston broke from the kiss to push away, to kneel and hold on to the trunk of the tree and look down in wonder and anticipation as Canadion licked his so-suddenly-red lips and gazed with lust-filled eyes at his fëa-mate’s body.

‘Saes, maethor-nin, take me, fill me… how do you want me…?’

‘There. Just there.’ 

Thiriston straddled Canadion’s body, supporting himself on hands and knees and looking down into those beautiful eyes, brown and gold, like autumn here in summer glory. He smiled and placed the smallest of kisses on the side of Canadion’s face where he had burned.

‘Beautiful, always.’

He kissed across the edge of Canadion’s hairline where the hair was slowly re-growing, licked all the way to the tip of the elegant ear, took the point between his lips to suck and mouth and tongue his way down to the lobe, gently taking it between his teeth, and all the while Canadion gasping and whispering his need, his body arcing and jumping at each new sensation.

Thiriston left off his tender assault on Canadion’s ear and kissed along his jawline, pausing to tease his tongue down the cleft in his fëa-mate’s chin, moving to kiss his throat, caressing with his tongue.

‘Melleth…! Please, oh, I need… need you…’

Thiriston moved slowly down Canadion’s body, kissing and sucking and touching all the way while the penneth whimpered and sighed and became more urgent in his requests.

‘Look at you. So eager, so ready…’

Thiriston shook his head in wonder.

‘If I turned you now, took you now…’

‘Please, oh, yes, shall I turn for you…?’

‘You would not last. See, you’re already glistening…’

The big elf took Canadion’s erection firmly in his hand, licked the pearl of moisture from the head, stroked the shaft with strong, determined gentleness and took Canadion into his mouth, his practised tongue pulling a wail from the penneth as his arousal and need grew, as sensation grew on sensation, the heat of Thiriston’s mouth and the friction of his teeth, his busy, stroking hand and suddenly Canadion bucked and thrust, grabbing at his lover’s head as he cried out, back arching in response to the crash of bliss as he climaxed, subsiding with a moan that was half-sob as his body fell back down from its peak.

Thiriston gently released Canadion from his mouth, dropping a chaste kiss on the receding remains of the penneth’s now-spent erection. He smiled, lying next to his love and gathering him into his arms.

‘Now you can turn for me,’ he said. 

Canadion sighed happily and reached for the little phial of oil, wriggling onto his belly.

‘I thought you would never ask,’ he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Thalion: Hero  
> Maethor-nin: My warrior


	212. Amends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril has a talk with the king...

Nestoril scribbled a brisk note and called for healer Hanben.

‘Yes?’ he said. ‘I’m not due on the desk for another twenty minutes…’

‘I know. Which gives you time to deliver this to his majesty. At this time of day, he will be in his study. Please hasten.’

Hanben despatched, Nestoril headed immediately to Flora’s room, knocking gently on the door before entering.

‘How are you feeling, Flora?’

‘Confused… Healer, I do not want all this money…’

‘I know.’ Nestoril sat down on the edge of Flora’s bed and patted her hand. ‘But, really, it is not so very much, you know.’

‘But what he said…’ Flora drew her knees up, circling her arms around her belly. ‘About my baby…’

‘It is quite clearly stated in this document, Flora, that the king acknowledges no reason why the kingdom should provide for your baby, and this is done out of kindness only. And so, there can be no reason to talk of taking the child. In fact, it would not happen; it is not our way. Nor I would not let it happen, my dear. It would be wrong, cruel – in fact, I have made plain to Arveldir that it was most unkind to say it. Please, my dear, do not worry.’

‘Thank you, Nestoril. But, I cannot help it! He said, the king…’

‘You leave the king to me! These are my healer halls and I am in charge here! I will not let anyone harm or upset you, I promise.’

Flora nodded.

‘May I sit with Bele… with Iauron?’

‘Of course you may. Healer Feril is there, talking to …ah… Grochonar. But you will not mind that?’

‘No, Healer Feril is very nice.’

‘Then shall I walk through with you?’  
*

Once she had seen Flora safely to Iauron’s bedside, Nestoril smiled a farewell.

‘I will be in my study for a while. Hanben will be on the desk…’

‘But if Flora needs anything, she may ask me instead of troubling Hanben,’ Feril offered.

‘Ah, thank you, my friend! Take care, Flora, and do not worry.’

Moving swiftly, Nestoril made her way back to her study, settling behind her desk to tidy her papers while she waited for Thranduil to consider his response to her note.

She did not expect to have to wait long; her missive had been written at speed and she knew Thranduil would recognise the haste used. The note had been brief, too; simply saying if his majesty could spare some time, Healer Nestoril would like to see him at his earliest convenience, without mentioning the reason so that it was almost guaranteed to cause unnecessary alarm (much as Arveldir had to Flora) and to bring the king to her door.

Sure enough, it was not much more than a few moments before a rap on her door and Healer Hanben announced his majesty was waiting and what should he do?

‘Bring our king to me at once, of course. Thank you.’

Thranduil strode into her study, pushing the door shut behind him in Hanben’s interested face.

‘What news, Ness? Is all well?’

‘Unless you happen to be a human girl called Flora, I suppose all is well,’ Nestoril said carefully.

‘Ah. I thought my sons…’

‘Their condition is stable and unchanged, sire. I would not have trusted Hanben with a message directly concerning the princes. I simply needed to make known my extreme concern as to the manner in which Arveldir spoke to Flora; she is very near her time and he as good as threatened to take her child away if she did not agree to some irresponsible alterations to a document…’

‘I was worried, Healer; could you not have said?’

‘I had barely time to write in a polite manner – which should have showed it was no emergency as such – since I had to get back and console Flora who has been very, very distressed and frightened that her baby is going to be stolen away the minute he is born…’

‘Nestoril, I would never countenance such an atrocity! What do you take me for? Just what kind of villain do you think I am?’

Nestoril looked up at her king, tilting her head slightly to one side as she dared to hold his gaze and slowly lift an eyebrow.

‘I think you are ruthless when you have to be. I think you probably mean well, in this case. But I am also aware that neither you nor Arveldir have ever been pregnant, have never given birth, and so cannot quite grasp the enormity of what has been said to Flora.’ She paused to let that sink in. ‘If I may, sire, I think if you are any kind of quantifiable villain, then you are an accidental and inconsiderate one…’

Thranduil sighed and gestured to a chair. 

‘I suppose I may sit?’ he asked. ‘Ness, in this instance I was trying to be just the opposite of inconsiderate; I was attempting to ensure that Arveldir could convince Flora to accept our help for the sake of her baby… and it seems that my advisor has not been successful…’

‘Quite.’ Ness began to thaw a little, hearing contrition in the king’s tone. ‘Arveldir would have done far better to take a moment or two to think about it, to ask my opinion, to allow me to explain matters to the girl. When she first learned Iauron’s identity and status, my king, her immediate thought was that people would assume she already knew, and would think she had been trying to entrap him in some way… Arwen’s carefully-placed use of the word ‘adventuress’, I believe…’

‘Arwen, again! Ness, when can I legitimately throw her out, do you know?’

‘Oh, my king…’ Nestoril tried, and failed, not to smile. ‘Yes, I think she has almost outstayed her welcome… but that is beside the point. I’m very worried about Flora; this sort of upset is not good for her, she is already scared of the birth, of this storm outside that refuses to break, and now she is scared her child might be removed, too… how may I reassure her?’

‘Tell her she has nothing to fear. Tell her we would not ever try to take the child from her care. Tell her we have already abrogated all claims on the infant and so have no right or cause…’

‘And you think I have not told her this already? You think you can make amends to her for this distress with an almost-apology passed on second-hand?’

‘Let me speak to her, then.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. I can – as you say, I do not know what it is to bear a child, to feel it stir, but I have sons. I remember their birth, of holding each of them for the first time. And their mother shared with me as much as words could… perhaps I had forgotten… I will talk to her as a father, not as a king, my word on it, Ness… it was not my intention to cause worry to the girl…’

Nestoril thought for a moment.

‘Very well, sire. You may follow me, if you wish. Flora is sitting with Healer Feril and your sons. You will remember that Flora speaks mostly Westron.’

‘Of course, Nestoril,’ Thranduil said, rising to his feet. ‘Are we going now?’

*

Feril hid her surprise as the door to the princes’ room opened and Thranduil and Nestoril entered. She rose and dropped a curtsey.

‘I will be outside, Nestoril,’ she said. ‘Good day, your majesty.’

‘I am not here as a king,’ Thranduil said in the common speech, ‘but as a father.’

Flora stared and Nestoril hastened to the girl’s side.

‘Iauron’s father wants to talk to you,’ the healer said. ‘And I am with you so you have no cause for alarm.’

‘Indeed,’ Thranduil sat on Tharmeduil’s bed and took his second son’s hand. ‘I understand my advisor distressed you earlier today?’

‘Yes, lord king, he… he said if I did not let him give me money, then he would steal my baby.’

‘Then that was very wrong of him, and not at all what I intended him to say. And I do not think he would take the child, you know. He would be in serious trouble if he were to try.’

‘He certainly would!’ Nestoril said sternly, making Flora giggle in spite of herself.

‘Really, though, child, all we intended was for your future comfort, that and your baby. I am sure this has been explained to you several times since Arveldir’s ill-advised visit, and I can only reiterate it now. You would not your son to be cold or hungry or without shelter, I am sure.’

‘Of course not!’ Flora was indignant.

‘No more would I. And if it were known that we had allowed you to struggle, it would bring shame on the kingdom and tarnish the memory of my son in the eyes of his former friends and associates. Let me try to make amends. Perhaps you would let me speak to Legolas and ask him to go over the settlement document with you and make any reasonable alterations you want? I know you like Legolas, and he is more than willing to help.’

‘All right, if you want,’ Flora said. ‘But, my baby…’

‘Is your baby, penneth. Now, let us hear no more on the topic. I wish you well with your delivery.’ Thranduil turned for a moment to his son, patted his hand. ‘I will go now,’ he added softly. ‘And, Nestoril – next time, do give some sort of clue as to why you wish to disturb my afternoon’s labours.’

Once the king had gone, Flora gave a huge sigh and Nestoril put her arm round the girl’s shoulders.

‘Why, my dear! You are shaking! Come, let me take you to your room, I’ll have them bring you some milk.’

‘He is so… so stern, always! Did he mean it, he won’t try to take my child?’

‘Of course he will not! Our king is a person of great integrity. All will be well, Flora, I promise you. Now, come. And I will send a message to Legolas to come and see you this afternoon, all right?’


	213. Venue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Govon helps Glorfindel find a venue for his mysterious (and still secret) contest...
> 
> And Nestoril can't find Flora.

Late morning, Legolas showed up at the training grounds in time to catch the tail end of Govon’s extended archery session, enjoying the sight of his fëa-mate ordering the archers, seeing him take a few shots himself. The sense of watching unobserved added to his pleasure, but it wasn’t long before he was seen and a chorus of voices greeted him.

‘Highness, are you come to practice with us?’

‘My prince, yes, show us how it’s done!’

Govon looked round to smile from across the range.

‘We have spare bows if you want to borrow one,’ he called.

‘A borrowed bow?’ Glorfindel shouted across from where he’d been cheering Triwathon on.

‘Why not?’ Legolas shrugged. ‘It’s not often you lose your bow or break a string and have no time for repairs, but it can happen. Come, see for yourself what it feels like to use a borrowed bow. I’m sure Triwathon would let you play with his, if you asked him…’

The prince managed to say all this with a perfectly serious face, but caught Govon’s eye so that his fëa-mate had to turn away to hide a smirk.

‘Now, there’s an offer you can’t refuse,’ Govon called out, recovering. ‘Six arrows each. And if you manage to outshoot the prince, Glorfindel, I’ll steal you a bottle of honey beer from the cellars...’

‘Oh, ho! A contest! Not that it’s fair,’ Glorfindel protested. ‘The sword is my weapon of choice…’

‘Just try to hit the target, will you?’ Triwathon handed over his bow, laughing. ‘That’d be a good start.’

‘It wasn’t I who managed to shoot the earth earlier,’ he answered. ‘It was young Canadion. And that was before he hit his head… any news of him?’

Legolas took the bow Govon offered, nocked his arrow and loosed it into the gold.

‘Yes, just a bump and a graze. Only Nestoril has said he should take a day or two to rest quiet at home.’

‘Quiet? Canadion?’ Tinuon asked with a grin.

‘Well, I’m glad to hear he’s taken no harm,’ Govon said. ‘He was definitely distracted, and not in his usual way, either. Perhaps a couple of days will see him focussed again.’ He raised his voice and turned to address all the warriors. ‘For do not forget, we are practicing for the honour of the Court Guard in these upcoming contests. I want every one of you at your best…’

Glorfindel loosed his arrow. It did, at least, hit the target.

‘Shall we get on with it, then?’ he asked.

The final tally was Legolas five in the gold, one on the boundary (Glorfindel had suffered an inexplicable bout of coughing just as the prince released his shot) while the Balrog-Slayer himself managed six in the target. Somewhere. Just.

‘Well, if I’d been shooting at orcs, they’d still be dead,’ he said in his own defence.

‘Yes, they would have died of laughter. Or possibly shame…’

‘Dead’s dead, after all,’ Govon said softly. ‘But I’m not sure you’ll be making the team for the archery rounds of the contest, Glorfindel.’ He turned to his fëa-mate. ‘That’s us for the day. I said I’d join this mob in the barracks eating house for lunch…’

‘That’s fine.’

‘Please, my prince, join us?’ Tinuon suggested, and the easy agreement of those around made Legolas smile.

‘Well, I do have other calls on my time, but nothing I cannot defer. Thank you.’

As they made their way to the canteen, Govon fell into step beside his fëa-mate. 

‘And these other calls on your time…?’

‘Arwen,’ Legolas sighed. ‘She sent a suspiciously-pretty note asking me to help her with something. I haven’t replied yet. I thought it would only encourage her.’

The meal passed pleasantly, reminding Legolas of the easy atmosphere that had grown up along the march to and from the eyot, not an informality, as such, but an awareness of the value of everyone’s position and a setting-aside of needless protocol. But although he had enjoyed the chance to just talk to the warriors, after an hour or so, he got to his feet.

‘Well, I have business in the palace. Thank you for the match, Glorfindel, and for lunch. It was like old times. Good day to you.’

Govon rose and made his farewells too, and Glorfindel protested.

‘You’re never going? I want your help with something!’

‘I’ll be in my quarters for a time,’ Govon said. ‘Seek me there.’

‘I’ll give you a knock in about an hour, then,’ the Balrog Slayer said.

*

When Legolas and Govon reached their rooms they found a note slipped under the door; Nestoril would be very grateful if Legolas would please come and reassure Flora after the mess both his royal father, and his royal father’s advisor, had made of the matter. The girl would be resting for an hour or two, but if Legolas was free later in the afternoon, it would be most helpful.

‘I wonder what Adar and Arveldir have done this time,’ Legolas said, showing Govon the note. ‘Will you come with me to talk to her later?’

‘Thank you, melleth, no, it’s fine. I’ll see if I can be any use to our good Balrog Slayer.’

‘I’m grateful, friend captain.’ Legolas sighed. ‘Well, I had better go and see what Arwen wants. Why are things never simple?’

‘Plenty of things are straightforward enough,’ Govon replied. ‘It’s just that we tend not to notice the easy things; they slide on by so simply…’

Govon smiled to see he’d made Legolas laugh, kissed him goodbye and saw him off, using the time before Glorfindel’s expected arrival to wash away the morning’s exertions and change into off-duty leggings and shirt.

He was just pulling on his boots when there was a knock at the door, and Glorfindel’s bright grin waiting on the other side of it.

‘Legolas has had to dash off somewhere,’ Govon said. ‘But step in. And if I can help…?’

‘My thanks. I just need to find a venue for the ultimate contest between the companies, the legendary Gondolin Tournament of Champions, Lord Ecthelion’s favourite sport, no less…’

‘And what manner of contest is it?’

‘Well… not unlike to archery; you’re marked on distance and accuracy, but you’re basically not armed. As such.’

‘Oh.? Tell me more?’

‘A throwing game… of sorts… The rules and methods will only be revealed on the day, so that none can claim any had an unfair advantage…’

Govon shook his head.

‘That isn’t helping me to help you, you know… Indoors or outdoors?’

Glorfindel grinned. ‘That doesn’t matter really, not with all the stone floors around here… Private, that matters. It’s not really a spectator sport…’

‘Then what is the point?’ Govon asked, beginning to feel the end of his patience was coming into sight. 

‘It’s traditional. A contest from my old home. And one where none of the companies taking part will have had prior experience. Not under contest conditions.’

‘Well, what sort of space will you need? You’ll need a long room if it’s a throwing game. But will you need the length of an archery range, or knife-tumbling, or what?’

‘Not so much long… I think the record is about three spans…’ The Balrog Slayer spread his arms and hands wide at shoulder height to indicate the width of the span. ‘Give or take. And if there were some way to mark the distance… Snow. Snow is good…’

‘In summer? In the Greenwood?’

‘I take your point…’

‘What about sand over stone, would that do?’

‘Perfectly,’ Glorfindel said with an emphatic nod. ‘Couldn’t be better.’

‘Then I think I have just the place. Follow me.’

*

Legolas left his rooms and had turned out into the main corridor when he found his name called.

‘Legolas?’ Merlinith’s light voice reached him. ‘My prince, have you a moment?’

He turned, making sure there was a smile in place by the time they were facing each other.

‘Merlinith, good day to you. Govon is in our quarters if you wished to see him – I’m on my way to…’

‘Oh, Legolas, I have been sitting with Lady Arwen all morning and she has been most distressed… I wonder, could I prevail on you to come back with me to her rooms? I have tried my utmost to help, indeed I have, but she is still worried and unhappy…’

There seemed to be a lot of it about today.

‘She sent you a note, but it went unanswered and…’

‘I have only just finished my morning duties, Merlinith. And it sounds to me as if Arwen has been in the best company while she waited. But I am on my way to see Arwen now.’

‘Then I will come back with you, if I may.’

‘Why not?’

He followed Merlinith to Arwen’s chambers and heard Arwen’s version of the events of the night before, Arwen’s explanations of why she had pointed out the king’s mistake to him, everything serving to indicate that Arwen had been in the right to speak out and everyone else hopelessly misunderstanding her. And she had written an apology to the king and had not heard anything back yet. She was not used to being ignored, she added in tones of righteous indignation.

Sensing a dig, not only at the king’s tardiness with his correspondence, but with his own lack of haste to respond, Legolas chose to remind her that his father had much to demand his attention.

‘My father has many matters of state to deal with on a daily basis. If you only wrote your letter this morning, he might not even have read it yet.’

This did not go down well.

‘But I wrote it specially! And I apologised and everything… and it seems to me, Legolas, that everyone here is more concerned about that pregnant human than they are about me…’

Legolas turned to Merlinith, expecting a reaction to this.

‘Oh, do not worry, my prince, Arwen has told me all about Flora.’

‘Has she so?’ Legolas kept his voice light. ‘You surprise me, Arwen; I did not think you knew much about Flora at all. Certainly not as much as I. Or Govon,’ he added for good measure. ‘And I am sorry, Arwen, but you must see that, yes, you are our guest. But Flora is the former consort of one of our own, and her child is naturally important…’

‘Legolas! I thought you were my friend!’

‘I do not see why speaking so makes me not your friend, Arwen. And I am sorry if you feel badly treated. My father generally breaks from the business of the kingdom during the early afternoon, so if you are likely to hear from him today, I do not think it will be until much later on.’

He got to his feet.

‘And now I must go. I, too, have many demands on my time these days.’

*

Govon led the Balrog Slayer through the corridors of the palace to towards the more private levels until he came to a junction in the corridors where a telling-of-hours lamp stood. He turned down to where a pair of wall lamps cast their glow on a large set of double doors.

‘Where’s this?’ Glorfindel asked, curious.

‘My honour-Ada’s private sparring chamber. All the royal family may come here to practice with swords or knives, but usually it’s just the king these days. ‘Las joins in with the company practice these days, so it’s   
usually just the king and his invited sparring partners. He tends to use it when he needs to remind everyone he’s in charge, I think.’ Govon pushed the door open to reveal the king’s private arena, its racks of weapons, the sand-covered practice circle. ‘Not long after Legolas and I began seeing each other, the king invited me to practice with him. Twin blades.’

‘Oh, I know this story! You turned up in your kilt and your warrior paint, and you bested him…’

‘Let’s just say I didn’t lose. But I think I earned his respect. So. Will it do, do you think?’

‘I think it’s pretty much perfect. Who will I have to bribe to make sure I can use it? Shall we have a bit of a match while we’re here?’

*

Legolas presented himself at the desk in the healers’ hall to find he was expected.

‘Would you please to follow me?’ Gyril said pleasantly. ‘Healer Nestoril wanted to see you in her study.’

‘Of course.’

Nestoril was behind her desk and looked up with a smile as Gyril showed him in.

‘Thank you, Gyril. Legolas, will you take a seat, please?’

He did as he was bid, looking at Nestoril curiously.

‘Is something wrong?’

‘Before you go in to talk to Flora… I want to explain exactly what I will do to you if you cause her any more distress than she’s already suffered today… that wretched settledment…’

Legolas’ grin faded as he saw Nestoril wasn’t entirely joking.

‘Ness, I like Flora. I understand a bit more about her life than my Ada or Arveldir could. She used to tell me what she hoped for, what worried her… to her, it seems like a lot of money, a lot of help, but when I left   
her earlier, she was going to think about it… what’s Arveldir done now?’

Nestoril pursed her lips.

‘Apart from suggesting if she didn’t accept aid then the baby would be taken away…’

‘What?’ Legolas shook his head. 

‘Exactly. It was meant simply as a threat, to make her agree to the settlement… but, of course, it was badly done and perhaps badly phrased. I have already told your father what I think of persons who threaten defenceless pregnant girls…’

‘Good for you. I’ll be happy to talk to Flora… no, to listen to her first, to ask her what she wants. And if you want to come in with me, I’ll tell you in Silvan what I’m going to say before I say it in the common speech. Will that help?’

‘Oh, I’m sure that won’t be necessary… but if I may sit in with you?’

‘Of course, Ness. These are your healer halls.’

‘Come, then. I’m pretty sure she will have finished her rest by now.’

She led the way through to the quiet rooms that looked out onto the gardens and tapped lightly on Flora’s door.

‘Flora? Are you awake?’

Receiving no answer, Nestoril knocked more loudly and then went in. 

‘Oh, that’s odd,’ she said, turning back to Legolas. ‘She isn’t here. Perhaps she’s sitting with your brothers.’

But when they got to the princes’ room, Feril was there alone.

‘No, I have not seen her since you and the king were hear earlier. Is it her time to rest? Does not she sometimes rest in the gardens?’

The sky over the gardens was grey and heavy with threat and Flora was not in the gardens. Nestoril shook her head.

‘I’m beginning to worry now. It’s not like Flora not to be in her room at this time of day… but where can she be?’


	214. In the Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion asks Thiriston for help, and Flora goes for a walk...

The breeze stirred the leaves idly so that they whispered softly all around the flet in a susurration of summer. Canadion was warm and safe in Thiriston’s arms, the big elf’s chest close against his back, the warm snuggle of his groin against Canadion’s buttocks a reminder of recent loving, the gentle, relaxed breathing stirring amongst his hair.

He felt wonderful.

Except he didn’t.

It had seemed like such a good idea, when it had first occurred to him. A way of preparing himself before he made his vows, so that he could be the best Canadion he could be when he tied himself to Thiriston forever; his beloved deserved no less, after all… but at first, the how had eluded him and then, once he had a plan, the when had been a trouble. And now both the how and the when had been brought to the here and the now.

And it was bringing other things with it, memories, recollections, things he thought he had left behind, unconnected to this idea of his, he’d thought, but now it felt as if they were hastening after him…

‘What’s the matter, penneth?’

Canadion sighed. He should have known Thiriston would notice something was up.

‘Come on; tell me. You were all lovely and soft and relaxed a moment since and now you’re as rigid as the flet beneath us… but in all the wrong places. I thought this was what you wanted?’

‘It was, it is…’ Canadion wriggled and turned so that he was on his side and facing his fëa-mate. ‘To be here, away from the world, up in the trees, just us. To love and be loved… it was…’ he sighed, and there was   
no hiding the reverence in his voice, ‘perfect…’

‘I know you haven’t got your storm yet, your wind rocking the trees like the deck of a ship… it might come later.’

‘It will come. And then I will need your help, before it strikes.’

‘Whatever you need, penneth.’

Canadion’s eyes were so beautiful, the flecks and rings of gold over the melting brown of his irises. The expressive beauty of the strong, dark eyebrows, the slightly worried furrow of the brow… 

Thiriston decided to take it gently.

‘I reckon you’ve been thinking again, haven’t you?’

‘Well…’

‘Dangerous things, thoughts. Not real, you can’t fight them, you can’t reason with them, you can’t even cuddle them. Just whispers in your head that stop you feeling the way you want to feel.’

‘I love you,’ Canadion blurted. ‘And you said, when we talked of vows. Death or ships, nothing else can part us.’

‘Death or ships, callon-nin. And I see no way ships can get to us here, up in our flet. So did that bump on the head leave you worried about your own mortality? Or what is this? Of course I know you love me. I hope you know I love you. I hope you know that when we agreed to make vows, to me, it was as if we had made them…’

‘Yes. Oh, yes, I know. And our prince was there, he heard, he witnessed what we said. So it is like we are already vowed, almost, and that means…’

‘Whatever it is that you think might make me change my mind, it wouldn’t,’ Thiriston said, his voice amused. ‘Out with it, my love! What have you done?’

‘Nothing. Lately. But…’

Thiriston decided it was time to shut his fëa-mate up before he said something he’d later regret, so he smiled and kissed Canadion’s pretty nose.

‘That’s all right, then.’

Canadion smiled in spite of himself.

‘There is something I want to explain, Thalionen, later… how…why I became so scared of spiders and I want to… to try to cure myself of it. I want to be rid of the fear of them, I am so bored with shrieking like an elfling every time I’m faced with one…’

Was that all? Given the stories around this beloved creature, it could have been anything, and to discover that whatever had been troubling the penneth was nothing more than why he was scared of spiders was a huge relief… not that it would have mattered. It was just that Thiriston sometimes needed a moment or two to control his reactions when he heard yet another Canadion story…

Setting that aside, he turned his attention back to the beauty watching him so anxiously.

‘It’s not every time, callon-nin,’ Thiriston said comfortingly. ‘You don’t shriek every time. And it’s not only nasty things like spiders that make you scream, either… I quite like to hear the sounds I bring from you in pleasure… Are you going to let me kiss you now, see if we can do that again, the happy sounds? Amongst other things?’

*

Flora had stared at the milk Healer Gyril had brought her for so long that it had gone cold.

With the thunderstorm threatening outside, still, she didn’t know if she should drink it, lest it curdle once she’d drunk it, and so curdle her own milk, preventing her from feeding her baby. That’s what some of the old wives of Lake Town said could happen, anyway.

True, it was just a rumour, and also true, the storm seemed to have receded – perhaps, as that so-sweet Canadion had sung, to go and rain on the pine trees far, far away, and leave the oaks in green to play. But why take the chance?

Anyway today, this afternoon, she wasn’t at all tired. She was far too worried to be tired.

Remembering what Nestoril had said – that if she was afraid, her baby would sense it, she tried hard to project reassuring and comforting thoughts, but the truth was, for all the king’s words, for all Nestoril’s reassurances, Flora did not really feel at ease. Instead she felt restless, trapped, almost. As if this wasn’t simply a healers’ hall where they wanted to help her through the birth, but a cage, so that she and her baby couldn’t escape…

Not that she was scared of Nestoril, no. Or Legolas. Or not even the king, not really; she did not think any of them intended her any harm. But the king’s advisor, Arveldir… he was really very stern of face and she felt he was quite capable of doing what he thought was best, even if it was against his orders.

An impulse, a sudden urge to flee took hold of her heart and, even while she acknowledged it was hardly sensible to set off home this late in the afternoon and without letting anyone know she was on the way, her sense of restlessness, the urgency of her impulses overrode the voice of reason and almost before she realised what she was doing, she had dressed in her outdoors clothes. Not wanting to worry anyone, she wrote a little note for Nestoril saying she was perfectly fine and thanking her for everything.

At this time of day, the healers’ hall was quiet; all the care routines were done for the time being, and the healers usually gathered for twenty minutes or so away from the desk, so when Flora walked quietly to the end of the corridor to see if anyone was there, and found the desk unattended, she was not surprised and placed her note on the pile of papers awaiting attention before hurrying out through the garden doors and through the gate in the wall and away into the forest along a little narrow track.

On reflection, it probably wasn’t the cleverest idea she’d ever had; the trees were dense and thick, and she had no idea which way was home.

Well. Home was east, sort of, and she had heard that moss grew only on the north side of trees. She approached the nearest tree, an oak, she thought it was, and looked at it closely, walking around its trunk and placing a hand on it for support.

Flora sighed. In Mirkwood, it seemed, every way was north, or the trees were turning around to get a deliberately even coating of moss… it was all over the trunk, like a deep, shaggy coat, and she patted it softly.

‘I only want to go east. I only want my baby to be safe.’

The tree didn’t answer, at least, not in any way Flora would have understood. It could, and did, exude chemical messages, calming, soothing subtle pheromones that drifted and coiled in the air. Without the ability to form clear thought, still the tree recognised in Flora one of the several of the sorts of walking thoughts that sometimes passed through the forest. There were the angry walking thoughts, whose shouts made the air vibrate and shiver, and the singing walking thoughts who knew how to talk back, who climbed into the trees and stroked their bark and leaves and protected them from fire and axe. There were loud walking thoughts who just got lost and ended up sending out distress chemicals of their own. Orcs and elves and men, the tree recognised each by their own distinctive set of chemical signals and the way they moved and caused the air of the forest to fracture or vibrate or resonate.

But this new walking thought was different. It stirred the air kindly and the chemicals it gave off suggested the springtime life-force; something about its signals suggested it needed nurture. The tree exuded a further mixture of scents, soothing enzymes this time, to add to its previous pheromones.

Of course, the drift of the breeze carried the scent message on through the forest to the other trees in the vicinity, which responded with their own chemicals. Other oaks resonated most strongly to the message, and took up the signal, passing it on through the wood so that each tree had a vague awareness of a sorrowing walking thought.

Trees have no real awareness of independent movement, of distance; the trees in the forest could, and did move out of time with the breeze, but still, to be a thought, and walking, was a novelty, a strange concept.   
The forest noticed how they seemed to cluster, though, and be less stressed when they were together, so the oak refined its chemicals with all the information it had about the latest walking thoughts it had sensed.

Not that Flora noticed. All she knew was that her lower back ached, and she sat down and leaned against the tree trunk. The air in the forest was terribly close, heavy with moisture; it was like breathing in a laundry room, only slightly less hot. 

Maybe she should go back?

The thought came to her, unbidden, quiet, and reasonable, and she considered it for a moment. She had done nothing wrong, there was no reason why anyone should be cross with her for having just gone for a little walk… it had been silly, perhaps, but not forbidden…

Except when she stood up again, she couldn’t remember which way she’d come from, having walked around the mossy tree several times in an attempt to find north. Of the little path she had followed there was now no trace whatsoever…

But she wasn’t that far from the palace, surely? And ahead to the right, it looked brighter there, as if there was more light, the trees thinning out. And if the trees were thinning out, then that probably meant the gardens of the palace were that way...

Flora got to her feet and absently thanked the tree for supporting her back before heading off towards the brightness.

Ahead, the trees slowly leaned together, creating a little passageway through the forest that led to the often-used winter-flet trail towards the dock for the king’s barges, and it being the easiest path, of course   
Flora followed it.


	215. 'Where Can Flora Be...?'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril starts a hunt for Flora, and Canadion starts talking...

‘Where might Flora be, Ness?’ Legolas asked. ‘You have a bathing room here; could she be there?’

Nestoril shook her head.

‘It’s unlikely; she bathes in the morning and we always know when she does, in case she requires assistance getting in or out of the pool… Oh, I know I should not worry, but… but she was having backache, which could be one of the signs she’s about to go into labour…’

‘What? Then you must find her…!’

Nestoril favoured Legolas with the look that usually served to silence his father. It worked equally well on him.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘How can I help?’

‘I’ll ask my people again and we will look for her. But if she is not in my halls… surely she wouldn’t just wander around the palace by herself? She never has, to my knowledge… she was taken to the king, once, she said, but that was when first she was here.’

‘We can’t really rouse the guard; she was a guest, not a prisoner, and it would frighten her…’

‘As well as let the wider population know of her existence?’ Nestoril asked.

Legolas shook his head.

‘I did not mean that. And, anyway, the wider population probably will hear of her soon enough; Arwen mentioned her to Govon’s sister Merlinith…’

‘Sweet Eru, it will be all over the forest before you can take another breath in that case!’

‘Well, we asked her to be discreet… which probably means she will preface each mention with, ‘do not say I told you, and do not say anything to anyone else, but…’ I was feeling sorry for Arwen before last night, too!’

‘I know all about last night!’ Nestoril exclaimed, leading the way back towards the desk. ‘Really, if she were my daughter, I would never have permitted her to become so wayward!’

‘If she were your daughter, Ness, I don’t think any of this would have happened.’

‘True.’ She sighed and hastened her steps towards the desk where Hanben had taken over from Gyril for the duty. ‘Hanben, have you seen Flora at all? We seem to have misplaced her…’

‘Can’t help you.’ Hanben turned back to sorting the post, not interested. ‘Sorry.’

‘Well, we do need your help, Hanben,’ Nestoril said, hiding her impatience. ‘The papers will keep until later. Gather all the healers together and bring them to me here, please.’

But it was no use; a thorough search of the healers’ halls revealed nothing more than that Flora had not drunk her milk and that she had changed into her outside clothes.

‘Which suggests she intended to go somewhere, rather than that she is lying hurt in a corner, overlooked somewhere,’ Nestoril said once they had regrouped.

‘Of course, she could have left in good order and then fallen and is lying hurt somewhere,’ Hanben said helpfully.

Nestoril ignored him and turned to Legolas, her brow creased with worry. ‘Well, I am as sure as I can be that Flora is not here… we must seek her in the palace. And I suppose we will have to try to be discreet about her…’

‘Do not worry about that; people are used to seeing healers about the palace,’ he told her. ‘Govon and Arwen, Arveldir, Merlinith… probably Erestor, although I expect he would deny it… myself, of course… there will be enough of us to seek her, I am sure.’

‘Thank you, Legolas. It will help.’

‘I’ll go to my father… well, no. I’ll tell Arveldir and he can tell Adar, he can have some of the blame. I won’t be long. We’ll wait at the end of the corridor.’

Nestoril nodded and turned back to Hanben.

‘You’d better stay here. Since you don’t have any Westron, you’ll be no use on the search.’

Hanben bridled.

‘Had I known that I needed advanced language skills just to come and train as a healer, I would never have come…’

But Nestoril had already led her healers out to await the arrival of the rest of the search party.

It wasn’t long before they started to gather. Arwen and Merlinith arrived together with Legolas and Govon, and a rather fraught-eyed Arveldir, supported by Erestor, last.

‘We need to be in pairs,’ Nestoril said. ‘And at least one of whom should know Westron.’ 

‘I’ll go with Legolas,’ Arwen said, pushing forward to his side. ‘That way, Merlinith can go with Govon. Because Flora might be glad to see an elleth, so the more mixed pairs, the better.’

‘In that case, Arveldir, I will team with you,’ Nestoril said. ‘Feril, you may bear Erestor company. Come, let’s get started.’

*

_‘The clouds all gathered in the sky_

_To make a crowd together._

_And wandered over to the wood_

_To give it stormy weather,’_ Canadion hummed lightly to himself.

Thiriston laughed.

‘That’s another sort of happy sound,’ he said. ‘I like it.’

Canadion turned to smile at his fëa-mate.

‘The wind is picking up, and the tree can taste the rain in the air,’ he said. ‘It’s nearly time. You said you’d help…’

‘And just what do you want from me now, penneth?’

‘Spiders,’ he said. ‘You know how I am about them. I want you to draw them all over me, big ones, little ones, everywhere. Lots of them.’

‘Like how you drew a dragon on me in token that I had survived it?’

‘Something like that.’ Canadion’s smile faltered. ‘I do not know if this will work, but… but I need to try. I want to be free of the fear and the… thing that made me so.’

‘All right. But if it gets too difficult, you must say, and I will stop, and I will clean them away for you. Do you agree?’

Canadion nodded and got to his feet.

‘May I please have a hug, first? To make me brave?’

‘You can have as many hugs as you want, penneth,’ Thiriston said, holding open his arms, ‘but they won’t make you brave. You already are brave.’

*

The palace was not a small building, although only a fraction of it was presently occupied. There were too many corridors long empty, too many rooms since the slaughter at Dagorlad to which nobody had   
returned to live or laugh or love, and those searching were glad to mark off the entrances with a pigment stich to show they had been examined, and move on.

Legolas deliberately led Arwen to seek Flora in one of the less-pleasant areas of the palace, knowing full-well that it was unlikely the girl had made it that far, but motivated by the wish to prevent Flora from having to meet Arwen, and to give Arwen the least-pleasant experience possible.

They had been walking the dark and damp regions of the under-palace for more than two hours when the word came to call off the search; new information had come to light and all were asked to regroup at the healers’ hall.

‘I do not think I realised just how gloomy some parts of the palace were,’ Arwen said with a shudder. ‘Perhaps it is as well that I will not be making my home here.’

‘Yes, I agree,’ Legolas said, feigning apology but secretly deriving great solace from Arwen’s dislike of the empty caves. ‘It is one of the things with being a prince, one has to know one’s way around. Come, it’s not really far.’

*

‘I know we agreed not to talk too much about the past,’ Canadion began, once he had felt comforted and reassured enough to move out of Thiriston’s hug, ‘but there is so much to this tale of the fear of spiders, I will have to say something…’

Thiriston gathered up the pigment sticks, keeping his eyes on his task.

‘All right.’

‘So, while you cover me with spiders, I will say why. I will purge myself of the story and be free of it…’ Canadion pulled his hair back and tucked it behind his perfectly-shaped ear, lifting his chin towards his fëa-mate. ‘I’m ready. It was…’

‘No, callon-nin.’

Hurt grew in Canadion’s eyes. 

‘But you said, all right,’ he said, his lip trembling. ‘Well, I will hold peace, then…’ 

‘Oh, melleth!’ Thiriston’s voice was gruff. ‘I don’t mean, no, don’t talk! I mean – no. I will not draw horrors on your face, your lovely face. It’s for flowers, sweetheart, not spiders. Besides, if you’re going to talk, I’d smudge you. No, it’s all right. If you’ve the courage to talk and to have me do this, then I’ve the courage to hear you. How about I start on your back?’

‘Yes, that’s a good idea.’

‘And you want them everywhere your kilt doesn’t cover?’

‘No, everywhere. All over. Not my face, if you like.’

‘Turn around, then.’ 

Thiriston selected a green pigment stick, and began to draw. He wasn’t trying for accuracy, just for representations, and as he outlined spider after spider on Canadion’s shoulders and back, his fëa-mate began   
talking.

‘It was about six years after I joined the Guard. We were patrolling down by the old dwarf road, two companies of us. They left me and… and my friend who I cannot name, in a guard flet to the north of the road. By rights it should have been three, but we were one down and the captain said maybe we’d like the privacy, and we thought him kind… All had been quiet, the Greenwood calm… the rest headed across the road,   
and for a sun’s-round, all was well. We didn’t fail in our watch, I will say, we were cautious, but… I was glad, later, that we’d had some time…’

Thiriston swapped to a red pigment stick. Good thing the penneth couldn’t see his face… but it would be unkind to tell him to stop, it obviously mattered to him, and, besides, if he couldn’t name him, the ellon was dead. There was no point minding.

‘We were on duty when it happened,’ Canadion went on. ‘We saw a disturbance in the forest. Trees and breeze brought us warning; orcs from the west, spiders from the north… perhaps we should have fled, we might have had time, crossed the road and sought our captains, but it seemed to be a small group. And he – the friend – had a plan.’

Thiriston drew a blue spider on Canadion’s left hip. Canadion was his now. Anyone from the past, dead or sailed or just lurking in the shadows, they had no claim on the penneth. They were fëa-mates, going to be vowed. Nobody was going to get in their way.

‘We shot to wound, not kill,’ Canadion said, ‘and the scent of orc blood drew the spiders away from us, easy prey for them… it was a good plan. Except the yells carried… and brought more orcs, too…’

Canadion’s voice dropped to a whisper. Thiriston drew a blue spider with long legs on his right shoulder blade.

‘Soon we were in trouble, penned in between two enemies. I was out of arrows and the spiders closing… some were distracted by the orcs, but not all, not enough. My companion just dropped, he didn’t even cry out but I knew he was hit, and then the spiders came… I fought them, Thiriston, oh, how I fought them, no time to look to my friend, only the cut and stab and slice and jab and they were relentless, their clicking   
and hissing and the sound of their claws on the wood of the flet… I was so scared, but I couldn’t flee, my friend was there, beneath me… I don’t remember the end of it.’

*

Legolas frowned as he rejoined the others and went at once to his fëa-mate’s side. If Nestoril had looked worried before, now the healer looked frantic.

‘Hanben found a note from Flora,’ she said. ‘In which she thanks me very much, but she would rather be at home with her mother…’

‘Oh, well, that’s all right then!’ Arwen said.

‘Hardly,’ Legolas said. ‘How would she get there? Who would help her? Ness, why would she do such a thing?’

‘We know she wasn’t happy at present, and sometimes, being pregnant can make a person act a little impulsively… I have sent word already to the stables to see if anyone bespoke a carriage or such, but I am not sure Flora would know about asking for transport. The guards on the gate have not seen her, so…’

‘So it sounds most likely she’s gone into the forest…’ Legolas ran his hands through his hair. ‘Ai, Valar…!’

‘We will need many more people to help us look for her. Govon, may I count on the Court Guard?’

‘Of course. And what about Bregon’s command? The Honour Guard, you know there are some good hearts amongst them.’

‘I think we must. Assemble in the gardens once you have your weapons… I will just get my bow…’

‘No, Ness,’ Legolas said softly. ‘Think! If we find her and she has need of you, and you have gone in another direction, it will take twice as long… better for you to be here, where we know to find you.’

‘But I…’ she deflated, seeing the sense. ‘Oh, very well! But please, the rest of you, hurry!’

*

Canadion took a shuddery breath and continued.

‘It was like in the forest, when you were standing over Tharmeduil and all the spiders were circling you, it took me right back to there, only I didn’t realise at the time, and…’

Thiriston stopped drawing. He hadn’t finished, but then, neither had Canadion, and he wanted to give his full attention to the rest of the story.

‘They found us, of course. Our companies. The trees passed word, and they ran to save us, but… it must still have been hours. I was still fighting, they said, although the spiders were long dead or fled. I think they had to hit me to make me stop fighting. And… and yelling. They told me later he’d died instantly, a chance orc arrow, straight through his ear tip and into his head, my poor dead friend…’

Canadion’s shoulders heaved. Thiriston turned him, cradled his head, kissed his tears away, held him gently while he shook and sobbed. This was why he hadn’t encouraged Canadion to talk about his past, not in case he learned of past lovers, but in case he found out about past hurts, grief and pain he was powerless to help with.

‘Easy there, penneth, easy,’ he said, making his rough voice as soft as he could. ‘We can carry on later, if you like. Drawing and talking…’

‘No, no… the storm will break soon…’

Thiriston thought it already had.

‘…I must finish, I can’t stop now,’ Canadion said, his voice rising.

‘All right.’ 

Thiriston gently turned him, began to outline more arachnids on the younger elf’s lower back.

‘As many as you can, everywhere! I lost count of how many…’

‘You were telling me about afterwards? They found you, your captains?’

‘And brought me to Nestoril. The only physical hurts were where they’d had to restrain me… but my fëa, my heart… were not so well.’

Somehow, Canadion’s voice grew in strength as he went on again.

‘Three days before I stopped screaming and started talking. The nights… even drugged, I woke yelling his name. They couldn’t lay my friend to rest, not while I called out for him… his Adar came and told me I was hurting the family, Nestoril threw him out and made them bring me his gemstone… I think it helped. Eventually, they gave him back to the forest. By then I was well enough to attend – I think Ness made them wait.   
And he looked so peaceful, so fragile… I did not expect his Naneth would hate me, though; I had not been his first, only his last. And there were plenty of others there who were neither relatives nor friends, strictly speaking.’

‘You loved him.’

‘Of course I did. He was the first person who made me feel loved. It would have been wrong to stay with him, if I hadn’t. But I love you now. I love you more.’

Thiriston placed his hands on Canadion’s shoulders and gave him the gentlest of shakes.

‘Silly penneth. I know. And more doesn’t matter. Don’t you know yet? Every person is different, so of course when we love them, it’s different. If it isn’t we’re doing it wrong. Now, then. Are you ready for me to start on your legs yet?’

*

By the time Legolas returned to the muster with his bow and quiver and with his knives strapped in place, some dozen or so warriors were assembled in the gardens, armed and ready to march alongside the healers. 

Govon nodded to him, and then addressed the search party.

‘We’re looking for a human girl, a friend of the royal family. She’s heavily pregnant and may be hurt, or frightened, or even… well, she’s very near her time, I’m told. She speaks the common tongue but has very little Sindar and no Silvan. And we, well… look at us. We are warriors, armed with bow and knife and sword… if you find her, remember – she has done nothing wrong and you will probably look very fierce in her eyes…’

He broke off as overhead the sky flashed and, presently, a muffled boom rolled around in the cloud cover.

‘And that is all we need, the storm to break now! It is just the perfect day to go seeking a lost girl in the woods! Should you find her, tell her you are friends of mine, and of the prince. And be nice to her! Spider activity, you’ll be glad to hear, is minimal to the south. North and west were clear as of the dawn reports, and east is looking safe, too, for the moment. Go in pairs, take medical packs from the healers, and may   
the Valar guide you. Above all, be safe!’

Arwen attached herself to Legolas’ side once more.

‘I want to help,’ she said. ‘And my Ad… my father is a healer. He’s done lots of birthing. And I do feel a little sorry for Flora…’

‘Arwen, I appreciate your offer, but I’m going with Govon this time. He is my fëa-mate, and Flora knows and likes him and…’

‘Nobody else will take me along,’ she said sadly. ‘I can’t go with Erestor, he doesn’t know the forest, and…’

Govon overheard the exchange and came up.

‘I want Legolas with me; nobody can read the forest like he can. And Flora knows me, yes, but I don’t have enough common speech; I doubt, if we find her, she will be in the mood to talk about the weather…’

‘And do you know about birthing, then?’ Arwen asked with a lift of her chin.

‘No. Do you?’

‘What do you say to Arwen coming with us?’ Legolas asked. ‘Assuming she can keep up.’

‘All right, then.’ Govon nodded. ‘But if she gets lost, I’m not routing the guard to look for her, understood?’


	216. Raining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the search for Flora heads into the woods even as she moves deeper into the trees, and Thiriston finishes his drawing.

‘That tickles!’

‘Nearly done, penneth. At least I haven’t made you stand still so I could colour them all in…’ 

Thiriston finished drawing the last two limbs of a spider on Canadion’s instep and gently released his hold, setting the foot back down on the flet again.

‘Well, have you enough now? I’m almost out of pigments.’

Canadion smiled, some of his usual ebullience returning.

‘I am sure there is room for one two more… around the back…’

‘Yes… but I find it a little difficult to concentrate and it might make me want to smudge you…’

‘All right, then. Enough. And thank you.’

‘Glad to help.’ Thiriston glanced up as the leaves overhead riffled and rustled loudly and the branches began the shift in the sudden increase of wind. ‘Seems as if your storm is on its way back.’

Canadion shivered suddenly.

‘You know how you wait for something, something you really, really want, and then you realise perhaps you don’t want it after all…?’

‘Whatever it is you’ve got planned, you don’t have to do it, you know. I can wipe off those pictures and we can set up the tent and get out of the weather…’

‘No, no… I want to, I just… don’t know if it will work. Or what will happen, and…’

‘Whatever happens, I will be here, penneth.’

‘Then it will be all right, if you’re here.’

*

Flora’s progress through the forest was slow. On top of the backache, she was becoming aware of stomach ache, now, not bad, particularly, but insistent, and she was having to stop and take a moment or two to steady herself before she went on.

The bright, clear path had not, as she had hoped, led back to the healers’ hall gardens. Instead, it seemed to be leading her further into the woods.

Pausing for a moment, she remembered her journeys to and from the palace, previously, and it had not taken long in the cart once the barge had docked. Less than a half of an hour, really. And the wide path wound around a lot, whereas this narrow trail, wherever it was going, was straight and true. She’d been walking for far longer than half an hour already, she was sure of it. 

Should she turn back? But looking back along the way she had come, she saw that the trail vanished within a few steps of where she stood, and the trees crowded together as if she’d never been through them.

Well, at least the path she was on was going somewhere, and it seemed she had no choice, now, but to follow it. 

There was a flash and all the colours in the forest jumped, suddenly blinding, bright, and almost as soon as Flora had gasped in surprise, it was over, the forest back to its normal muted greens and greys and browns once more. She huffed out her breath and was just about to start moving again when a rolling rumble echoed around about the tops of the trees. Automatically, she cupped her hands around her belly.

‘It’s all right, child,’ she said softly. ‘It is just the storm grumbling that none of the trees want to play with it. It will find the right place soon, and stop shouting, and then the rain will come, and all will be better.’

The lightning flickered through the leaves again, the storm grumbled and boomed once more, and then the rain began.

Only all was not better.

She was beginning to wonder whether she was lost.

Well. No good worrying about that now; she had her baby to consider, so she had better get herself to wherever the path was taking her as quickly as she could.

As she went, she began to hum the little song about the storm again, to keep her spirits up, raising her voice when she got to the refrain.

_‘Go rain on the pine trees far far away_

_And leave us oaks in the green to play…’_

*

‘Oh, and now it is raining!’ Arwen exclaimed as a tapping and patting from the leaves overhead gave warning of the storm’s impatience to begin.

She, Legolas and Govon were barely out of sight of the enclosing walls of the garden, and Govon caught Legolas’ eye and turned to their companion.

‘We are not far from home, if you wish to return,’ the commander said, trying not to sound too hopeful. ‘You could bear Nestoril company.’

‘No, no, it is but a little rain… and the trees are so dense, that I am sure it will amount to nothing.’

‘Very well,’ Legolas said, heading into the trees. ‘Although the storm has been gathering for days, we have been overdue a good soaking and the trees here know when to shift their leaves out of the way so that the rain can find its way to earth more easily.’

‘I just want to help,’ Arwen said. ‘I do not know how else I can. Every time I try, I only seem to make things worse.’

‘You could try not helping,’ Govon suggested, causing Legolas to shake his head at him with a scowl, even though he was trying not to laugh. ‘No – what I mean is, if it gets you into trouble, Arwen, perhaps best to step away from the helpfulness?’

‘Well… but in this case, Flora might be glad of my company.’

‘Of course, it might not be we who find her,’ Legolas said, looking into the forest. ‘Let me see if I can learn anything from the trees…’

He darted off the path and slid amongst the trees until he found one that felt more aware than the others. Furrowing his fingers down through the moss on its trunk, he sought the bark, and took a moment to slow his breathing and connect his energies to those of the tree, a strong and mature sweet chestnut.

‘There have been walking thoughts,’ he called back. ‘Laughing, walking thoughts, and not laughing, laughing walking thoughts… it is unclear…’

‘What?’ Arwen asked as Legolas made his way back.

‘It is how the trees think of us… well, perhaps ‘think’ is not the right word,’ Govon explained. ‘They perceive us, the trees, they are aware of everything that happens in the forest. They sense us as we move, aware of our awareness of them, and so we are walking thoughts.’

‘They differentiate between orcs and elves and humans,’ Legolas said. ‘Elves are usually laughing thoughts to them. But this message seems confused. Still, we should follow, I suppose. If it is not Flora, then I want to know who has been walking in the forest so close to the palace without being noticed.’

The noise of the rain increased above them, turning from pattering to battering on the leaves. Legolas turned to Arwen.

‘Last chance to go back,’ he said. ‘We really need to get on.’

Arwen took a deep breath and smouldered her eyes at him.

‘Then what are we waiting for?’ she demanded.

*

Thiriston sat with his back against the separating trunks of the oak, watching his fëa-mate stalking across the flet. Canadion paced, his movements loose and easy, lithe and feline, his long hair lifting and dropping in the growing wind and increasing noise from the canopy. There was a tension, a wildness to him in spite of the grace of his pacing. It made him a potent, irresistible figure, the outlined spiders moving on his body, flexing themselves with the shift and stir of his muscles.

The rain began to hiss, and above the canopy, the sky was fractured by the sudden brilliance of lightning. It washed the colour out of Canadion’s skin, the flet, the tree, and then all was as before, the hues of the pigment bright on his tawny nakedness.

The thunder belonging to the lightning arrived within seconds of the flash, and Canadion wheeled and dropped to a crouch in front of his fëa-mate, kissing him slowly and softly on the lips, the only part of their bodies in contact.

‘It’s time,’ he said, and ran across the extending branch to the forward watch.


	217. Storm Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the storm properly arrives and Canadion puts his plan into action... and Flora sings a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild sandalwood alert (or not, exactly) for latter stages of this chapter. Possibly not for sharing ;)

The small platform beneath Canadion’s bare feet was already wet from the storm, the supporting branch under it swaying in the wind and causing the little flet to shift and bob. 

‘Are you holding on, there?’ Thiriston called out. ‘Are you safe?’

Canadion found a smile on his face and he took hold of the rope swag between two posts.

‘Yes, I am holding on to the rope,’ he called back in a singsong lilt that belied his trepidation.

For this was terrifying.

It felt as if he had been afraid of spiders his entire adult life, as if the fear defined him in some way. If he let go of it, as he was trying to, what would that mean for him, what would it make him? Not instantly brave, he was sure... but what would fill up the place the fear had taken?

Was he really ready for this?

It was no use asking that now; he had to be ready. He had made Thiriston listen to the story, had made his beloved hear the tale of a lover before him, and he had heard it like the thalion he was, with such bravery, and such… such kindness, and if Canadion didn’t go through with this, now, then Thiriston would have been forced to listen for no good purpose.

And then the storm really arrived overhead, lightning and thunder simultaneous above, and Canadion stepped to the furthest point on the platform and threw his head back and his arms wide.

He allowed his mind to fill up with all his memories of the dread of spiders, all the encounters, all the horrific sounds and scents and dread, all the hideous many-eyed faces coming at him, and as he relived each one he reminded himself, he had survived, it had been the spiders who had died. He remembered Thiriston, standing over Tharmeduil, swinging his axe, tiring, he remembered the fight and slice and stab, the sense of joy in saving his lover tangling with the screaming fear of his heart, he thought of a dozen times, of being stranded on a flet with only an untested prince and a knife between him and all those legs, and that was the day Thiriston had had to wait to collect his axe, and had arrived just in time, swinging the blade and chopping the queen spider in two and, in front of the youngest prince of Mirkwood, had taken Canadion is his arms and kissed him, and just for a moment Canadion had felt magnificent…

He held on to that feeling, the sense of being loved and held and safe and potent, and took in the deepest of breaths, lifting his face up to the clouds and turning, presenting himself to the storm.

‘Wash them away, then!’ he cried out to the sky. ‘These spiders, take them from me, take the fear with them, let them never touch my fëa again! Let me be free of it, free of them!’

The storm answered with growl and flash and growl again, the rain splattering huge, fat drops on his face, his shoulders, his outstretched arms, sliding down his chest and runnelling away down his thighs, melting into the pigments and slurring the colours together as Canadion yelled and shouted and raged back at the sky.

*  
 _‘The storm rolled off to the brave, tall pines_  
 _and rumbled its arrival_  
 _‘Oh go and visit the beech trees bold_  
 _We have no need of rain and cold_  
 _We’re thinking of survival…_  
 _Go rain on the beech trees far far away_  
 _And leave us pines in the cold to play…’_

Flora sang, her voice rising to almost a shriek at the last words of the refrain as pain grabbed her abdomen and made her stagger. Automatically she put out her hands blindly for support and fell against a tree trunk that she was certain hadn’t been there a moment before. It stopped her from falling quite down to the mud of the forest floor, and she leaned against it, panting and gasping around the pain. It began to subside, and she was about to push upright and set off along the path once more when something most unpleasant happened beneath her skirts as her waters broke with sudden, gentle force.

At least it was warmer than the rain.

Flora sighed. She had been able to pretend that her backache had just been from walking too much, and the stomach pains perhaps her morning meal disagreeing with her, but she could no longer hide from the fact that her baby was coming. Her waters had broken, and so the birth was inevitable. The best thing she could do was keep walking and hope to find somewhere safe soon.

Very soon.

*

Canadion’s lips had been so soft, so tender, and then he was gone, across to the platform, and after one solicitous enquiry about his safety, Thiriston had made himself turn away to give his beloved some privacy. 

It was hard, nigh on impossible, not to want to watch, not want to guard him, but this was something Canadion wanted to do for himself.

To fill in the time and distract him from the sounds of Canadion talking to the storm, Thiriston strung a line at waist height from the central trunk and lashed it around a crossing branch at the same height to provide support for the hide tent in his pack. Really no more than a large sheet of leather, he folded it over the line and weighted down the edges and stowed their packs inside. Overhead, the trees kept off the worst of the rain from the large flet, but on the watch platform, it sounded as though Canadion was having a rough time of it. Unable to keep away, Thiriston sidled round the trunk to peer through to the forward platform where his fëa-mate was standing and twisting in the rain, the colours streaming off him like rainbow tears.

Thiriston swallowed hard. There was a lump the size of a fist in his throat, it seemed, as he watched Canadion rage about his dread, demand the storm cleanse him of it. The penneth’s fear was an old fear, so deeply-rooted in his fëa it was going to take more than a bit of a symbolic wash to cure him of it, Thiriston felt sure. All he wanted was to rush across and grab him, hold him tight against the terror and never, ever let him go again, never let anything hurt or frighten him until the world’s end.

But this was Canadion’s choice, Canadion’s idea, and Thiriston held back, not wanting to interrupt, desperate to intervene.

Canadion was incoherent now, screaming into the storm, half-words, pleas, invective all mingled together and he stumbled, dropped to his knees and began to sob while the rain battered against the pigments on his back, turned him into a multihued heap of grief.

Thiriston wasn’t much of a one for prayer. The Valar had always been remote, further away from Mirkwood than the rest of Middle Earth, and further away still from Thiriston. But Canadion was breaking his heart, and he couldn’t bear it…

‘Sweet Lady Nienna,’ Thiriston muttered. ‘Lady of pity, who weeps for us, help me now, help me know what to do, help me help my beloved…’

But if he had expected a sudden revelation, there was none. Just the flash and roar of the sky.

Well, one thing was certain; he wasn’t going to be any use to Canadion from over here, was he?

The big elf pushed away from the central trunk and crossed the supporting branch to the forward watch where Canadion was a little ball of running pigments and weeping flesh, curled up so tight that Thiriston didn’t know, at first, how to get hold of him, how to comfort him.

‘Hush, love,’ he said softly into the sobs and cries. ‘Come on. Up you get.’

He planted his feet either side of Canadion’s hips, slid his arms around the penneth’s chest and hauled him up to pull the cold, wet back against his chest, propping his chin on the pigment-stained shoulder while Canadion shook and heaved with weeping, trying to get control of his breathing. He was shivering now, too, and Thiriston gathered him in to warm him as best he could.

‘Storm’s missed a bit,’ Thiriston said, using his undamaged hand to stroke Canadion’s shoulder free of a smudge of pigment. ‘And here, look…’  
Canadion sobbed, but there was almost a laugh at the back of it, and Thiriston took heart and turned his love in his arms.

‘Oh, and here… wish I’d drawn those other ones you asked for, now,’ he said, gently running his hands over the soft curves of Canadion’s buttocks... Yes, he could get to like this, in other circumstances… 

‘Anything round the front that didn’t get properly washed away…?’

To his utmost relief, Canadion managed a watery giggle, and snuggled in.

‘I think you might have to rub really hard at some of those…’

‘Well, let’s get back to the main flet. More shelter there. Come and see.’

Gently, carefully, not letting go, he brought Canadion back to the main flet where the leaves of the canopy helpfully overlapped to keep the rain at bay while Thiriston found a dry blanket to wrap around Canadion’s shoulders before helping him into the tent.

‘Here. Soon have you warm.’

‘Don’t… don’t care about warm, just…’

‘I know, we’re elves, impervious. Waterproof. Well, mostly. Just because the cold can’t hurt us doesn’t mean we don’t feel it. Doesn’t mean we have to like it.’

‘Hold me, warm me that way. You… need… need… oh…’

Canadion launched himself at Thiriston, fastening his mouth on his, attacking him with the kiss and rolling to pull his fëa-mate over him, writhing and moaning and clutching at him, and Thiriston held him close, followed him, let him have everything he wanted and everything he needed, stroking and caressing and turning and allowing Canadion to take the lead, and him, and only wished there were more he could do, even as Canadion cried out his release and thrust and pushed and fell back with gentle sobs, slipping out and allowing Thiriston to cradle him close and stroke his wet hair with loving hands.

‘Better, callon-nin? Warmer?’

Canadion sighed.

‘Better, thalionen. Warmer, happier, safer. I thought…... I was scared what would fill where the fear had been. And now I know, there is love there, the love of you, the love for you. I do not know if I am cured. But  
I am still me. Still Canadion.’

‘Still my Canadion.’

‘Always yours. Death or ships, my love. Can we stay here?’

‘Maybe not forever. Today, tonight. Until the rain stops.’

*  
 _‘So the clouds sulked off to the beech trees fair_  
 _And poised to drop their bounty_  
 _The beeches stirred_  
 _With gentle word_  
 _‘The oak trees are all droughty_  
 _Go visit the oak trees far far away_  
 _And leave we beeches dry today!’_

It was the last verse Flora could remember. There was a bit more, a final chorus, but between the pain and the weather and her anxiety, she could not think of it.

Suddenly she stopped and leaned into the bushes at the side of the path and was violently sick, retching as if she might bring her baby out this way… and all the old wives’ tales came back to her, all the old sayings: a sick labour is a safe labour. You can be two days after your waters break before you properly go into labour, and a dry birth is harder. And…

And another pain came and made her want to cry, it was so hard to bear. But it would be over soon. And she would have some time before the next one, so she had better hurry along the path…

For perhaps an hour, Flora struggled on. Walk, wait out the pain, try not to flinch at the noise of thunder and flash of lightning, sing a little bit more of the storm song, walk on again, the gap between the pains reducing until one began before the previous one had properly faded, and she began to look around for somewhere, anywhere she could get under cover, for she knew she didn’t have long before the birth, now, and she was alone in this big, wet forest…

There was a tree that seemed to lean out across the path more than others, with big, high roots and a little sort of a nest place between them. The pains were driving her to her knees now, and she crawled into the space and tried to settle. In a brief lull, she began the song again, right from the first, and now she remembered the last bit…

_‘But the oaks say no, and the pines decline_  
 _And the beeches want good weather…_  
 _So the storm drew up and dropped its rain_  
 _On the whole wood, all together!’_

*

Thiriston stirred out of reverie, startled he’d managed to fall asleep.

‘Singing again, melleth-nin, callon-nin?’ he said lazily.

In his arms, Canadion jumped.

‘I will sing for you, if you want… I was dreaming about making vows, and we sang them…’

‘Wasn’t you singing, then? Your silly little storm song?’

‘No… but…’

Thiriston placed a finger over Canadion’s beautiful mouth, silencing him.

From somewhere not too far away, a voice was singing about an entire wood getting wet in a storm.

‘Melleth-nin,’ Canadion said quietly. ‘It is my song, yes. But it is a human woman singing it, in Westron… the pregnant human woman, it is her voice… should we go and see, do you think?’

Thiriston sighed and reached for his pack.

‘We’d probably better put some clothes on first,’ he said.


	218. Word From the Havens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil discovers the contents of Cirdan's reply concerning the sailing of his two eldest sons...

‘Where is Arveldir?’ Thranduil snapped his fingers at one of the servants outside his study. ‘Find my advisor. Bring him. Thank you.’

The order given, he retreated behind his desk once more and reread the note which had been delivered not five minutes previously. It was from the healers’ hall.

_‘May it please your majesty my king,’_ it began. _‘A reply has been received from the Havens concerning the potential journey thither. I am tied to my halls at present and so may not attend you in person with this news, but I will gladly pass on more information to your advisor, or speak to you personally on the matter, should you wish it…’_

The note was signed with Nestoril’s cipher, and he wondered briefly why she couldn’t leave her halls… he hoped all was well…

Where had Arveldir got to? This time of day – early evening as it now was – he should have been in his own office. Of course, since his advisor had taken up with Erestor he had better ways of spending his time than working…

Perhaps that was unjust. Arveldir had always worked more hours than strictly required, making himself available at the king’s command whenever sent for. It was not, really, out of line for the advisor to have an hour or two to himself on occasion…

A knock on the study door, and Glorfindel stood there. He bowed to the king.

‘Excuse me, your majesty, but I understand you sent for your advisor…’

‘In fact, I did. You are not he, of course.’

‘Well, no… he’s not about the palace. When your servant couldn’t find him, he looked for Erestor, and then came to me instead.’

‘What in the name of all the Valar is going on in the palace today?’ Thranduil demanded. ‘Never mind. I do not expect you to know. Come in, shut the door.’

‘Well, in point of fact… Arveldir and Erestor have gone looking for Flora… you know about Flora?’

‘Yes.’ Thranduil sighed. ‘I did not, however, know that you knew of Flora… and why are they seeking her? Or do I not want to know?’

‘Probably not. It’s probably the sort of information to make a lesser person than yourself want to run away screaming… apparently, she’s lost in the forest… so everyone’s looking for her. Everyone who knows their way around, that is… Nestoril thinks she’s about to drop that baby of hers any minute…’

Thranduil shook his head in dismay.

‘Astray in the forest… and she was invited here so she could deliver in safety… Thank you, Glorfindel. Do not let me keep you from the suddenly-fortunate Triwathon.’

‘Oh, I rather think I’m the lucky one, there. Only at the moment, he’s helping with the search… I’ll take my leave, your majesty.’

Thranduil shook his head as the door closed after Glorfindel. Would there be anyone left in the environs of the Great Cave Palace by the end of the day who did not know about Flora? Still, it was perhaps no great matter if her presence here were known; all would blow over, it usually did in a few decades. 

No help for it, however. If Thranduil wished to learn more of the missive from the Havens, he would have to go to the healers’ hall himself.

*

Nestoril was shuffling papers around the main desk when she heard someone approaching her station. Looking up, she was surprised to see the king waiting; after the words passed between them previously, she had hardly expected him to want to speak to her in person.

Nevertheless, she inclined her head and tried to smile.

‘My king. How may I serve you?’

‘I had a message concerning word from the Havens?’

‘Oh, yes… forgive me, sire, I am a little constrained at present, most of my healers are elsewhere and so I cannot really leave my station and take you to my study…’

‘They are looking for Flora, I take it?’

She gave a little start, not having expected him to know, but realised she would have to admit it.

‘Indeed, yes. You will remember when we spoke earlier, I mentioned how distressed the poor child had been. And it seems she is somehow now lost in the forest.’

‘I see. I hope no harm befalls her; she has done nothing to deserve it, after all.’

Outside, the storm beat against the gardens, its plants and trees visible through the windows only as shapes of green and brown beneath the deluge. The healers’ hall darkened as thunder rumbled.

Nestoril stared at the windows and frowned.

‘Indeed, let us hope the forest looks after her until she is found.’

‘I suppose you are stationed here so that everyone knows where to find you, if you are needed,’ Thranduil said with sudden understanding. ‘It is something I am a victim of myself, from time to time. Waiting is a far harder task than one might suppose.’

‘Yes. But she cannot have gone very far, not in her condition…’ Nestoril sighed. ‘But you asked about the message from Cirdan; will you sit, my king?’

She gestured to a seat near the desk so that she could join him and still keep her eye on things, bringing the missive with her.

‘In brief, my king, Lord Cirdan says there is always a ship building, and one at anchor ready to sail. He advises haste, and suggests using the rivers rather than trying to cross the mountains with two unconscious companions…’

‘It is a long journey however they go… but all the way to the mouths of Anduin?’

‘Not exactly. Cirdan’s people will bring the ship south, to Edhellond. From there, they will send their own boat up the Anduin to moor below Rauros; they will send an escort from this boat ahead to Lothlórien to await us there and journey with us down to the falls. Cirdan asks only that we can find a healer willing to sail to take care of our princes, as he has no healers waiting to travel himself.’

‘So all we will need do is get them to Lothlórien and then they will become someone else’s responsibility… it sounds so simple, does it not?’

Nestoril’s smile was wistful. 

‘It was a very long walk home from the Langflood… but we can take a boat up the forest river and then it’s not too far to the Greylin and that runs down into the Langflood… and then all the way south to Anduin and the Silverlode to break the journey at Lórien and meet Cirdan’s emissary…’

‘Very well. We can perhaps send ahead, a work crew to build some sort of wheeled conveyance for the portage from the Forest River to the Greylin… I will have Arveldir make enquiries. Who will you send, do you know? Hanben, perhaps?’

‘Now, my king, would you really trust your two sons to his care?’ she asked. ‘I will seek amongst my healers, sire, but I shall probably go.’

‘Ness! Not… you would sail?’

‘If there is none other willing, of course I would sail with them,’ she said lightly. ‘I expect Feril will want to come, at least as far as Lothlórien…’ 

‘But you cannot go! I do not know what we would do without you!’

‘We are lucky to have Gyril and Maereth and Gaelbes, all of whom are quite senior enough to take over the running of this place,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘And there are several under healers, and Hanben too, of course…’

‘There is much to be considered, I know,’ Thranduil said. ‘But when would you wish the party to leave?’

‘I would hope that we could leave within four weeks at the very latest,’ she said, slightly stressing the pronoun. ‘Cirdan writes that the ship will make harbour in Edhellond by the autumn equinox and expects his emissary to arrive in Lórien by the middle of October at the latest… by my very rough reckoning, it will take us at least thirty days to make the trip.’

‘I will consult with Arveldir at the first opportunity and attempt to make all easy for you, Healer. As I see it, once the party reaches the Langflood, they will make good time. They will need a strong escort… perhaps send several of our rivercraft… leave it with me, Nestoril.’

‘And will you announce it to the people, sire?’

‘I will, just as soon as a date has been settled. Thank you for sending word. But I wish you to know, Ness… I hope you will not sail just yet. May I see my sons?’

‘Let me walk you to their corridor, my king.’


	219. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion and Thiriston find Flora and Thranduil reflects at his sons' bedsides

Canadion paused in buckling himself into his kilt and leaned over the side of the flet. The singing had stopped.

‘Do you think she’s all right?’ he asked.

‘Let me see, human girl, in the woods, in the rain, big with child… well, if I were to guess…’

‘We’d better hurry. Will you bring a blanket in your pack?’

‘Got one. Ready, penneth.’

‘Ready. Just a minute…’ 

Canadion paused, listening, and then sang out down the trail towards where the little voice had come from. 

_‘The clouds all gathered in the sky to make a crowd together… And wandered over to the wood to give it stormy weather…’_

 

‘Lovely voice you have,’ Thiriston said. ‘Even a silly little song like this.’

‘Ah, well, all my songs are silly,’ Canadion said, slipping down the trunk of the tree to the ground. ‘Silly and happy, like me.’

‘I like you happy,’ Thiriston said. ‘And I know you’re not really all that silly, you know. It’s just part of the game you play.’

‘Melleth, I…’

Thiriston joined him on the forest floor and snuggled him into a quick hug.

‘It’s all right, penneth. I like playing your games with you… What’s that?’

Flora’s voice, loud, ragged, hopeful.

_‘The lightning flashed, the thunder crashed… the oak trees’ leaves all shaken…’_

Canadion sang back the next two lines, and set off down the track.

*

It was the nice elf who had taught her the song, she was sure! 

‘I am here, oh, I am here!’ Flora gave up singing, and called out instead. ‘Please help me!’

‘We are on our way, Mistress Flora! It is Canadion, and my friend Thiriston with me… we are with you soon…’

‘Where are you?’

‘Just down the trail a little way…’

‘Please hurry!’

‘Are you safe?’ Canadion called out. ‘Are you hurt?’

Flora pushed herself up to peer at the track, trying to see where the voice was coming from.

‘I am wet, and cold, and… OHH!’ 

She broke off as another contraption gripped her just as the leaves of a shrub at her side parted and once the pain began to subside she realised she could see a smiling face peeking through.

‘And there you are!’ Canadion said. ‘You poor thing, are you all alone?’

He came over to sit next to her, slipping his arm around her shoulders.

‘Thiriston, melleth, can you bring the blanket,’ he called out in Silvan. ‘I am sure she is much too cold…’

‘Here I am.’ Thiriston pushed through and saw Canadion’s protective arm. ‘Hmm. Good thing I’m not the jealous type!’ he said, causing Canadion to stifle a hasty giggle that Flora might not have appreciated. ‘Blanket. Talk to the girl for me, ask how often and have her waters gone yet?’

‘What? Oh, I see…’ Canadion wrapped the blanket around Flora’s shoulders. ‘Did the waters happen to you, he asks?’

‘They broke, yes. I do not know when, it felt like a long time ago… Oh, no, not another….’

Flora’s voice trailed off in a rising shriek.

‘Don’t bother asking how far apart,’ Thiriston said. ‘I think I see. Talk to her. Be soothing.’

‘Soothing? I think this little one is beyond soothing!’ Canadion took Flora’s hand and she instantly grabbed at the contact, relieving some of her agony in crushing Canadion’s fingers. ‘Oh, my poor friend! Come, it will pass, it is only for a little while… there… is that better yet? Is it going…?’

‘Yes, but, oh, there will be another and another and they are getting worse and…’

‘And each one is bringing you nearer to your baby… each pain says, you will hold your gwinig soon…’

‘My… my peredhel. What is, gwinig?’

‘It is just the word for little baby, Flora. There, see, the pain is gone, and you have a moment or two.’ He glanced over at Thiriston who was rummaging in the pack. ‘Should we move her, do you think?’

‘Where to, penneth? We would never get her up into the flet… at least here, the tree is sheltering her a little. I’ll go back and bring the rest of the stuff – the tent and your pack.’

Canadion shook his head. 

‘Let me go. You have strained your hand already, with the climbing and the hauling around of things; I do not want you to hurt it again.’

‘Well… Wait, no, you can’t leave me alone with her! I don’t know what to say to her…’

‘Say anything. Be soothing.’ He gave his fëa-mate a quick grin and turned back to Flora. ‘I have to go and get some things, but Thiriston will stay…’

‘No – no don’t go!’

‘Thiriston is very nice, and very soothing.’ Canadion retrieved his hand with difficulty. ‘I will not be long.’

‘Promise?’ Flora said in the common tongue, and:

‘Promise?’ Thiriston asked in Silvan.

‘Promise.’ 

Canadion took a moment to place a swift, chaste kiss on Thiriston’s cheek and scrambled through the shrubbery and back down the trail towards the flet.

Left alone, Thiriston and Flora exchanged wary glances.

It wasn’t that Thiriston didn’t have any Westron; in his former days he had travelled, he’d picked up a smattering… it was just, he wasn’t sure he remembered enough, and he didn’t want to sound rough or foolish. 

He shrugged, and began speaking in Sindarin.

‘It’s all right, you know. I know about elflings. Babies. You learn a lot in the Guard. Especially if you move around a lot, like I used to. Until I found a Commander I could respect. Well.’ He reached out his sound hand to her, seeing the fear of another contraction growing in her eyes. ‘You hold on tight, girl, and don’t let go, and Canadion will be back in a minute.’

*

Thranduil closed the door, shutting himself in with his two sons, shutting the rest of the palace out. He laid his fingers on Iauron’s forehead, even though he knew Iauron couldn’t feel it. All the times he had given Iauron the ‘disappointed’ lecture, all the times he had berated him, scolding with laconic sarcasm, hoping something of his words would sink and encourage Iauron to grow up, to change… and just when he had seemed to be listening, at last, now this. To be taken away because of the breath of a dragon… 

‘It could be worse, ion-nin. At least you did not die. Well. I will miss you, I suppose. There will be less to worry about… Arveldir’s life will be quieter, and, oh yes, we will finally be rid of the Lady Arwen… even if you will not…’ He paused and gave a little shrug. ‘I find I would perhaps be prepared to put up even with more of her implacable crochet gifts, were it to mean you were well enough to stay…’

He crossed to Tharmeduil’s bedside and sat, taking his son’s hand.

‘And I can see you smiling, there, ion-nin. Do you know? I will miss you more, much more than I will Iauron. But when you both awaken in the Undying Lands, do not tell your brother I said so… You will be reunited with your mother, I hope… if she is free of the Halls of Mandos, that is. And when you see her, tell her I think of her, often. Tell her that Legolas has found his fëa-mate. Tell her Nelleron is well. Say that… that I miss her.’

Thranduil glanced down to where Tharmeduil’s hand lay in his. They did not look terribly alike, he and his son. Perhaps the shape of the jaw, something about the ears… but Tharmeduil was much more his mother’s son. Except… Thranduil turned Tharmeduil’s hand, his eyes resting Tharmeduil’s little finger. As on his own hand, there was a disparity between comparative lengths of little finger and ring finger…  
Iauron did not have it, nor did Legolas, and it was not terribly noticeable.

Unless you knew to look.

He tried to smile, to be comforted by the family trait that Tharmeduil would carry across the seas with him. But he did not want this son to go, to sail. 

Strange how much easier – no, that was wrong – how much less difficult it felt to release Iauron. Perhaps because Thranduil knew there was absolutely no chance of Iauron’s recovery, whereas with Tharmeduil...  
there had always been just that shred of hope that something would change to shake him free of his stasis.

‘So, Tharmeduil, at some point in the next few weeks, you will begin your journey. A company will act as escort… I must give thought to whom… and healers will go with you… Feril, perhaps part of the way.  
Nestoril, of none other will sail alongside you.’

Thranduil sighed as he realised something. No, he did not wish his sons to sail. 

But even less did he wish Nestoril to sail with them.

*

‘And I am back!’ Canadion called out from the undergrowth separating the tree from the path. ‘You know, it is very difficult to see us here, from the track. So I have blazed a sign on the trunks of trees both sides of the trail with one of the pigment sticks…’

‘Good thought,’ Thiriston nodded. ‘Let’s get the tent set up. Can you run the line round the tree, we’ll tuck the leather into it and then fasten the two other corners to the undergrowth, if the trees will oblige… make an awning more than a tent; more shelter, more room beneath. There’s not too much rain getting through, storm seems to be thinning a bit anyway. Is there another dry blanket, penneth?’

‘Well, no. You dried me off on one, and we lay on the other… so there’s half a dry one with slightly damp bits…’

‘Cut the clean and dry patch free, when you can will you? Girl’s still a bit cold.’

Canadion lashed one edge of the tenting fabric to the tree while Thiriston held the other edges away from Flora until his fëa-mate could secure them to the accommodating shrubbery to either side. Draping the dampest of the blankets across the leather served to shelter the side of the makeshift awning, cutting down on the draughts.

‘There you are, Flora,’ Canadion said. ‘You will be warmer soon.’

‘I do not care about warm!’ Flora’s voice was almost a wail. ‘I just want the pain to go away…!’

Canadion trimmed the clean and dry section of blanket as Thiriston had asked and passed it to him.

‘What did she say?’

‘She wants the pain to stop. Who can blame her?’

‘I suppose we need to check how she’s getting on.’

‘She says…’

‘No. I mean look.’

‘What…? But… but I don’t know what to look for or… she’s an elleth!’

‘No, she’s a human girl. But underneath all the skirts and things, they’re mostly similar. And I do know what to look for. Ask her if she would mind if I… um…’

‘You’re going to look? You’re actually going to look at her underneaths?’

‘Only if she says I can… And before you say anything or start worrying, I don’t want to look at the girl’s… underneath, but there’s things to check for, if the baby’s crowning yet… Valar, I hope not yet…’

But before Canadion could work out how to translate this into the common tongue, a high, clear whistle arced through the air, cutting through the patter of the rain. It was followed by another, intermittent this time.

‘That’s Commander Govon’s signal!’ Canadion exclaimed, and darted out from under the shelter to stick his fingers in his mouth and send out his own identifier. ‘He can’t be far away!’

‘You get back in here with the girl, I’ll see if I can spot him,’ Thiriston said.

A moment or two later he was back.

‘He’s just in sight down the path. Legolas is with him and Arwen.’

‘Thank the Valar for that!’ Canadion exclaimed. ‘With her adar’s healing prowess, she’s bound to know all about how girls are birthed. You won’t have to look after all!’


	220. Crowning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which word gets back to the healers' halls that Flora is found...

Arwen had tried very hard to keep her mouth shut and her feet moving, so that she kept up with Legolas and Govon and didn’t earn any more rebukes. Stumbling more than once and biting her lip to avoid complaining, she earned herself instead an approving glance from Govon. 

When, after an hour’s wet and miserable walk, Legolas darted off the trail to lay his hand on the trunk of a tree, she was surprised when Govon fell back to wait with her.

‘When you and your ladies-in-waiting attended the fire-scorched warriors, trimming the damage from their hair and rebraiding them.’

‘I’m sorry, Govon, what?’ she asked.

‘A time when you wanted to help and it didn’t make things worse. That time made things better for many of our company.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Arwen smiled. ‘Thank you. It is hard, sometimes, to remember the good.’

Govon smiled encouragement and glanced up into the canopy.

‘I think the storm is beginning to pass,’ he said. ‘The rain will continue awhile, but the worst is over.’

Presently, Legolas rejoined them.

‘Word from the forest is clearer now. I believe that there are other elves in the forest ahead, and it seems that Flora has passed this way, too. We need only follow the path.’

After they had walked for maybe a quarter of an hour along the trail, Govon raised a hand to halt.

‘What is it, melleth?’

‘Listen…’

Faintly they heard a snatch of song, another voice distantly replying.

‘Flora, I think.’ Legolas said. ‘And the other voice… I know it…’

‘Canadion!’ Arwen supplied. ‘I am sure it was he!’

‘We’ll continue until the point where the track turns. Once round the corner, Govon, will you signal?’

Govon nodded and loped off towards the turn to whistle his identifying call so that whoever was with Flora would know he was near. A moment or two passed and then Canadion’s swooping reply sounded just as Legolas and Arwen came up.

‘You’re right, Arwen,’ Govon said. ‘It is indeed Canadion’s signal… but that is not he,’ he added, as presently Thiriston appeared in the distance and waved them towards him before heading back into the undergrowth. ‘But of course, where you find Canadion, Thiriston is never going to be far away. And...’

He broke off as they heard a very female wail cascade through the air.

‘Flora. Sounds as if we should hurry. But at least she isn’t alone,’ Legolas said. 

They arrived at the blazed trees to find Thiriston pacing while Canadion and Flora, hidden beneath a canopy, seemed to be singing together.

‘Another contraction,’ the big elf said by way of explanation. ‘Coming pretty fast now. Glad to see you, my lady.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Arwen said, casting about her. ‘We should find somewhere better for her to lie… oh, I know…’

She headed across the path away from the canopy to where several huge trees rose up, their roots so old and tangled that each had a hollow beneath forming a cavern-like space and peered inside.

‘It’s rather dusty, but a bit dry,’ she called out. ‘I’m going to look…’

‘No!’ Legolas shouted, pulling her back and away and getting between her and the tree. ‘Don’t go in there, do not ever go under the roots of the trees in my forest!’

‘But…’ Arwen looked round, shaking her head and then catching sight of Govon and Thiriston; both looked horrified, almost outraged. ‘I do not know what is going on, but you can’t expect me to be aware of every danger…’

‘It’s not a danger, Arwen,’ Legolas said. ‘It’s far more important than that. It’s…’

‘Let me tell her, melleth,’ Govon said, exhaling and relaxing as his fëa-mate pulled Arwen away from the trees. ‘You go to Flora. Arwen, would you walk with me, just a little way?’

‘Don’t be long,’ Legolas said. ‘I think Arwen will be needed here soon.’

Govon nodded and gestured Arwen back onto the path, leading her along it so that they were out of earshot of Flora’s continued, if intermittent, vocal expressions of discomfort.

‘You will see there are many of these enclosures formed beneath the tree roots,’ Govon said. ‘They are known as earth-caves. There are more near the trails and the palace as the forest responds to our lives here. It is a Silvan tradition, that we lay our dead to rest in these earth-caves. That dust, Arwen… it is the remains of our dead warriors.’

Arwen gaped at him but didn’t speak, realising that to say how unpleasant it sounded might cause offense. And to think, she might have gone in, been crawling around inside somebody’s Naneth’s or Adar’s remains… she shuddered at the thought, and hoped Govon hadn’t noticed.

‘Um… but,’ she began after a moment’s thought. ‘But at the eyot, you gave your fallen comrades to the pyre…’

‘We could not have brought them to the forest before their bodies began to disperse; you know how it is, our flesh is so tied to our fëar that once death takes place, the desiccation of the bodily remains is very swift.’

‘Oh. So… I beg your pardon, then; I really meant no disrespect… I did not know…’

‘That is why Legolas stopped you. Understand, it is not yet every earth-cave. But it could be any earth-cave. Normally, there is a mark on the tree to signify it is occupied, and the family name.’

‘I see. You have some very strange… that is, unusual traditions… and again, I mean no disrespect…’

Govon gestured back towards the awning.

‘But we Silvans think you Noldor are strange, too, so I will not take offence if you do not. Come. We had better go to Flora, you will be needed.’

There was enough room under the awning, just, for everbody. Legolas was speaking softly to Flora in between the contractions, reassuring her she wasn’t in any trouble and that people were just worried about her safety, that was all. Canadion was at the other side of Flora’s head, holding her hand and trying to comfort her when the pain got too much.

‘One of you will have to move so that I can help,’ Arwen said. ‘I need to talk to the girl. Has anyone looked to see how she’s getting on?’

‘Was about to when we heard you coming,’ Thiriston said. ‘Canadion and me, we’ll get word back to Nestoril.’

‘No, I need you,’ Arwen said. ‘Now, Flora,’ she went on, switching to the common speech, ‘I want you to try to relax… one of our friends is going to have to take a little look.’

‘What?’ Legolas exclaimed. ‘But I thought… you said you’d helped your father with many births…’

‘Oh, no I didn’t!’ she told him. ‘I said Adar had done lots of birthing. Well? Someone?’

‘But… I do not think…’

‘Oh, come now! There is nothing to be afraid of!’

‘Haven’t any of you done this before?’ Thiriston asked, trying not to growl as everyone around shook their heads. ‘The girl’s in trouble here! Ask her what she wants.’

‘Well, if you’ve got experience, you’d better do it,’ Arwen said. ‘Unless anyone else knows what to look for?’

‘Flora?’ Legolas smiled with as much confidence as he could. ‘Thiriston has helped with births before, do you mind if he helps? He needs to see.’

‘It is about time someone did!’ Flora exclaimed. ‘I… OOOHHH!’

‘Right. Tell her I’ll be careful,’ Thiriston said. 

Everyone else focussed on Flora’s face, looking away as the big elf explored beneath Flora’s skirts.

‘Govon, we need to send someone back to get Nestoril,’ Legolas said. ‘I do not think Flora is going to let go of me, though, so take Canadion with you…’

‘Don’t think there’s going to be any point hurrying,’ Thiriston said. ‘Baby’s crowning already. Could be any time in the next couple of hours, could be longer, but…’

But Flora would not let go of Canadion’s hand.

‘No, I need him to stay! He must stay with me…’

‘I’ll go alone,’ Govon shrugged. ‘Good luck. Just… don’t let her call the baby Melleth, will you?’

‘Govon…’ Legolas, his own hand clasped firmly by Flora could do no more than look at his fëa-mate. ‘Be well.’

Govon leaned through the assorted bodies under the awning to place a quick kiss on Legolas’ cheek.

‘Of course, melleth. Good luck.’

*

The tapping at the healer hall windows was insistent and Nestoril looked up from the desk to see Commander Govon peering in. He seemed to have been running and she hastened to unfasten the doors and admit him.

‘Govon! Have you news?’

‘Yes,’ he gasped out. ‘Flora is found, she is safe…’

‘Oh, thank the Valar!’

Govon braced his hands on his knees and heaved in another couple of breaths.

‘Three miles out on the winter trail… crowning…’

‘She is what? Govon, are you sure?’

He shook his head.

‘Thiriston says…’

‘Thiriston? What was he doing searching? He was meant to be taking care of Canadion today…’

‘Caring for him in the woods, apparently.’ Govon recovered a little and straightened up. ‘Arwen and Legolas are with Flora, too.’

‘Well, that is something…’

‘Girl is cold and wet and complains of much pain. What do you need me to bring for you?’

Nestoril shook her head.

‘You stay here and get your breath, Govon. Someone should tell the king.’

‘I can’t let you go alone, Ness.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she said. ‘I was finding my way through Mirkwood back when you were still a twinkle in your ada’s eye… So go, report to Thranduil. And send word to have the other search teams recalled, please, Govon. I have one or two things to organise so if I’m still here when you get back, then you can come with me. If you can keep up, that is.’

Once Govon had left, Ness hurried though to find Hanben.

‘Flora is found, I have to go to her, you must attend the desk. I need to change first, Hanben.’

‘Is all well with her?’

‘As far as I can tell from what has been told me, yes. At present.’

She hurried to her rooms and swapped her healer’s habit for leggings and tunic, collected a warm, light blanket which she rolled into her pack, and was back at the main desk before Govon would have had time to even get to the king’s study.

So she thought…

But he was there ahead of her, pacing. And Thranduil was with him.

‘You are not expecting to come too, my king?’ Nestoril said in her sternest voice.

‘It is my forest, Nestoril,’ he said in measured tones. ‘I will walk in it where I choose.’

Ness shook her head.

‘What has the poor girl done to deserve royal attention at such a moment?’ she said. ‘I really do not think she will be in the mood, sire.’

Before he could answer, she darted past and through the door to the gardens.

Once she had gone, Thranduil turned to Govon.

‘Well, shall we go and see if our mounts have been saddled yet?’

‘Good idea, honour-Adar.’

*

‘You need to tell her to stop now,’ Thiriston said.

Canadion relayed the message. ‘Flora, it is time to rest. Stop the pushing.’

‘I… I cannot…’ 

‘Yes, but you must… sing the song with me, come on.’

Legolas looked at Arwen over the top of Flora’s head.

‘I don’t understand; he only just told her to start pushing a moment or two since and now…’

‘It is to make sure she doesn’t hurt herself by pushing too hard before her body is ready,’ Arwen said. ‘Or once the head is delivered, to make sure all is well.’

‘There… there, that is good,’ Canadion said softly. ‘You see, you can stop.’

‘But I need to start again… I really…’

‘Thiriston?’

‘Yes, ready here… make sure you get her to stop as soon as I say, though…’

And Flora gritted her teeth against the urges of her body and pushed…


	221. Born

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Flora's baby finally makes an entrance...

There was room enough for Thranduil and Govon to ride side-by-side along the trail and they did so, Govon’s horse cantering to match the elk’s easy stride through the light rain that was the aftermath of the thunderstorm.

Soon Thranduil raised his hand and reined in as they saw a hastening, familiar shape ahead.

‘Healer, there is room on my elk for you, if you wish it?’ he called out.

Nestoril had stopped at the sound of hoofbeats, and now turned and now tried to look calm and collected.

‘I would prefer if Govon shared your elk and I took his horse, my king,’ she said.

‘That’s not the offer.’ Thranduil leaned down an arm. ‘Come. You have need of haste. It will not be the first time Nelleron has taken a passenger.’

Nestoril glanced across at Govon and rolled her eyes.

‘Because we need haste, then. Very well.’

Thranduil pulled her up on the elk in front of him and gestured Govon to ride ahead down the trail.

‘We are wasting time. Lead on. Hurry.’

Nestoril concentrated on sitting as upright as she could to avoid impinging on Thranduil’s personal space as much as possible. The rain had now stopped, but droplets kept falling from the leaves overhead, sliding down from the canopy to splat randomly down around the trail… well, she would at least get to Flora more quickly now, even if she did have to compromise her own dignity to do so.

She tried to calculate how long it would take, how long Govon had taken to get back to the healers’ hall with the news… but the fact of the matter was that there was such uncertainty concerning humans giving birth to peredhel babies that all could be long over by the time Nestoril got to Flora, or it could be another day or longer for her… but if, as Govon reported, Flora was already crowning…

Another fifteen minutes and Govon slowed his horse, raising his hand as he reined in, Thranduil bringing the elk to a halt beside him. There were voices, quite clearly, from a little further away, and Govon whistled his identifying signal before dismounting and leading his horse around the corner.

Nestoril all but flung herself off Nelleron and ran after him, clutching her bag of equipment and leaving Thranduil to his own devices.

*

‘Wait now, wait…’ Thiriston ordered. ‘Canadion, tell her, wait!’

He busied himself, one hand supporting the soft, round head which had just emerged, and trying to feel for where the baby’s cord had got to; you had to check, there were stories of infants with the cord wrapped around their throats, dragging them back in with every push, so it was important the girl wait… seemed all right, though.

‘Very well, she can go again.’

‘That is easy for you to say!’ Canadion told him. ‘Our poor friend is very tired!’

‘Head’s out. Next one should bring him. Come on, one of you, cheer the girl up!’

‘I heard something! Govon is back!’

‘Come, Flora,’ Canadion said. ‘Your baby is almost here, he is waiting for you, one more go and…’

Flora yelled and strained and Thiriston suddenly found his hands very full of greasy, slippery infant. He found a corner of his shirt that was relatively clean and dry, and wiped the baby’s face carefully, provoking its first protesting yowl. Gently he lifted the baby away from Flora’s body and towards her arms. She was being supported by Canadion and Legolas and now they raised her up to see her baby.

‘See?’ Canadion said. ‘Isn’t that better?’

‘Oh!’ Arwen reached out automatically and Thiriston growled at her until she fell back.

‘Flora, meet your gwinig, gwinig, this is your nana. She loves you, even though you did cause her a bit of pain… can you help her take him? Still got work to do here…’

‘What is happening?’ Nestoril’s voice called.

‘Just in there, Ness,’ Govon could be heard saying. ‘To your left.’

Thiriston huffed out a breath. Dazed, he felt dazed. Amazed and surprised and somehow proud… Suddenly he really wanted Canadion to need a cuddle so he had an excuse to hold someone.

‘Someone, tell me?’ Nestoril was demanding.

The big elf backed out from under the awning to find Ness waiting to shove him aside.

‘Baby boy, got all its fingers and toes and everything, can you send Canadion out?’

For good measure, Nestoril sent everybody out.

‘I need room to work; Canadion, Thiriston wants you. You go too, Arwen. Legolas, Govon’s outside. And your father.’

‘What?’

Canadion rushed into Thiriston’s arms; the big elf held him clumsily, his hands still messy with body fluids as he dipped his head to his fëa-mate’s shoulders with a sigh.

‘Well done!’ Canadion said. ‘That was so brave of you!’

To his surprise, Thiriston found he was shaking.

‘Well, I suppose it was, really… true, this wasn’t the first birth I helped with, but that was it, helping, not actually been the one in charge. Not done all the messy underneath business.’

‘Oh? Come, tell me all about it?’

‘Got something I can wipe my hands with? Come over here, then… ‘twas when I was in the South Patrols, at least a dozen decades before I knew you… winter, it was, the heart of the cold… found a little cottage, sorry lot they were...’

Canadion stripped off his tunic and removed his shirt, using it to gently wipe Thiriston’s hands and forearms while his fëa-mate went on with the tale.

‘Humans… the men were off trading, meant to be home but the snow had come so there was this pregnant woman and her sister… and of course, the woman went off into labour and while some of the patrol went to seek for the humans on the trail, they left me and another to guard the house… that was it, really, just doing what the sister told me.’

‘But you have no Westron!’

‘I know. She shouted and pointed and shook her fist at me a lot. If I didn’t understand, she’d leave me with the woman and get what she needed herself. I think that’s where I learned all my Westorn swearing from, that woman’s sister…’

Canadion smiled. 

‘There. Hands clean. And that birth?’

‘Seemed to go well. Baby girl, I remember. Funny to think, human, she’ll be long dead by now, that baby…’

‘Oh, melleth-nin…’ Canadion put his arms round his lover and held him tight. ‘You do have a sad way of looking at things! I am sure, she will have grown up, and had babies of their own, and they will have had babies, and there will be a whole little nest of humans who know the tale of how their great-great-great-great-great-Naneth was birthed by a big growly elf!’

‘Am not growly!’

‘You growled at Arwen.’

‘Well. She’s enough to make anyone growl, that one!’

Canadion laughed and snuggled and then lifted his head to kiss his fëa-mate gently, tenderly, until he felt the trembling begin to subside.

‘There. Think we can go back to our nice flet now? It’s been quite a day.’

‘Or our nice rooms. Need a bath, I think.’

*

Thranduil dismounted from Nelleron’s back as his son approached.

‘Legolas, what news?’ 

‘Baby’s born, Adar, a boy. Flora seems all right… it’s been exhausting, and I’ve done nothing except let her grab my hand and tell her everything will be fine… and you’r a grand-ada!’

‘Hush, not quite so loud… and you are an uncle, ion-nin, although no doubt others will think you more closely involved...’

‘Ha! Govon’ll soon put them right, won’t you, melleth? I’m glad you’re back.’

Thranduil turned away to allow his son a moment with the commander, allowing himself a smile as he nodded along the path to where Canadion and Thiriston were clinging together. ‘What are those two doing here?’

‘Um… comforting each other, Adar…? They were actually quite wonderful, Thiriston did all the midwifing and instructions, and Canadion passed them on and kept Flora calm…’

‘Is not Arwen with you? What did she do?’

‘Told Thiriston to help Flora, mostly.’ Legolas shook his head. ‘But I could ask why you’re here yourself?’

‘Concern for the child… to expedite Nestoril’s arrival… Flora will need help getting back to the palace…’

‘But you can’t possibly expect her to ride, even on Nelleron, Adar!’

‘Of course not, Legolas! But as soon as Nestoril says Flora is able to move, I can make arrangements. Govon, do you want to give Legolas a ride home?’

‘Sounds like a good idea, honour-Adar, but shouldn’t we…?’

‘Your horse can carry two, I take it?’ Thranduil said, hastily, cutting Govon off in mid-comment.

‘Yes, sire, as long as we don’t have to go at a gallop.’

*

‘Well done, Flora!’ Nestoril said. ‘Are you well?’

‘I am… it was very hard!’

‘It must have been, my poor friend, with none of those comforts I promised you… but let me see your baby… Arwen, thank you for helping, but Flora and I can manage perfectly well now… please tell his majesty I will be out to speak with him presently.’

‘Oh… but…’

‘Thank you, Arwen!’

Nestoril smiled determinedly until Arwen backed away.

‘Good. Now we are private, Flora, there are one or two little things... you child is still attached, do you see? Well, I would not expect our warriors to think of such a thing, but Arwen ought to have… I am just going to cut the cord that nourished your baby for so long… it does not hurt him, I promise… good… there, see? And may I hold him for a moment?’

Nestoril took the infant and cradled him, cooing softly all the time she performed her necessary checks and then wrapping him up in a clean, dry towel from her pack.

‘He is utterly beautiful, Flora, you must be so proud! And perfect, everything about him is absolutely fine. Has he fed yet?’

‘Not… not with the boys here! They might have seen…’

‘You know, my dear, I do not think these particular boys would have looked,’ Nestoril said gently, forbearing to mention that one of the boys in question had probably just seen far more than that… ‘Let me help you… there you are, that’s right… and now I must just attend to you here, don’t worry, I’m just going to make you comfortable… What are you going to call your son, do you know?’

‘Belegornor. Now I know it isn’t anyone’s real name, I thought it would be nice.’

‘Belegornor. Of course. Well, I will just step outside now and leave you to feed your son in peace. When you feel up to it, I will ask someone to send to the palace for a carriage for you both.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lest I find myself fielding questions concerning the process of birth, I would like to assure my readers I speak from personal experience, to a point. Although my son was born in hospital, not a forest floor, the whole process took place without pain relief... long story, but short birth...
> 
> I'd also like to take this opportunity to say thank you for the support and encouragement of my many readers and it's wonderful that you're still reading...


	222. Gwinig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil meets his peredhel grandchild...

‘I didn’t see the child yet,’ Govon said as he pulled Legolas up onto the horse to sit behind him. ‘Who does he take after?’

‘I do not know; all I saw was a bundle with hair. Oh, and ear tips, he has the ears. Do you want to wait until Ness has done fussing, and look in on Flora now?’

Thranduil cleared his throat.

‘You should get back to the palace and alert the healers,’ he said. ‘And the returning searchers will want news.’

‘Of course, sire,’ Govon said. ‘Shall we ride back with you?’

‘I will stay,’ Thranduil announced. ‘Since I have not yet seen this gwinig yet, either. It seems appropriate I show some interest in my grandchild, after all. Now go.’

Govon nodded and urged his horse into motion, heading off down the trail towards the palace. Legolas was a warm presence behind him, pleasantly, almost intimately close, and he found himself enjoying the ride.

‘Should we not hurry?’ Legolas asked.

‘I suppose we should. Hold tight.’

‘I will not fall, Govon!’

‘I know. I just want you to hold me tight.’

Legolas complied, putting his arms around Govon as the horse went into a trot.

‘Are you well, friend captain?’ he said into Govon’s ear.

‘I… yes… perhaps no,’ Govon said back.

‘Slow the horse, then. Talk to me.’

But for answer Govon only encouraged the horse into a canter. 

The fact of the matter was he didn’t really know how he felt. Tired, yes, with all the running around. And somehow low-spirited, and he didn’t know why, not really. He worried it was tied up in some way with the baby, as if there was a difference between seeing Flora pregnant, and the actual arrival of the child. There was no reason, though, for him to mind, for him to feel threatened or insecure, so that couldn’t possibly be what he was feeling… he was just tired, that was all. But until he sorted out what was wrong – not that there could be anything wrong, it would be foolish for this joyful day for Flora to be upsetting in any way – he was reluctant to try to say anything, in case he said the wrong thing and upset Legolas.

So he stifled his anxiety as best he could, focussed on Legolas’ arms around him, and rode for home.

*

Thranduil scratched Nelleron’s neck and fed the elk a few dried blackberries, pretending to be too engrossed in his task to notice Arwen sidling up to him.

She began talking anyway.

‘It seems a shame,’ she said. ‘That Iauron may never see his son. Unless when he grows up, Belegornor sails…’

‘Who?’ Thranduil asked, provoked by the name into replying. ‘Who did you say?’

‘Flora has named the baby so. It seems a bit of a liberty, to my mind, but I suppose it’s not any of my business…’ She paused, waiting for the king to support her.

‘No, you are right,’ he said, finally. ‘It is none of your business what Flora names her child. But you were saying…?’

‘Flora knows about the Promise, of course. But she says why would her son want to watch everyone he knows die? So she doesn’t want him to choose to be counted amongst elvenkind. Even though she doesn’t see that he will have to see her die, anyway, whichever he chooses. But if he accepted the gift and became counted amongst the Firstborn, then Iauron could see his son, eventually…’

‘You see my son through very different eyes to my own,’ Thranduil told her. ‘To my mind, I do not think Iauron would give the child more than a moment’s thought; that is, after all, about as much attention as he paid to Flora once he knew she was pregnant…’

Arwen gasped.

‘I do not think you know your son at all!’ she exclaimed.

‘And I do not think you have enough information to be able to pronounce on the matter,’ Thranduil told her. ‘Now, come. You have already announced that you will sail with him so that you may be together in the Undying Lands. Consider, a moment; if you and Iauron make a life together there, and were to have children together, what do you think the arrival of Belegornor would have on your future family?’

‘Well, I… it would… but…’

‘If Iauron were vowed to you, Arwen, I do not think he would want a reminder of his former adventures thrust upon his notice. He would either ignore Belegornor, or he would feel guilty and annoyed that such a reminder had followed him all the way across the seas. Certainly, it would not make for an easy subject at the dinner table.’

‘But it is his son! I would only seek to show Iauron that I do not mind!’

‘Arwen, even for you, that is outrageous. You ought to mind. You ought to object very strongly to my son’s behaviour, and pretending you do not care shows your judgement to be at fault, whatever it may say of your heart. Besides, you are getting ahead of yourself. Far, far ahead of yourself. Have you considered, child, what might happen when Iauron wakes up? He may not remember you. Or he may simply not want you.’

‘But…’

‘Were you thinking of returning to the palace? The trail is quite clear, you will not get lost. It should not take you above an hour.’ He gave Nelleron the last of the blackberries and hitched the reins to a nearby branch. ‘Nestoril beckons me, I must go.’

Nestoril hadn’t, in point of fact, waved Thranduil over, but as she saw him approach, she smiled, finally forgiving him mentally for his mishandling of Flora’s situation.

‘My king, I am pleased to say Flora is well and her son healthy.’

‘Good. We have not, after all, taken particularly good care of her, for all our intentions, have we?’

‘No, indeed.’ She walked a little way down the trail away from Arwen, Thranduil keeping to her side. ‘Still, no harm has been done. Flora might have been spared some discomfort, but at least she was not alone.’

‘Thiriston officiated, I understand?’

‘Indeed, yes. With Canadion being quite wonderfully understanding and patient with Flora… I was surprised, but really rather charmed at how sweet he was.’

‘Perhaps you ought not to let Thiriston hear you say such things.’

Nestoril laughed.

‘No, although I do not think he would dare growl at me! He has too much respect for the healers’ hall.’

‘Who would dare growl at you, Healer? You are too formidable an opponent by far! You may like to know that I’ve sent Govon and Legolas back to inform your healers and bespeak transport for Flora.’

‘Thank you, my king! I was going to ask if that might be done.’

‘I want to see the infant… if Flora will permit.’

Nestoril rather suspected asking Flora’s permission had been an afterthought on the king’s part, but she let it pass.

‘She is currently feeding him.’

‘…then do not, I pray, intrude upon her!’ Thranduil said hastily, causing Nestoril to hide a smile. ‘I remember… I remember Iauron’s mother throwing something at my head for wanting to talk to her while Iauron was feeding… a shoe, I think it was, for which she had to reach a considerable distance when there was a pillow far nearer… What she would make of this, a peredhel for a grandchild, I do not know…’

‘She would count his fingers and toes, look to see if he has the ears, and agree he is the most beautiful baby ever, no matter what, since that is the way of things,’ she said. ‘You miss her still.’

‘Of course, on occasion. Especially such moments as these.’ Thranduil braced his shoulders. ‘But by now she may, perhaps, be out of the Halls of Mandos and there to greet Iauron and Tharmeduil when they reach the Undying Lands. My sons will not be alone.’

Nestoril wanted to reach out, to lay her hand on his arm, to speak words of solace. But there were none, and to touch him would be an intrusion.

‘There is that comfort, sire,’ she said. ‘Well, let me see if Flora is ready for visitors.’

It being beneath Thranduil’s dignity to crawl beneath an awning for anything less than an emergency, and since the tree above the canopy had stopped dripping its stored rainwater, the king had Canadion and Thiriston fold back the awning so that he could approach and then sit with such dignity as he could muster near Flora.

‘Are you well, Flora?’ he asked in the common speech.

‘Yes, King Thranduil. See my gwinig? Would you care to hold him?’ She lifted the baby and offered him across. ‘You must take care to support the back of his head, his neck…’

‘I know all about holding infants, my girl, I held my own three often enough when they were newly-born…’

Thranduil made an easy cradle from his arm, the elbow raised to provide the proper support and examined his first grandchild. His only grandchild, he supposed, for once Tharmeduil and Iauron were beyond the sea, than any offspring they might have in the future would not be known to him.

The baby was small, after the way of human children, he supposed, eyes almost closed and just hinting at blue. The ears were elven, delicate, tipped with little points… it occurred to Thranduil, that growing up amongst humankind, such ears might not always be a blessing… the hair was surprisingly thick, and dark… poor child would grow up looking more like Noldor than Sindar unless it changed… had his own sons been darker-haired at birth, lightening later? He was not sure he could remember.

‘And you named him Belegornor? Is it not rather a large name for one so small?’

‘He’ll grow into it,’ Flora said with confidence.

So much potential, here in his arms, almost, it was terrifying to see so much hope and loss all combined in one tiny person… 

‘Thank you, Flora.’ Thranduil carefully handed back the infant. ‘Your son is very fine. When we return to the palace, I will visit you again. And your gwinig.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation  
> Gwinig: a little baby


	223. Potential for Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Flora is returned to the palace and reveals that she is already thinking of going home...

It was growing dark by the time Flora’s covered wagon brought her back to the palace. Nestoril was with her in the back, Thiriston and Canadion sitting with the driver, having themselves stayed with Ness until the wagon arrived.

Legolas and Govon were still at the healers’ hall when the little company arrived, doing their best to try and make sure the news that Flora and her gwinig were safe spread only as far as it needed to.

‘Where’s my father?’ Legolas asked Thiriston as he helped Canadion gather their packs from under the wagon’s seat. ‘Did he not come back with you?’

‘Arwen was muttering about riding home with Flora. King offered her a seat on the elk and dragged her away.’ Thiriston shrugged. ‘Be glad when she goes home. Or just away, that’d do.’

‘I think my father will certainly be glad to see Arwen go,’ Legolas admitted to Govon, once they had a moment’s privacy. ‘She means no harm, I am sure, but everything she has done of late has turned to chaos! Adar must be finding her increasingly challenging, and if he has had to ride back with her, I am sure he will be ready to murder her…’

Govon laughed, but felt obliged to shake his head.

‘She is not so bad,’ he said. ‘True, she speaks out of turn, and has some peculiar ideas, but I cannot help feeling sorry for her, at least a little.’

‘I know. And she has always stood my friend. It is just… it worries me, some of the things she has been saying to Flora and about the baby. It is almost as if she feels… I do not know, entitled in some way, to more of an interest that she should have. You did not see – I think you were just back with Ness, the baby just born and Arwen reached for him… it seemed… wrong…’

‘Perhaps it was just, she is an elleth, she has that nurturing, maternal instinct. Or as daughter of a healer…’

‘Perhaps,’ Legolas agreed. ‘But still, it made me uneasy.’

‘Have you explained to Arwen that you have more rights than she? After all, you are the child’s sponsor…’

‘She does know this. I think she chooses to forget it, however.’ Legolas sighed. ‘Well, Flora will be safe here in Nestoril’s care. All the search teams are back… I think we can go to our rooms now, if you wish?’

‘Very much so. It feels as if it has been a long day.’ Govon sighed as Legolas threw a casual arm around his shoulders. ‘And a busy morning ahead; we have the first of the company contests rapidly approaching; I have to muster the guard for weapons practice first thing.’

‘First thing?’ Legolas queried. ‘Could you not, perhaps, muster a little later?’

‘You have your breakfast meeting with Erestor as usual? I’ll wait for his arrival, if it would please you.’

‘Indeed, that sounds much more what I was hoping for.’

*

Flora found herself, and her baby, the subject of much attention. Almost all the healers, on duty or off, gathered to see her, and him, and express their joy and delight for her, and she had so many offers of help carrying the child that she had to be quite firm in insisting she was perfectly strong enough to carry baby Belegornor to his room; after all, had she not been carrying him for months already?

‘But what I would really like,’ she admitted to Nestoril as she laid the gwinig into his cradle, ‘is a nice bath. Is that possible, do you think?’

‘I am sure it is possible,’ Nestoril smiled. ‘And then you should eat, too; I’ll ask Feril to sit with your child, if you like; she has been with the princes and so has not seen him yet.’

Flora nodded. A bath, clean clothes and some food, that sounded exactly what she wanted just now.

‘And I know it is late,’ Nestoril went on, ‘but if you wanted to write to your family and let them know that your baby is born, I could arrange for the message to go up the river on the supply barge; it will be setting off back up the river in the early morning.’

‘Could I? I am sure my mother will want to know… and when can I go home?’

‘Why, I had not given thought to that yet – I had not realised you would want to leave particularly soon… but, my dear, you are not a prisoner here, you are a guest… I think we would like you to stay for a day or so, that we can make sure, after giving birth in the forest, that you have come to no harm… although if you want to stay longer, of course you can. Now, let me go and find Feril, and organise your bath and your supper for you.’

*

After seeing Flora settled, Nestoril retired to her study to work for an hour or so. The idea that Flora would want to leave so soon had not occurred to her, and although she had spoken reassuringly as she had taken the letter to send with a servant down to the rest of the messages being sent up the river on the barge, privately she wondered what Thranduil would say to learn his new grandson was being removed so soon from the care of the palace.

For it would be another loss, she realised; Thranduil had just committed himself to losing Iauron and Tharmeduil to the Undying Lands, and now he would be losing this last link with Iauron, his son, to his human family.

And yet it was entirely right that Belegornor be with his mother in their own home and with the rest of her kin around her. It was not so far; Thranduil could ride out, if he wanted, she supposed, and smiled at the notion; the King of Greenwood the Great knocking on a cottage door somewhere and asking to see a baby; it did not seem terribly likely.

Thranduil would need careful watching, however. Prone to dark moods that had taken him away from connection with his sons and his people in the past, the loss of two sons and a grandchild could well tip him over into another fit of depression that would not bode well either for him or for his kingdom.

Shaking her head, she turned her attention to the matter of the journey for the two princes, beginning with a list of practical requirements, but soon realised she would need to consult further with the boat-wardens and the barracks before she could really get ahead with her plans… Arveldir would have to be consulted, which would have to keep for the morrow anyway. And then if Flora wanted to leave, there would be a carriage to arrange, but that would be best done after the girl’s mother had the news of the birth…

Nestoril sighed. Yes, once Flora and Belegornor had left for their home, once Iauron and Tharmeduil had departed, that was when Thranduil would begin to feel the weight of his crown bearing down on his shoulders. She would have to be alert to his mood, to try to stifle any such depression before it started…

And then she realised; if she could find no willing volunteers to sail with the princes, then she had already promised her own services and would have to make the journey herself.

But how was she going to be able to look out for Thranduil if she was on board a ship with his sons?


	224. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Flora visits Iauron with the baby.

‘Healer, you should come. It’s been going on for almost an hour now, she isn’t in the way yet, but she will be, soon…’

Nestoril looked up.

It was rare that her breakfast hour was interrupted, and Gyril had timed her knock on Ness’ door so that she was almost ready for her shift.

‘Very well.’ She drained the last of her tea and reached for her head-rail. ‘There, I’m ready. What is the matter?’

‘Nothing is wrong,’ Gyril said as she held the door. ‘But… it is Flora. She is visiting the princes and… and she has taken the baby with her.’

‘Oh! Well, I suppose I had better go and see that she has everything she needs.’

Nestoril moved softly through the corridors to pause outside the princes’ room. The door was closed, but she could hear Flora quite clearly through the door, talking lightly.

‘Awake now, are you? Well, that’s good, for I’ve been sat here waiting for you, little gwinig! See him there… that’s your Da, Belegornor. He’s called Iauron, and he’s a prince, they say, thought I didn’t know that… he’s ill, poor thing. He will get well, they say, but his healing is a long, long way away… he won’t be coming back, after. So we must make the best of the time, my dear, for we won’t get any more comfort than this…’

‘Oh, but this is too sad!’ Nestoril said, and gently tapped on the door before opening it. ‘Flora, my dear, am I intruding?’

Flora looked round with a start.

‘No, I was just… wanted my baby to meet his… his kin. That is all.’

‘Well…’ Nestoril eased herself into the room, nodded to Gyril outside, and shut the door. ‘I think that’s a very good idea.’

She smiled as she moved past to plump at Iauron’s pillows and fidget with his bed so that soon he was propped up, more sitting than lying, and with his arms free of the covers.

‘I think, Flora, if you would like it, Iauron could hold Belegornor with a little help...’

‘Would that be allowed? That is, safe? Or…’

‘Of course, to both questions.’ Nestoril rearranged Iauron so that his arms made a secure nest, herself supporting him as Flora carefully laid the baby into the prince’s unconscious embrace. ‘Iauron may never know he has held his son – yes, I know, and I know not to say anything – but you and I will know, and in the future, you will be able to tell your son, his father held him.’

‘It is so little…’

‘I know, my dear, and I am sorry. Yet I think, if Iauron were not ill, your baby might not even have this.’

‘I don’t mind, you know,’ Flora began after a moment. ‘In fact, I think it will be better for us without him, as he’s a prince and everything. Did you think about my leaving, yet?’

‘I did. But I also have to think about Iauron and Tharmeduil’s leaving, also… I sent your letter with the barge, and your mother should have word in a day or two. Once we hear back that she knows to expect you…’

Belegornor twisted his head and gave a little whimper. Nestoril guided his fist towards his mouth, and the baby sucked at his fist, for the moment satisfied.

‘He will be hungry, soon,’ Flora said. ‘But I don’t want to leave just yet.’

‘I think you have a little time. You can stay here as long as you want.’

*

Legolas found his breakfast meeting with Erestor was long, and annoying, and melancholy, all at the same time. Govon had been in a strange mood, brooding about something, somehow unable to articulate his problems, and not even a loving and tender hour during the night had been enough to coax the matter out of him, and so the commander had gone off to his practice out of sorts and Legolas was struggling to set his worry aside and focus on Erestor.

After the excitement of the birth only the day before, this wasn’t a happy discussion, for Erestor brought news of a different kind; arrangements for his brothers’ sailing were underway and it would only be a few weeks before they left on their last, irrevocable journey.

‘I am sorry to be the one to bear this news to you,’ Erestor said. ‘No doubt his majesty our king would have told you himself, but matters have been a little disordered…’

‘True enough.’ Legolas sighed. ‘I know it’s all we can do for Iauron and Tharmeduil, the only way they can be well… but if nothing else, it’s going to mean rather more work for me…’

‘Indeed. And to go from being the youngest of three to crown prince in one step – if it is not what you have trained for…’

‘It’s not something I ever wanted,’ Legolas replied. ‘Nor am I going to be giving the kingdom an heir… it’s going to be messy. Maybe not now, but one day, if Father ever wants to step aside.’

‘His majesty seems not to be concerned about that,’ Erestor said. ‘And if you will pardon me, his majesty is surely not so old or unprepossessing that he could not find another consort, if the matter is so important to him…’

‘Is Arwen still set on sailing, too?’ Legolas said hurriedly, desperate to change the subject.

‘I believe so, my prince. And I think Lord Glorfindel will be escorting her to the ship. Or part way, at least; the Lady Arwen has kin in Lórien, did you know?’

‘Her grandparents, yes?’

‘Yes. Perhaps the Lady Galadriel will be able to make her consider the extreme nature of her decision without her father’s agreement or, indeed, knowledge. I have tried to reason with her, but she will not see that… I beg your pardon. You may be glad to own Arwen as a sister by marriage…’

‘Not especially. But better she were in the Undying Lands, in that case, than Mirkwood…’

‘Quite. She keeps having ideas which she thinks are helpful… they are usually not.’

‘What about you, Erestor? You’re not leaving yet, I hope?’

‘It is true that I would like a reason not to go…’

‘Do you need one? What about your work here? As the only resident prince, and with all the weight of the succession currently on my shoulders, I will need all the help I can get and the advice of my personal advisor will be invaluable in the coming months…’

‘I think that counts more as an excuse, your highness.’

‘Well, what about Arveldir? He’d miss you… in fact, he might even insist on going with you if you go so soon. And my father might not be happy with that… no, I think you’d better stay, if you can. For the sake of the kingdom.’

‘Well, if the kingdom is at stake,’ Erestor said, ‘perhaps I had better stay.’

*

Nestoril heard the voices first, but there was no time to react except to brace herself and get to the door to open it first.

_‘…At least let me announce you, sire…’_

_‘No need, Healer…’_

‘Good morning, sire,’ Nestoril said as Thranduil found the door opening before he had even touched the handle. ‘Are you visiting your sons?’

‘It would seem so… what’s going on here?’

‘Your sons have a visitor.’

‘Two visitors, in fact…’

This discussion not taking place in the common speech, Flora decided she therefore couldn’t be in any trouble and best ignore the exchange between the king and the healer. Instead, she made sure Belegornor was safely supported by Iauron’s arms and stroked a finger down the side of the baby’s face.

‘And this here, this is your Grand-Da,’ she whispered. ‘He sounds very scary when he talks, but really, he is very kind…’

Thranduil broke off his discussion of the appropriateness of permitting Iauron to hold the infant and turned to Nestoril in disbelief.

‘What did the girl just call me?’ 

‘Grand-Da, I think. It is an unexceptional, if familiar term and…’

‘No… the other… can she really think I am kind…? How dare she say so!’

‘Perhaps she has simply received so little of kindness that by comparison you do, in fact, seem kind-natured,’ Nestoril said, enjoying the look that crossed the king’s face as he realised what she had said. ‘Or perhaps she is simply saying so for the sake of the child…’

‘Healer, you are not helping!’

‘Nonsense, I always help, sire, it is my job. And so how may I help you today?’

‘I simply wanted to be with my sons.’ Thranduil crossed to sit at Tharmeduil’s bedside and took his hand. ‘I suppose I may sit in with them?’

‘Of course, sire.’ Nestoril smiled. ‘But I had better explain to our friend here. Flora?’

The girl looked up, reassured by the healer’s expression.

‘Does his majesty want to be alone with them?’ she asked.

‘You may stay, Flora,’ Thranduil told her in the common speech, trying to sound grave and kingly, and not at all kind.

From the smile on her face, though, his tone seemed not to have the slightest dampening effect whatsoever.

‘Would you like to hold the baby?’ she asked. ‘I will have to take him out soon, to feed him.’

Nestoril waited for a storm of outrage and protest and so was stunned when Thranduil inclined his head.

‘Indeed, Flora. I would like that very much.’

The girl reached to lift Belegornor from the prince and passed him tenderly into Thranduil’s arms, the king supporting the baby’s head automatically. The child protested briefly, but then went back to sucking his fist, eyes half-closing in peace.

Thranduil stared at the small infant, feeling his throat constrict. He was losing Iauron, yes, for an age or two. But for a time, Iauron’s son would remain in Middle-Earth, and there was some comfort there, perhaps. Finding a smile trying to settle on his face, he turned his attention to Tharmeduil in the bed at his side. He lifted his son’s right hand   
and laid it gently on the baby’s body.

‘Your nephew, Tharmeduil. Flora has named him Belgornor, which I am sure will be of interest to you… it is unlikely you will meet in the future, but there, such is the way of the world. No doubt somewhere you have a drawing or a note about him… he is beautiful, I think, if such can be said of so small a being…’

Lifting Tharmeduil’s hand away, the king rose to his feet.

‘Thank you, Flora,’ he said. ‘May I carry him back to your room for you? He will need attention shortly...’ A glance to Nestoril, and he continued in Sindarin. ‘Insufficient absorption from the layers in which he is wrapped. However, there is no real damage done; these are not formal robes…’

‘Oh, my king! Well, if you would care to visit my study presently I will see if I can help you clean up…’

‘Do not concern yourself.’ He smiled at Flora. ‘If you are ready?’

The healers on duty in and around the king’s progress tried neither to gawp nor to stare, but still, considerable interest was shown and Nestoril had to glare and clear her throat several times to encourage her staff to get back to work.

‘He’s wet!’ Flora exclaimed when Thranduil finally handed back the child. ‘I do hope he didn’t…?’

‘He did. However, since he is very young, I do not think it a treasonable offence… a joke, Flora. It is not the first time, believe me… good day to you. I would like… that is, I shall be back later to look in on my sons. If you should happen to wish to visit Iauron at the same time, I do not object.’


	225. Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Govon overhears some gossip on the practice grounds, and Thranduil sends for his son...

Govon seethed.

Having intended to work on single sword exercises amongst his command, he had been annoyed when Esgaron and a few of his fellows had turned up, too. The sword arena therefore had been shared, which was not so bad, giving him a chance to see how some of Esgaron’s warriors fought.

But then Esgaron began talking loudly to Thiriston and Canadion, watching from the sidelines, the commander seeming to know far too much about the previous day’s search for Flora and her baby, and every comment angled to make it seem as if Esgaron had been made privy to the news from those very warriors to whom he was talking.

Interpreting this as an attempt on Esgaron’s part to make it seem that Canadion was up to his old tricks of gossip again, Govon turned his back and got on with his sparring practice.

‘Tinuon? Take a turn with me?’

‘Gladly, Commander.’

Tinuon’s ready agreement was fortuitous; Govon knew his fighting style well enough that he could spare half an ear for what was taking place on the sidelines while pretending not to notice.

Esgaron had moved on from knowing comments about the baby and its human mother to outright suggestions and speculation as to the child’s paternity and the apparent interest shown by the king himself.

‘Anyone would think the child might be a relative of our king,’ Esgaron said in his clear, carrying voice. ‘Or one of his sons, and we all know…’

‘Or they might think that the woman was lost in the forest on her way to the winter hythe,’ Canadion said innocently. ‘Caught out in the storm and seeking what shelter she could. Or they might even think the baby a relative of my fëa-mate, since he delivered the infant, after all.’

‘Well, only if they didn’t know me,’ Thiriston said sternly. ‘Careful whose reputation you throw around, there, you two... Not everyone is as good natured as I am, after all.’

Govon suddenly found his second had backed right away in the middle of the bout and was bowing.

‘Commander, you would have killed me three times over by now. In fact, I do not think even the Balrogs of old would have stood against your blade this morning! I yield.’

‘Are you all right, Tinuon?’

‘Oh, I am fine! I can move very quickly when I have to! But perhaps, my commander, it might be useful for you to practice with the short bow? There is less chance of you actually injuring someone that way…’

The second said it with a grin, and indeed, although he was breathing hard, he seemed in no way injured… but thinking back, Govon was aware that perhaps he had been allowing his anger at Esgaron’s loud comments to colour his fighting style. It was a sobering thought.

‘A good idea. I’ll have Canadion join me on the range. Yourself oversee Triwathon and Hador in a bout or two. If Glorfindel wants to play, let him join in, too. Make sure he doesn’t get too enthusiastic himself.’

‘Aye, Commander. Thank you for the bout. It’s always good to spar with one who’s prepared to challenge me.’

‘Was that was I was doing?’ Govon muttered.

Tinuon grinned.

‘Why, of course, Commander! Now, go and destroy a couple of targets over there where you can’t do any real harm. Get out of earshot of that pe-channas and get it out of your system, sir.’

‘I will so, Tinuon.’ He raised his voice. ‘Take over for me. Canadion, with me on the short range. Thiriston, come keep score for your fëa-mate.’ 

*

Legolas hurried through the corridors of the palace towards his father’s study. A summons to the king’s presence, especially in the early hours of the afternoon, did not usually bode well; his adar liked to keep those hours free for his own private work time, although the less generous did occasionally suggest the post-prandial hours were a very good time for a digestive nap…

Today, however, there was no suggestion of tiredness in Thranduil’s face when Legolas presented himself. Instead, his expression was determined, his eyes tight with something his son was tempted to read as anguish...

What was going on? Govon out-of-sorts, and now Adar was unhappy about something?

‘You wanted me, Father?’

‘Indeed, yes. Sit, ion-nin.’

‘Adar? Is everything all right?’

‘Given the current situation with your brothers… hardly. But that aside, Legolas, I want you to do something for me.’

‘If I can, of course…’

‘I want you to spend time with Flora and the infant.’ Thranduil fidgeted with something on his desk, unwilling to meet his son’s gaze. ‘I wish you to try and discover whether she would be willing to make her home here.’

‘What? But that would be just… she…’

‘I know, I know, ion-nin, it seems… extreme. But you can simply ask… ‘

‘I’m not sure I should, Father. That is, Flora has her own life to lead, she misses her mother; I am sure she would not like to live underground, even in a palace… probably especially in a palace, Adar…’

‘Well, if she wishes to have a dwelling close to, but not inside, the Palace complex, it could be arranged. If I am required to support her entire family, for them to be moved to the kingdom, so be it. In short, anything she wants.’

‘But… Adar… why?’

‘Why do you think, Legolas? The gwinig… I held him today and…’ 

Thranduil fell silent, shaking his head as he recalled the wonder of the moment, the intensity of his connection to the peredhel. Used to believing himself articulate, never at a loss for something to say, now words seemed to fail him. He took a moment, and tried again.

‘Understand, Legolas, it is one thing to cover Iauron’s mistakes and do what is right by the girl, to assist when all is but theory, but to see… to hold… the actual product of this unequal union… it is very different, ion-nin, and I do not know how I will be able to relinquish the babe…’

‘He doesn’t belong here, Adar. He’s Flora’s, she wants to raise him as a human child, amongst her people and…’

‘As a human child? How human? Would she deny him knowledge of the promise, then, would she inflict a human doom on him? Would she have him reject his elven heritage?’ Thranduil shook his head. ‘Of all the foolish things Iauron has done in his time, this is by far the worst! I should never have encouraged him to turn from her, I should have insisted… had I done so…’

How much would have been different had Iauron taken vows with Flora? There would have been no journey to meet with Imladris, there were dead warriors who would still be alive, Iauron himself would be well… Perhaps even Tharmeduil would not be now beyond the healer’s reach…

But it would do no good to try to rethink the past.

Thranduil sighed, and tried to rethink the present. He did not want Flora’s baby to leave the palace and, of course, that meant Flora must stay, also.

‘Legolas, speak to her gently, choose the right moment. See if she would like to be our guest for a time. I do not want to broach the topic to her myself; it may distress her, and Arveldir would no more know how to speak to her… Perhaps she will listen to you. She likes you, ion-nin…’

‘She likes Nestoril as well. Why don’t you ask our healer to talk to her?’

‘Because I am not sure Nestoril would quite grasp the importance of Flora’s staying…’

‘I’m not sure I do, either, Adar. You knew it would be this way – it’s how you wanted it to be, after all, from the start. Yes, you wanted to help Flora, and you have, and you and Arveldir made it quite plain that was all there would be… so now you want to change the rules?’

‘Now I have seen the babe, yes. I could not know, not imagine how strong an impression Iauron’s son would make upon me. Tell Flora whatever she wants we will provide if only she will stay here with the child… and make quite certain she understands that I say so from… because I am kind, if she asks.’

‘Adar?’

‘I heard her say so, that she thinks I am kind. I have not yet disillusioned her, so while she still believes it of me is a good time to suggest my idea to her…’

‘I don’t think it’s really a good idea, Father. Apart from anything else, she’s going to wonder why I’m asking and I don’t want her to get the wrong impression, or to be upset… and then…’

‘Just spend time with her. Talk to her, find out what she wants… if there is any way, ion-nin. Do not mistake, I would not insist that she stay, nor try to take the child – she ought to know this by now, Arveldir has said the wrong thing enough to her that it has had to be explained and explained again, after all… but… if there were some way, any way, Legolas…’

‘Adar…’ Legolas shook his head. ‘This is wrong. You know it is wrong, otherwise you would ask Nestoril to say something…’

‘Perhaps.’ Thranduil sighed. ‘But… it is a very long time, my son, since I have held a gwinig… my grandchild. Well. Perhaps you are right. Do not press her in any way. But… talk to her. If you can.’

*

It took three quivers of arrows and two targets before Govon regained some measure of composure. Canadion had been a good-natured, if circumspect, shooting partner, firing at the target next-but-one away from his Commander’s and not, at first, saying anything.

But once the ragged ire had gone from Govon’s elbow as he paused after the pull and before the release, and once he began aiming at the target rather than trying to obliterate it, Canadion ventured to commiserate and applaud in due course, Thiriston echoing his comments in his deep, throaty tones and finally Govon fired a shot, lowered his bow, and dropped his chin to his chest.

‘I am a very bad example of how to respond to impertinent comments, mellyn-nin,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Now, if Commander Esgaron has paid any attention, he may well be imagining you are getting a reprimand in private, Canadion, for gossiping about the events of yesterday. Which I know you were not doing, for he was recounting events which you were not privy to, as you were on the ground, so to speak.’

‘Did you hear? He was implying all sorts of things about the gwinig’s parentage…’

‘I heard.’ Govon sighed. ‘I have heard possibly all the stories you can imagine on the subject. And it was good of you to try to shift the blame… but onto your fëa-mate?’

‘Well, who else do I have the right to embroil in such a thing?’ Canadion smiled his easy smile and glanced across at Thiriston under his eyelashes. 

‘Besides, I know it isn’t true. Thiriston knows it isn’t true, and Flora knows…presumably… the truth of the matter… but, tell me, Commander, do you know who the child’s father is?’

Govon stared at Canadion, open-mouthed. Up until that point he had really thought the penneth knew…

‘Well, if I tell you that I know who it isn’t, will that satisfy you?’

‘No,’ Canadion said with a pout. ‘The story is that your prince is the guardian… and that Flora calls him melleth…’

Govon jammed a fist on his hip and turned to face Canadion, almost scowling as he replied.

‘Because she didn’t know his name and heard me call him that! At one point she thought he was called Ernilen, too… Yes, Legolas has accepted the responsibility, since the real father cannot take charge himself. But if our good Commander Esgaron should corner you on the topic, you could always point out that perhaps it is not possible to say the name of the person responsible…’

‘Oh. I see. I think.’ Canadion shrugged a shoulder and set off to collect his spent arrows, Govon with him to retrieve his own.

‘No, you do not. But if you say so to Esgaron, he will assume the father dead and that is why the name is unspoken… it may stop him pestering you, or from spreading tales.’

‘Oh, he wouldn’t dare pester me… he’s seen Thiriston fight…’

Govon nodded and when they returned to the waiting Thiriston, addressed him.

‘How’s the hand coming?’

‘Better each day. Going to see Nestoril tomorrow, see what she says. Only a few days to the first contest, Commander, and I don’t want to miss it…’

‘Well, better take an extra day or two now and be properly healed… It appears Glorfindel is taking a turn with the single sword… against Esgaron… Shall we go and watch?’

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Commander. Lead on.’


	226. Commanders Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Commanders discuss preparations for the forthcoming contests...

Esgaron sprawled on his back in the gritty dust of the practice arena, glaring up into the face of the Balrog-slayer. To give him his due, Glorfindel wasn’t gloating, or grinning, even, his expression deadly serious as he pointed the tip of his sword at Esgaron’s throat.

‘Did you know, in the old days, you could tell a lot about a person by how they were executed?’ he said softly, just loud enough for the beaten Commander’s hearing. ‘The upward throat cut for a liar, the heart pierced for a traitor, the belly opened for a coward… be glad you’re not living in the First Age, mellon, for your executioner would be spoiled for choice…’

He pulled up his blade with a flourish and walked away, presenting his back to the fallen commander, the strongest expression of contempt he could think of.

Govon, watching in awed respect, found Tinuon at his side.

‘Now that’s how to hold a grudge match, Commander; fighting against the one you’re offended by is usually better than sparring with one of your own…’

Govon found a rueful smile.

‘Well, I am not sure I would have the restraint of the good Balrog-slayer…’

Glorfindel walked past, his arm around Triwathon’s shoulder, grinning.

‘It is not restraint, Commander,’ he said. ‘More that I am waiting for the appropriate moment to extract my revenge… it is sweeter, that way.’

Commander Bregon came up.

‘What are you doing down there, Esgaron? The over-captain wants us… You too, Commander Govon… one of you fellows… Canadion, take a message to our prince that Commander Govon has been detained. Come, then. Esgaron, will you catch us up? Lunch meeting for the Commanders in the barracks now.’

‘Commander Govon?’ Canadion queried.

‘Yes, please do take word to our prince; we were meant to be meeting an hour ago, in fact. My thanks.’

Bregon waited for him to fall into step and set off towards the barracks.

‘Final details for the running order of the inter-command contests; Rawon wants to run them by us, specifically, by you. Something else has just come up, which means reorganising the timetable. And be aware…’ He paused to glance sidelong at Govon. ‘It will also give Commander Esgaron to note once more how unfortunate it is that the Court Guard be so few in number…’

‘I see… I think… Do you know, Commander, I used to like being in command of a guard flet? Things were so much simpler…’

Bregon laughed.

‘Be thankful you moved away from your flet, Govon, you’re a fine commander, whatever you may feel about it.’

Rawon had an office attached to the barracks and when Govon and Bregon arrived they found him seated at a table with chairs around it and food and wine waiting, giving the meeting a less-formal air than was usual for the over-captain.

‘Sit,’ he ordered. ‘Anything of note to report?’

‘Perhaps I should mention that Glorfindel has just walked off the field with his arm around one of my warriors,’ Govon said. ‘And that as neither the warrior nor I make no objection, and as I can assure you my warrior wasn’t the instigator, I wish it to be on record that if there are complaints, I will protest them.’

‘As would I,’ Bregon said.

‘Duly noted. Well, start eating; we can’t wait for Esgaron, we’ll be here all day. What’s he doing, do we know?’

‘Brushing off the dust of the arena from his hide,’ Bregon said. ‘Glorfindel bounced him around a few times. They do not seem to like each other, I can’t understand it…’

Rawon was still laughing when Esgaron arrived.

‘Come, sit, eat with us,’ the over-captain said, beckoning and recovering himself. ‘Now, to business… I have to arrange an escort for a small party through the forest and up the river to leave within a month at the most and there is scouting and other preparation to make… so therefore we’ve got to fit three contests into two weeks…’

‘They should all be run in the same week anyway,’ Esgaron protested. ‘That’s how we’ve always done these things before; a day’s competition and a day between…’

‘Well, we cannot do that this time; Commander Govon needs to field his entire command in the contests and so they will not have sufficient time for the permitted training unless there is more time allotted…’

‘This is what comes of having such a paltry number of warriors! Of course, if a commander cannot cope with a decent number to order…’

‘It is not that, and you know it, Esgaron,’ Bregon said. ‘The king himself decided how many should be in his personal Court Guard; it was not our place to argue with him… having said that, I am quite sure Commander Govon could easily manage a larger company…’

‘But to get back to the point,’ Rawon said with determination. ‘It means five days between contests rather than a week… we will cut back on some events if we must… how soon, Commander Govon, before your entire command are fit?’

‘My two injured go back to the healers’ hall tomorrow, and I am optimistic that one of the pair will be fine. The other may need a little longer…’

‘Thiriston, damaged hand?’ Rawon shook his head. ‘He’s been a while healing. And one of your stalwarts, too…’

‘Yes, our best hope for the wrestling and the knife throwing.’

‘And knives are down for the first day…’ Esgaron shook his head, but barely concealed a smile.

‘It was that, or wrestling,’ Rawon said with a hint of apology in his look. ‘Six disciplines, two each day, one target and one arena. Mornings for the rank and file contests to pick the opponents for the elite bouts with your hand-picked warriors in the afternoons. And then to cap the entire thing, Glorfindel’s mysterious and so-far secret contest in honour of Gondolin.’ Rawon shook his head. ‘I would quietly forget it, if I could, but his majesty our king is insisting…’

‘It is indeed a mystery,’ Bregon said. ‘And some of us were wondering if, perhaps, Lord Glorfindel might have consulted with our own prince on the topic, and if so, were there any hints that might have been dropped…?’

Govon felt three sets of eyes on him and was glad he currently had a mouthful of bread and cheese; it gave him a much-needed moment to consider the question while he chewed and swallowed.

‘Commander, all I know is what we all know; it is a contest formerly popular in Gondolin and one Lord Ecthelion himself excelled in. I know all we Commanders are instructed to take part, and that Glorfindel himself is competing. I’ll admit I’m glad I do not know more, because if I did I would have to disappoint you; my loyalty would first have to be to our prince, of course.’

‘Oh, of course,’ Rawon said with a rare smile.

‘But on the subject, Over-Captain – if Glorfindel is competing, will that not give him an unfair advantage since he knows this… skill and none of us do, yet?’

‘Do not complain, Govon! He has declared himself an honorary member of the Court Guard for this particular contest… and he assures me it is not a skill where practice is necessarily an advantage as there is a handicap system… one more point,’ Rawon continued. ‘As all the Commanders and seconds are to take part in the Gondolinian event, none of you will compete in the regular contests as a result…’

‘But, Rawon…’ Esgaron complained 

‘Over-Captain…’ Bregon added his voice to the protest.

‘That is how it will be. It does leave Commander Govon with only five warriors to field in the six disciplines, and so Glorfindel will act as your sixth warrior, Commander… if you do not object…?’

‘Well, I object!’ Esgaron said. ‘He is a menace! He does not fight as you expect him to, he…’

‘At least he does not cheat in order to forfeit a match he is otherwise about to lose with ignominy,’ Rawon said with finality. ‘So, I have timetables drawn up for you all and you will see there is space for some practice, yet. I want lists from you of who will compete at what discipline within the next few days. Now, let’s set work aside and enjoy the food, shall we? It’s not often we get a chance to sit down, Commanders together…’


	227. Worrying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas visits Flora... and then talks to Govon...

‘I wondered how long it would be before you turned up, my prince,’ Nestoril said, smiling. ‘Am I right to assume it’s Flora you’re wanting, or have you come to sit with your brothers?’

‘I’d like to see Flora, if that’s all right,’ Legolas said. ‘I’ll look in on Iauron and Tharmeduil later, though. Any more word on when they leave us?’

‘There is a lot to organise,’ Nestoril said. ‘At present, I have only the vaguest of ideas of what is required, so detailed planning will have to wait. Come through.’

Legolas followed the healer to Flora’s room, waiting patiently while Nestoril made sure Flora was ready for visitors.  
Flora was in a chair near the window, the baby in a crib at her side. She smiled when she saw Legolas and got to her feet to give him a swift, friendly hug.

‘It’s you! Legolas!’

‘It’s me, indeed,’ he agreed, taking the seat opposite her and glancing at Nestoril as she perched herself on the windowsill. ‘I’ve come to take a proper look at your baby – the last time I saw him, he was in need of a wash and a feed…’

‘Well, here he is, all clean, and fed, and pretending to sleep.’ Flora smiled, her voice softening as she leaned over the cradle. ‘He had a cuddle this morning from no less a person that the king himself… and he behaved quite badly!’

‘Oh? Adar didn’t say…’

Nestoril smiled.

‘We had to send out for fresh clothing from the royal wardrobes… Belegornor’s wrappings were not quite absorbent enough… so if you were wanting to hold your nephew, I have a sheet of leather with some towels on top, all prepared and ready…’

‘I see. Well, it would be a shame to disturb him…’

But that didn’t stop Legolas from looking into the crib and staring at the gwinig. And even without the dubious benefit of holding him, suddenly he understood why his father wanted Iauron’s son to stay in the palace, why he didn’t want to let go of this last sign of how vital and alive Iauron had been.

That didn’t make it right, of course.

And yet his father had asked him to speak…

Legolas found a smile on his face that was unconnected with the task entrusted him and which had everything to do with the baby in the cradle…

His nephew.

He looked up, and saw that Nestoril had settled herself on the windowsill with every appearance of being there for the duration of his visit. 

For a second he was nettled, realising her presence would only hamper him in the execution of his father’s request… and was then relieved and glad for exactly the same reason.

‘I know it’s very early days, Flora, but have you given any thought to what you will do next?’ he said, by way of introducing his topic. ‘If you need to stay in the palace for a time, I’m sure we could find some decent chambers for you…?’

She shook her head.

‘It’s very kind. But I sent a letter to my mother – it went up on the trading barge – telling her she had a new grandson – and Healer Nestoril says, as soon as we hear back that she’s ready for me to come home, she will bespeak a cart and we can be off.’

‘So soon?’ Legolas looked at Nestoril for confirmation. 

‘I expect it will take a few days for the messages to pass back and forth,’ the healer said. ‘But, yes. After all, why not? Both mother and baby are doing well, and it is what Flora wants. And she is an excellent mother!’

‘I helped with my niece, when she was born,’ Flora said. ‘But it is so much better, with my own baby. I… I did not know it would be this wonderful…’

Nestoril got up from her impromptu seat and pressed her hands on Flora’s shoulders.

‘Of course it is wonderful, Flora. A new life is always special. Well, I must go back to my duties now. Legolas, now would be a good time to sit with your brothers, since they will need to be attended soon.’

He smiled, accepting this was not the moment to offer his father’s suggestions, and got to his feet.

‘I’ll come again, Flora – I do want to hold this baby of yours, even if it is a risky business! Be well.’

He followed Nestoril out of the room and when she took up her station behind the duty desk, leaned on it, and favoured the healer with his most-winning smile.

‘Why do I feel you didn’t want me to be alone with Flora, Nestoril?’

‘What, aside from the fact that your avowed fëa-mate isn’t here and Flora has called you melleth more than once…?’

‘Ness…’

She laughed and shook her head.

‘Forgive me. But I feel rather protective of Flora, and would not wish her to be distressed again. It was bad enough with Arveldir and then your father…’ She broke off with a sigh. ‘Although he was on his best behaviour this morning, even when the baby… So, you were going to visit your brothers?’

‘Indeed. I’ll see you on my way out.’

* 

Returning to his rooms after twenty minutes sitting with Iauron and talking to Tharmeduil, Legolas found a note on the table saying Govon had been delayed at the barracks… but the sound of splashing from the bathing room seemed to contradict the message.

He made his way through to the sleeping room and the bathing room beyond, smiling as he saw his fëa-mate in the water.

‘I saw the note, friend captain,’ he said, smiling as Govon turned at his voice. ‘It seems you were not too much delayed?’

‘Or you had a busy day and so the time went faster for you than expected, perhaps. I’m more than two hours later than I thought.’

‘Well, my father summoned me, which I did not expect… and then sent me to speak to Flora. While there, I sat with my brothers for a few minutes. Is all well, Govon?’

‘It depends on one’s definition of the word ‘well’... Commander Esgaron is enquiring as to why there is a human female with a newly-born peredhel in the palace and is speculating as to the paternity of said peredhel…’

‘Oh, that is not good…’

‘No, it is not… especially when Canadion, in an attempt to distract the commander, suggested Thiriston might be the father… it is fortunate Thiriston was in a good mood… subsequently Glorfindel crossed blades with Esgaron in a practice bout and utterly defeated him, which was the highlight of the day, really.’

‘I wish I had been there.’

‘I wish you had, too.’ There was a dullness to Govon’s voice as he said it that was somehow worrying. ‘All this was followed by a meeting to discuss the contests to mark the end of the Court Guard… the timings are to be altered because Rawon also has to organise an escort company, but would say no more about that… but it has to be the company that will take your brothers to their ship, and it brought it home to me, once more, that I will soon be adrift without a purpose and it is all very well for your father to say he has matters under consideration, but that is no help to me and why does he send you to talk to Flora? If you wish to visit her, you do not need to wait for him to grant you some sort of permission…’

‘No, you misunderstand; the only person’s permission I would consider asking before visiting Flora is yours. Believe me, melleth, I would rather not have gone, but my father made much of it. But it seems she will not be here for many more days, I think.’

‘Forgive me.’ Govon sighed. ‘It has felt like a very long morning.’

He stretched out a hand to reach for his towel, but he’d left it too far from the pool and gave an exasperated grimace.

‘Let me help.’ 

Legolas picked up the towel and walked towards the edge of the pool where Govon was climbing out.

‘No, I am fine.’

‘Clearly, you are not.’ Legolas shook out the towel and held it for Govon to walk into. ‘You have had a difficult morning and came back to empty chambers. Let me? Please?’

With a sigh Govon stood for Legolas to wrap him in the towel. The prince held him, smoothing his hands over the fabric in gentle circles, drying and soothing at the same time.

‘I hate to see you like this, friend captain,’ he said. ‘You keep your worries private so I am often at a loss as to whether it is something I can help with, or if it is even something I have done, but I don’t wish to force your confidence and…’

He broke off, his eyes focussed on Govon’s chest while he patted his shoulders dry. Normally by now, Govon would have rolled his eyes and shook his head.

‘It is nothing you have done. It is… it is, I think, rather that now the baby is here… I thought I understood your involvement, I thought I did not mind, but now… I am sorry, my fair elf, but I am afraid.’

‘Of what? Come, tell me?’ Legolas pulled Govon out of the bathing room and into the bedroom, sitting on the bed and tugging Govon’s hands until he joined him. ‘If I don’t know, how can I help?’

‘If I thought you could help, I would have spoken. As it is, I did not want us both worrying…’

‘Well, it has not worked; we are both worrying, only about different things, whereas if it were over the same things we might be able to achieve something.’

‘It is a very different thing, to hear that there will be a baby, and then to actually know it has arrived, it is real. I am… unreasonable, perhaps. But do you not see? Your brothers will sail, and for all your father said that Iauron has already had other children, this peredhel baby is his last achievment here…’

‘I had a similar thought myself…’

‘Yes; and what is your father thinking? If he sent you to speak to the girl…’

‘It is really nothing to worry about; Flora has already made plans to go home…’

‘So there is something? Come, my fair elf, you wanted me to talk, now it is your turn…’

Legolas sighed.

‘My father… he wanted me to see whether Flora might like to stay in the palace, she and her son.’

Govon was briefly silent as he stared at Legolas and then his concern broke out.

‘You see? Thranduil has changed his mind, has he not, from what he said about not wanting a peredhel to inherit?’

‘Oh, I do not think that, melleth… whatever else he is, my father is honourable and his word is utterly to be trusted…’

‘Whatever else he is? He is a grand-adar, that’s what else he is! It will colour his thinking…’

‘I must admit, he did say I should offer Flora anything if she would…’

‘Anything? Including you? Oh, my fair elf, how long before he decides that these supposed other offspring of Iauron’s are not required, that they have not been accustomed to palace ways? But that here, in this babe, new and malleable, is an opportunity to raise up an infant in the way he would wish? How long before he realises that the only way to legitimise the presence of such a peredhel is with an elven step-father? And who but you, already sponsor for the child, its uncle, would be expected to step forward?’

‘Govon!’ Legolas shook his head, unable to protest loudly enough, clearly enough at this. ‘Even if that were what Adar wanted, I would not…! You, I love you, melleth-nin, my fëa-mate, my… my everything, and nothing my father might say could…’

Govon shook his head.

‘You asked what was worrying me. Do you see, at last? I couldn’t bear losing you.’

‘But… but we are vowed. We cannot be sundered and my father would not try, I am sure… besides, Flora…’

‘Wishes to leave, yes. But how much of your father’s offer did you put to her?’

‘Really, none of it; Nestoril was present and I was never more grateful that she stayed in a room than today! For it meant that all I could do was ask what she was planning next… I had no chance to make any offers, and so I will tell my father. And if he likes it not, well, I shall tell him to ask Flora himself. With Nestoril present, and we will see what our healer has to say about that!’


	228. Arwen's Solution to Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arwen has yet another idea...

Since the birth of Iauron’s son, Arwen had not quite known what to do with herself. Two days had passed since then and the sting of having thought she would be useful and needed at the birth, and then finding instead that she knew less about the event than the warrior Thiriston, being dismissed and ignored and sent walking back home was still rankling… well, had anything like it happened at home, her Adar would have had Something To Say about it…

Thoughts of her father made her suddenly homesick, and she thought of the ordered elegance of the architecture of Rivendell, the wide, tended spaces around the Last Homely House. She would miss it, she realised, when she sailed.

She sighed and walked to the small window in her chamber. The guest rooms in Mirkwood’s Great Cave Palace were very nice, well-appointed and comfortably-furnished… but not the most comfortable bed in the world could make up for walls made of living rock and only the smallest of windows, in some cases more like tunnels, really, bored through the rock to the outside world to admit light but not much else. 

So Arwen peered through two arms’ lengths of window-ledge in the hopes of a glimpse of the outside world, but all she could see was sky, bright and blue and somehow made more distant by the depth of the rock between her and the window.  
Turning away, she crossed to a table where a note lay folded. It had been delivered that morning and was in Lord Arveldir’s hand, with a postscript from Erestor added on. She had read it and discarded it in a mixture of sadness and anger and unconscious self-pity and now turned to it again in the hopes of finding more information therein.

‘Lady Arwen,’ the note said. ‘We are now in the first stages of planning our princes’ journey to the Undying Lands. The current scheme is to meet representatives of the Havens at Lothlórien, and if you are still determined on joining Prince Iauron on his journey, this will afford you an opportunity to send messages back to your kin at Imladris. However, if, on reflection, you would prefer to visit Imladris in person before you leave these lands, it would be highly useful if you would let me know within the next few days, so that we may reorder our journey accordingly…’

Erestor’s addition was far more direct.

‘My lady,’ he began. ‘I had been hoping that a little reflection will have made you aware of the enormity of the step you are now considering. Once you take ship, you cannot return. You will be parted, for many long years, from your father, your brothers, your friends. While it is true that in the Undying Lands you will meet your dear mother once more, can you imagine how she will respond to the thought that you have abandoned your siblings and your Adar? She, who had such high hopes for you in Middle Earth, who saw your continuance at Imladris as one of the few comforts for your father when she had to leave? And then there is the matter of Prince Iauron himself. Are you certain that sailing and binding yourself to him is your only choice? The situation with your father notwithstanding, there are other places where you can settle and find a home. I have my own reasons for not wishing to return to Imladris at present, but they are not your reasons and should not be your reasons. I urge you to reconsider, my lady, before you take a course of action you may very soon regret.’

What troubled Arwen most was that, perhaps in some ways, Erestor was right. Now that her initial outrage at her adar had faded, she found herself softening towards him, a little. But still, he had treated her as if she were of no consequence for so long now that she really held out no hope of him ever treating her as if she mattered. But if she mattered, why had he not sent to ask for her?

Her brothers might miss her, true. But they spent most of their time riding out and killing orcs and wargs, and they had each other, so they would be fine without her.

In fact, she was sure, on reflection, that all of Middle-Earth would be fine without her.

So she had better sail, then, and get out of everybody’s way.

Sometimes she wished she could get out of her own way, as well.

A knock on her door shook her out of her miserable thoughts and although she didn’t want to see anyone, it was a distraction, so she went to see who was there.

She was pleasantly surprised to see Merlinith smiling at her.

‘I hope you do not mind my calling on you,’ she said, waving a little bag which she carried. ‘But I wanted to ask you where I am going wrong; I tried that new stitch you showed me, but I am nowhere near as neat as you and I am sure my work is losing stitches…’

‘Merlinith, of course I do not mind. Would you like to come in?’

Merlinith wrinkled her nose.

‘I was going to suggest we take our work into the gardens; it will be brighter there, and it is much fresher since the storm… I understand you were there when the baby was born, I have been longing to talk about it to you, but Govon said I was to leave you alone! However, he and Legolas have gone off somewhere, and I have a free hour and…’

Arwen smiled.

‘I will get my work bag.’

‘And a cloak, perhaps? The ground may be damp.’

‘A moment, then.’

Arwen collected her things and the two ladies made their way through the palace to the outer doors, finding a quite spot in the palace gardens to settle. Dappled sunlight filtered down and the trees rustled a gentle song in the light breeze and within moments, Arwen felt better. 

‘So. Tell me all,’ Merlinith said, arranging her crochet work on her lap. ‘Govon will tell me nothing except that it is nothing to do with him… by which he means it is nothing to do with me! But I helped search the palace for the woman, and so I want to know, I need to know about this gwinig…’

‘Well… yes, as you supposed, I was there at the birth. The woman had set off for home, without letting anyone know, if you please – and had got lost in the woods. I was with Legolas and Govon, and Legolas can read the forest, apparently, and the trees somehow told him where to go…’

‘Oh, yes, I know how our forest talks to those it particularly favours. Lucky for the woman, that you found her!’

‘Well, we were not first; it was two others of Govon’s command, who were in the forest for some other reason… I stayed while Govon came back for help and I was there, yes…’

‘Was it a long birth? Did she manage? They say humans suffer terribly; they do not know how to properly listen to their bodies, not that I know, of course. Or you, for that matter…’

‘After we arrived, all seemed to happen quite swiftly. I saw the child born – but they would not let me take him, they handed him to Flora and then the healer came and took over. He seemed a very tiny baby, but he has little pointed tips to his ears… he is very lovely and I cannot believe I have not seen him yet! I have not liked to go and ask… it might seem odd…’

‘Might it?’ Merlinith said mildly. ‘When you were there, and helped? Is it not natural that you would wish to see him? How long is it now since he was born, was it two days ago? Three?’

‘It was the day of the storm. I have kept away, since, I have not even been to see Iauron… the day she got back to the healers’ hall, I had already visited, but yesterday, I did not go; the king planned a visit, Erestor said that Lord Arveldir had told him, and so it seemed better to keep away a little longer.’

‘I was going to ask Govon again tonight – that’s if he comes over tonight, he has been under a little strain… these tournaments he is practicing for… but once we are done here, if you like, I would bear you company? I would like to see the princes, before they sail, and if you are there…’

‘It will make it easier for you to gain permission? Then I will be glad to help, my friend.’

‘And you will still sail at the same time our princes go?’ Merlinith moved the conversation on.

‘Yes. My father does not seem to miss me. Iauron and I are meant to be together, I am sure… and so I will sail…’ She thought for a moment. 

‘Merlinith? What would happen, do you think, if a peredhel baby too young to speak for himself were to arrive on the shores of Valinor? He would be allowed in, would he not?’

‘I… Arwen, I do not tend to think of Valinor at all! I am Silvan; we have no wish to sail and so know very little about it. But I do not understand…’

‘Flora knows about the Promise, and she knows that when he is old enough, the baby can choose whether to be counted amongst humankind or elvenkind. She is going to raise him as a human, so he will be lost, Iauron’s son will die before he has even had the chance to hold him… but what if she were to let me take him?’

‘Oh, my lady!’ Merlinith interrupted. ‘I do not think that is a good idea at all; the woman would surely not give up her son? He is her baby, she must love him…’

‘But if she loves him, she wold surely do what was best for him? It would be so much easier for her, it would be right, he would be with his father, and he could be brought up in Valinor and live forever and…’ Arwen’s eyes sparkled as a vision of herself presenting Iauron’s son to him on the far side of the Sundering Seas drifted before her eyes. ‘It is the solution to everything!’


	229. Away From All This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas tries to convince Govon to take some time off...

At around the same time that Arwen announced her idea to a startled and gently-disapproving Merlinith, Legolas was watching the Court Guard’s practice session and keeping a particular eye on Govon.

In truth, he’d had other hopes for the day, believing Govon needed time away from practice, away from the constant reminder of his soon-to-be-lost command position, away from Esgaron’s needling, but his fëa-mate would have none of it.

‘The dates have been brought forward, the time between contests reduced, Thiriston has only just gained permission from Healer Nestoril to start working his hand again; my warriors need me there to support them. Even if I am little more than a figurehead…’

‘You are far more than that; you are their Commander, their advocate, their leader, no, I understand. Well, I will come with you, and I will watch, and I will bring things so that we do not need to return to the palace, after, but instead can go into the forest. You need to get away from all this.’

‘Yes, because our beloved, spider-filled forest is such an easy place to find peace…’

Legolas had laughed. 

‘Consider, we have all but obliterated the spider population this summer… and I know a perfect spot… there are so many places in the woods I wish to share with you, friend captain, and we have hardly begun yet…’

‘It’s true, I would like that, time with you, away from… from everything that isn’t us. All right.’

So Legolas had stowed the makings of a perfect afternoon into his pack and it rested at his side, now, as he watched Govon oversee Thiriston’s first knife practice in the small target area a little way from the main arena and archery range. Canadion kept him good-natured company, an enthusiastic supporter to Thiriston who was, it had to be said, a little rusty.

‘Ai, it’s hard to see him struggle,’ Canadion sighed as Thiriston’s first set of knives wobbled their way into the target, mostly towards the outer edges. ‘And he was so expert before…’

‘He will be again. The hand and arm do not forget; they simply have to be reminded. All your friend needs is patience and time.’

‘Time we do not have, my prince. Patience… ah, well, on some matters… he will put up endlessly with my untidiness and my prattling on…’

‘And right now, he would like it if you would prattle on a little more quietly!’ Thiriston called over with a glare that somehow didn’t look particularly fierce. ‘Trying to practice here!’

‘Sorry!’ Canadion called back, unabashed. ‘I will try to talk softly.’

‘Perhaps do not talk at all,’ Thiriston growled. ‘At least, not about me…’

‘But he is everything to me,’ Canadion murmured. ‘What else should I talk about?’

‘Well, there is a story that you and Thiriston intend to make vows,’ Legolas said. ‘Do you have any plans in place, yet?’

‘We are waiting first to find out what becomes of us, after the Court Guard… it is hard to decide on a when and a where, when we do not know where we will be…’

‘Yes, you are not the only ones who are inconvenienced by my father’s reticence on the matter…’ Legolas sighed. ‘Well, when you have plans, speak to me. You have both served well, protecting my father and my brother. We would wish to recognise your service in some way.’

‘That is very kind, my prince… My Naneth… she would be most impressed if our union had royal approval…’

‘But you are fëa-mate to a renowned warrior; it is true, he has not always been, perhaps, respectable, but he has more than proved himself of late… since joining the Court Guard he has killed a dragon and delivered a baby, and if that does not demonstrate his resourcefulness and versatility, I do not know who your Naneth would be impressed by!’

Canadion sighed.

‘An elleth. Any elleth, in fact. It being the only way I could make up for the crime of being born an ellon… I am such a disappointment to her…’

‘Oh, she is that sort of a Naneth? I am sorry it should be so. My father is always telling one or other of us that we are a disappointment to him – but he is fair enough that he never blames us for things outside our control. It cannot be easy.’

‘No,’ Canadion said softly, ‘but he is worth it.’

‘And he is getting used to the throw again already; look, he stands more easily, his shoulders have less tension…’ 

Canadion held his breath as he and Legolas watched Thiriston prepare for his throw. His arm was easy, his wrist relaxed as he gave just the right amount of flick to the blade to set it tumbling through the air in a wheel of steel. It thunked into the outer bull of the target and Canadion whistled approval.

Thiriston turned to glower over his shoulder, but he was grinning at the same time.

‘Indeed. Just think what I might have done had I not been distracted by the thought of your Naneth’s disapproval…’

‘Your pardon, Thiriston; it is my fault, I asked Canadion about your forthcoming avowing.’

‘I see, my prince. Well, would you care to take a turn yourself? My knives are yours for the throwing…?’

Legolas got up from his seat and sauntered over.

‘I generally keep my knives in my hand when I fight – mostly. So this is one area where I could use tuition, I suppose…’

‘It is all in the wrist action,’ Thiriston said.

‘You will be fine, then,’ Govon added with a wink and a grin.

Under his fëa-mate’s approving eye and with Thiriston making suggestions on stance and technique, Legolas hurled his first knife at the target. The throw was long enough, but the knife hadn’t quite finished its tumble and struck the target handle-first, bouncing off to lie in the grass.

‘An easy mistake for the first throw,’ Thiriston said. ‘Either cast it harder, or start with the knife reversed in your hand, or take a step and a half back… or forward, if you’re not confident… Try again.’

Legolas sent a second knife after the first, putting more speed and effort into the throw, and this time the blade circled correctly to bury itself into the outer ring.

‘Better, my prince, much better.’

‘Really?’

‘Well, nobody was every killed by the hilts of a knife bouncing off them; you’d have maimed your victim, at least.’

‘You see? Even out of practice, you are better than I am…’

‘My prince?’ Canadion called from his seat. ‘I can see Lord Erestor at the practice ring… it looks as if he is seeking one of us, for someone is nodding and pointing over here, and the good advisor seems to be in haste…’

‘Thank you.’ Legolas handed the knives back to Thiriston with a nod, dashed to retrieve his pack and grabbed Govon by the hand. ‘Thiriston, Canadion – you do not know where we are, where we are going, or how long we will be. I am grateful.’

And with that he tugged Govon into the forest, disappearing within seconds into the shadows of the trees.

*

The forest folded itself around them so that within a few heartbeats they could have been miles away from the practice area. Legolas slowed and stopped, turning to grin at Govon.

‘No doubt I will be called to account later for running away,’ he said. ‘But we will have our afternoon.’ He lifted his head and half-closed his eyes, breathing in through his nose to fill himself up with the air of the wood. He was seeking a particular chemical signature, one with layers and levels to it, one that suggested great age… ‘It’s this way. Change of direction, we head north-east for about twenty minutes. The going should not be too difficult.’

‘And where exactly are we going?’

Legolas smiled, a slow and promising lift of the mouth, his eyes shining.

‘You will see. It is one of the best ways to spend an hour alone, and so with you, it will be much more fun.’

It took them rather more than twenty minutes, because Legolas kept finding beautiful vistas through the trees which he needed to point out, each time taking the opportunity of putting a hand on Govon’s shoulder, or an arm around his waist, little, friendly contacts just meant to reassure and comfort and, perhaps, promise, but eventually they struck a path.

‘Not far, now. Come.’

‘Legolas, wait…’

Govon hung back so that his fëa-mate was compelled to either stop or drop his hand. 

Of course, he stopped.

‘What is it, melleth?’

‘That line of silver birch, there. It’s the boundary marker for the royal elk tamers’ acres; we may not pass.’

‘Yes, we may. That’s but the boundary for hunters; the actual boundary is the stream beyond. But not many people know that. Adar told me, once. Which makes where I’m taking you even more special; nobody except the elk tamers believe they’re allowed there… and they would never think of doing what we are going to do.’ He grinned a challenge. ‘Or at least, what I hope we’re going to do. Will you come?’

‘Very well. For you, I will come. After all, I am but a lowly guard, following my prince… if anyone asks…’

‘Not lowly. Come.’

A little way further into the buffer zone between permitted and forbidden territory, an ancient oak, huge even by Mirkwood’s standards, rose up. Its bark was deeply crenelated and crevassed, and many strong branches reached out from the main trunk. Its leaves were that deep, rich green of high summer, and already fruits were starting to form, tiny nubs of acorns nestling at the junctions of the leaves.

Legolas placed his hands on the trunk of the tree, laid his face against it, breathing for a moment and listening to the life of the tree within.

‘Good,’ he said, pushing away from the tree. ‘It knows we are here, it acknowledges us, so we may climb.’

Govon gave a shrug and followed him, the tree complicit in the ascent, helping him find his way up towards the crown of the tree. Insects fluttered or buzzed or hummed, their tiny lives carrying on without interruption as they went about their business unconcerned by the elves so near to them.

Legolas stopped on a wide, thick branch, holding on lightly to the trunk.

‘This will do,’ he said, sitting astride the branch and facing towards the trunk, his feet finding purchase in lesser branches all around.

‘It’s wonderful,’ Govon said. ‘The finest oak I’ve met to date… never having been inside the forbidden zone…’

He grinned and sat facing Legolas, straddling the branch.

‘Was that… did you just smile?’ Legolas asked. ‘Unprompted?’

‘Yes.’ Govon nodded. ‘You were right, I needed to get away. And… from up here, everything else is far away, there is only us.’

‘That’s what I was hoping,’ the prince replied, opening the pack and bringing out a pack of food and a bottle of beer. ‘Lunch first, and then…’

‘Then…?’

‘Friend captain, you will see.’

For the first time in what felt like forever, Govon felt himself really relax as the murmur of the tree around him soothed his fraught senses, the sight of his fëa-mate balm to his eyes, his voice calming and amusing with his clever words and light conversation, and soon the food was gone, the beer shared, and Legolas cleared away the remains of the meal with an air of anticipatory mystery that was intriguing and enticing, piquing Govon’s curiosity.

From the pack Legolas now removed a soft green blanket and what seemed to be a tangled net of sturdy, slender rope with bracing bars across either end, and long strands of rope extending from it. He passed one end to Govon.

‘Would you make that fast around the branch, a little further out from where you are sitting? Your best knots; it will need to take some strain.’

‘Why?’ Govon asked as Legolas jumped lightly across to an adjacent branch and began to untangle the net. ‘What is this for?’

‘For? It is for us,’ Legolas said. ‘A solitary pleasure long remembered but which I think will be even better shared with you. It is a hammock, and you will love it.’

He hurried to straighten out the network and lashed the ropes securely around the branch, ensuring all was tight and strong, waiting while Govon checked his rope-work before throwing the blanket out over the netted hammock.

‘This tree knows what I’m doing; I’ve done it often enough before… when I wanted to escape my brothers, or Adar… so if there should be an accident, we will have plenty of chances to slow ourselves on the way down, the lower branches will catch us. But just in case…’ He slung another rope around the branch, near to the securing line of the hammock, and cast it across to Govon. ‘Make that fast, too, and then we have a line to steady ourselves for getting in and out. But usually, I used to just jump.’

‘Jump.’ It was not a question, more of an echo with slight tones of exasperation.

‘Like this.’

Legolas positioned himself on the branch and dropped, landing in the hammock and setting it swaying even as the sides curved protectively around him. He fought his way up and grinned at Govon.

‘Come on. I will catch you.’

Govon grinned back and shook his head.

‘I would flatten you! Or propel you out by accident…’

He took hold of the rope and used that to guide himself over the hammock so that he could join his fëa-mate. A little wriggling ensued while he turned so that he could lie facing Legolas and properly beside him. 

The hammock and the soft blanket obligingly cocooned them both, pulling them together. The whole thing felt comfortable and safe and yet, somehow, slightly dangerous as it rocked and swayed softly.

Legolas put his arms around his friend captain and gently kissed his forehead.

‘This is nice,’ he said. ‘It is so much better than I remember it. Do you like?’

Govon sighed, content, and wriggled closer.

‘It is indeed wonderful. But one question: Is it possible to make love in a hammock?’

‘I do not know,’ Legolas said. ‘I have never tried. But… shall we find out?’


	230. Of Missing Princes and Arwen, Explaining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arveldir faces his king, and Merlinith wonders about Arwen's sanity...

Arveldir swallowed, trying not to let his trepidation show. He had faced Thranduil’s wrath many times in the course of his duties, naturally, and so ought to be used to his king’s displeasure by now.

But there had something about this particular request that had seemed far too casually-asked for, giving it an added, secret significance… so to have to stand here, now, and admit to failure…

Thranduil’s study was supposedly a less-stressful place to face the king, too. But not today.

The king waited, his head tilted to one side, an expression that was a fraction from a smile on his face.

‘So do you have news for me, or not, Arveldir?’

‘Of sorts, my king. Erestor has been assisting in the search to locate the prince, but, as even when he arrived for their breakfast meeting, Legolas’ chambers were empty, it would appear your son intended an absence today. Subsequent investigations revealed the fact that he had been at the practice grounds this morning, overseeing the session attended by some of the Court Guard, but he had left prior to Erestor’s arrival…’

‘Does not Commander Govon know Legolas’ whereabouts?’

‘Commander Govon had left the training grounds, also.’

‘I see. And have you been able to discover whether or not my son has visited the healers’ hall at all of late?’

‘Indeed; Healer Nestoril spoke of a visit to see his… ward recently.’

‘Today?’

‘Ah… no, sire.’

‘Yesterday, then?’ 

Thranduil’s face had by now lost any hint that it might have been on the verge of a smile. His eyes grew stern.

‘When, then?’

‘The day before… that is, the same day that you had yourself visited… later, of course…’

‘I see.’

Well, that might, in part, explain why no word had come from Nestoril, for Thranduil was quite certain that, had Legolas passed on his request that Flora consider remaining in the palace, the Healer would have had something to say on the matter.

His advisor was looking acutely worried and Thranduil realised he was expecting a reprimand or worse, for once not recognising that the expression of disapproval had nothing to do with his inability to track down Legolas.

‘Very well, Arveldir. You may go; no doubt you have other matters to attend to.’

‘Indeed, sire, a considerable number.’

*

‘It is the solution to everything!’ Arwen had said.

Merlinith looked at her for a moment. With no prior knowledge of Imladris or Elrond or what it was like to be driven to use crochet as self-defence, she had pretty much accepted Arwen at face-value, simply seeing in her an elleth in need of a little friendly mothering. Now, however, she wondered if her new friend were deranged.

‘Arwen, I am afraid I do not quite understand you – the solution to what everything?’

‘Why, to…to all of it! Merlinith, do you not see?’

‘No,’ Merlinith said, in kindly tones. ‘I am afraid I do not see at all! But that is perhaps because I know so little of your situation…’

‘Well. My father is horrid, he ignores me or he dismisses me or tells me I wouldn’t understand, and my grand-naneth talks in riddles, or in lectures and scolds… and I do not know which is worse… and if I am not with one, I am with the other and there is no escaping them unless I marry, or sail.

‘And so you will do both, to make your point most strongly? I think it is very noble of you to wish to stand beside our prince and sail with him… but you are really still quite young, and very lovely. Are you sure you will not meet another, who might love you, this side of the seas?’

‘It is unlikely,’ Arwen said with dignity.

‘Ai, what a pity that is! But then, it is quite possible to live happily with neither husband, father or grand-naneth, you know. I have done so for centuries, and it is nice, mostly.’

‘But you have a brother…’

‘And do you not have two brothers? You see, in that you are more fortunate than I.’

‘It is different,’ Arwen insisted.

‘Of course it is, my dear!’ Merlinith said with a smile. ‘It always is different! But if you were, for example, to make your home here, and give up thought of Prince Iauron – for which none would blame you and, indeed, our king could make it seem that you are the injured party and gain sympathy for you – very soon you would find a long queue of handsome warriors at your door wishing to take your mind off your troubles…’

‘R… really?’

‘Really.’

‘But… the difference in our stations…’

‘Oh, do not you worry about that! We Silvans are not so proud that we object to a little peredhel blood here and there… it would not do for us to be ruled by a peredhel, you understand – but for one such as yourself to settle amongst the warriors, it would not be a problem.’

‘I see,’ Arwen said faintly. ‘Thank you for clearing that up, Merlinith.’

‘So do not you worry about that, my dear. And if it came to it, there is plenty of room in my chambers, now that Govon has moved out. We have use of shared bathing rooms and everything, it is a very good set of rooms.’

‘You are very kind, Merlinith,’ Arwen said. ‘But… I do not think I can give Iauron up. He… he loves me.’

Merlinith sucked her teeth. Although not one to speak ill of the royal family, she was not unaware that Iauron had been, in his day, a rather dashing figure but not one given to declarations of eternal love.

‘Well, you know him better than I,’ she said. ‘So that much I understand… although it might be better to try to talk to your father and grand-naneth than just to run away from them…’

‘Run away? Oh, but that is not it at all, Merlinith…’

‘Then I beg your pardon,’ Merlinith said, comfortable in the knowledge that the stricken expression that had just flitted across Arwen’s face was, in fact, recognition and that her words had hit home. ‘So that explains why you want to sail with my prince, I think… but not why you would wish to steal the peredhel baby from its mother?’

‘Not steal, Merlinith!’ Arwen said, shaking her head. ‘It would not be right just to take the baby. But… but the child will die. It will live for eight or nine decades at most, it will never know its immortal heritage, its history, its father…’

‘His, Arwen,’ Merlinith corrected. ‘His heritage, his history, his father. But he will know his human ancestry, his mother’s love. And who is to say that he will choose the human path? He may listen to all his mother says on the matter and then, once she has died and is not here to be hurt by his choices, he may choose to learn more about his elven heritage.’

‘Well… I thought… it might be easier for the girl. Some humans settlements are very sniffy about female persons having babies and not being married.’

‘I see. But surely, that is for Flora to decide?’

‘She might not know that she has any other choice. But for the baby to be with its – with his father… and she would know I would take proper care… her baby would be brought up in a proper family…’

‘Oh, Arwen…’ Merlinith shook her head. ‘But would you not want your own babies? Would it not be better, for you and your prince, to leave this baby with his mother, and you and Iauron have the family of your choosing, at the time of your choosing?’

Arwen was silent for a moment, and Merlinith realised that her friend had probably not thought through the ramifications of being married. She tried a reassuring smile.

‘Well, you and the prince have plenty of time to think about elflings.’

‘I suppose so…’

Merlinith decided it was time for a change of topic

‘What do you sat that we go back in now? Get some lunch, perhaps, and then take a walk to the healers’ hall?’


	231. Hiding Places

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil seeks his son and Arwen introduces Merlinith to Iauron...

Left alone, Thranduil allowed the frown creasing his face to deepen for a moment. It was more than simple annoyance that Legolas hadn’t delivered the message to Flora, it was the sense that he had disapproved of his father’s intentions and that was why the invitation had been left undelivered; his son had not merely been neglectful, he had been wilfully disobedient.

And now Legolas was nowhere to be found; in short, he had run away to hide, just as he and his brothers had done when they were elflings .

Fortunately, Thranduil still remembered all of Legolas’ favourite haunts, having had to retrieve him from them all at one time or another.

He went to the door and beckoned a servant.

‘Send to the stables. Have them saddle my elk; I will be there in ten minutes.’

*

Healer Hanben was on duty behind the desk when Arwen and Merlinith presented themselves in the healers’ hall.

‘We are going to visit the princes,’ Arwen said. ‘And then to call on our friend Flora and ask after her and her gwinig.’

Hanben looked down his superior nose at Arwen and then gave Merlinith the benefit of his measuring glance, too. Neither elleth was impressed. Merlinith compressed her mouth in a no-nonsense line and Arwen stuck her nose in the air.

‘I am family,’ Merlinith said firmly. ‘Or as good as. My brother is fëa-mate to Prince Legolas. And so I am come to see my brother’s honour-brothers before they sail.’

‘Very well, you may sit with our princes for a few moments… but you will need the permission of Healer Nestoril before you visit the human woman.’

‘Make sure you tell her we’re here, then,’ Arwen said in her most authoritarian voice. It seemed to work, for Hanben lost some of his officiousness.

‘I will attempt to locate her, my lady.’

Arwen nodded and swept away from the desk, leaving Merlinith to hastily catch up with her as she headed for the princes’ room.

‘It is a sad fact,’ she said pensively, ‘but sometimes being nice, and being polite, does not work with some people. They only treat you with respect if you are unpleasant to them; they seem to think rude people are obviously more important than nice ones…’

‘I must say, you seem most accomplished at pretending not to be nice, Arwen.’

‘Practice,’ Arwen said with a sigh. ‘Well, here we are… do you know the princes, at all?’

Merlinith shook her head.

‘Oh, not really… I have been honoured to dine at the king’s table, and may have perhaps exchanged a greeting or two with them, but I would not presume to say I knew them… when I spoke so to the healer, I was being a little bit pushy…’

Arwen laughed.

‘Really, you sounded perfectly pleasant… I visit the princes quite a lot, it is a sort of a refuge, I suppose… almost a hiding place, perhaps… Come, let me properly introduce you. So, Prince Tharmeduil, you probably know all about Mistress Merlinith from her brother, or from his fëa-mate, but even so, I would like to formally present her… Merlinith, Prince Tharmeduil, who, so the healers tell us, is able to hear our speech but not to respond.’

‘I am pleased to properly meet you, my prince, though I wish it had been in different circumstances,’ Merlinith said and dropped a curtsey, causing Arwen to laugh again.

‘Tharmeduil, Merlinith has just curtseyed to you as if we were in the formal hall… now, Merlinith, here… here is Prince Iauron. He is beyond everything, even pain, until he sails. They say his fëa has become separated from his body.’ 

‘Then what is to be done for your prince, Arwen?’

‘Glorfindel says there is a special place in the Halls of Mandos where such lost fëar can be safe until their proper bodies arrive in the Undying Lands. He says Iauron will be fine.’

Arwen spoke with a kind of determined confidence, as if she wanted to believe it but wasn’t quite certain. It made Merlinith look at her with compassionate eyes, but with less understanding than ever. How awful must Arwen’s life feel to her, if she was prepared to give up everything in Middle Earth for the slight hope of a possible future with an ellon she hardly knew? Especially one whose reputation did not bode well for his ability to love and cherish anyone other than himself…? 

And if Arwen was even doubting whether or not Iauron would be reunited in his body, and wake up, that simply made the entire matter even more pitiable.

And then she had it, a glimmer of understanding that made her feel even more sorry for her friend.

‘So that is why you want the gwinig,’ Merlinith said, startling even herself. ‘So that if Iauron should let you down in some way, you will still have a part of him to love. Oh, Arwen…!’

‘I’m not sure I know what you mean,’ Arwen said, colouring. ‘I simply want to help… to keep the family together as much as possible, for as long as possible…’

Impulsively, Merlinith got to her feet and gave Arwen a little friendly hug.

‘Because your family is not together, is it? You lost your mother, didn’t you, you poor child?’

‘My mother is there, in the Undying Lands,’ Arwen said quietly. ‘She was my best friend and my closest companion, and Adar could not save her, and she had to leave us. And…’

She broke off and shook her head, unable to complete the tentative thought that was trying to make itself known to her.

‘Shall we go and see if Nestoril will let us see Flora now?’

*

Those warriors still practising were treated to an impressive and interesting sight when their king rode his elk through the edges of their practice ground and headed into the forest. The magnificence of this vision was enough to utterly distract Commander Esgaron, meant to be demonstrating the finer nuances of twin-blade work with Commander Bregon, causing him to end up on the floor at Bregon’s feet with his swords clattering out of his grip and a disproportionate cheer to go up from the gathered spectators, even those under Esgaron’s command.

But if Thranduil noticed the chaos his brief appearance made, he ignored it, and carried on towards his destination, urging Nelleron through the forest towards the place where he was sure he would find his son.

It was not much faster to ride than it would have been to walk, but Thranduil liked the different perspective he had from the saddle, and besides, he intended delivering a lecture, and that was best done from the solemnity of his throne room or from the stature of elk-back.

And, truth to tell, he simply found Nelleron’s company soothing, relaxing after the complications of running the kingdom.

Soon he struck a trail through the forest that led him towards the boundary of the buffer zone surrounding the acres so jealously guarded by the Royal Elk Tamers… 

He smiled to himself. Yes. Nearly there.

Ahead on the path loomed his destination, an ancient oak. From his vantage point, Thranduil could look up into its lower branches. He saw how one or two of those above seemed to be under strain, heard the rustle and stir of leaves out of step with the breeze and the suggestion, the hint of a murmur of voices. Not words, just… well, sounds he would rather not be privy to, in fact.

Perhaps he ought to wait for a few minutes before announcing himself, at least until some of the more vigorous swaying eased off…?

Some time later – a very, very long time later, the tree seemed to have settled down again.

Oh, finally…!

‘Legolas!’ Thranduil called up into the tapestry of green. ‘Show yourself. At once.’

There was silence. Too much silence.

‘Legolas! Come here immediately.’

From somewhere high above there came a sigh and a rustling, a series, a sequence of disjointed scufflings, and with a thump, Legolas landed on the forest floor in front of Nelleron’s impressive spread of antlers to stand, apart from a somewhat-inadequate garland of thickly-leaved oak twigs, unclothed in front of his father.

Thranduil lifted his head to one side and raised an eloquent eyebrow.

‘You said ‘immediately’, Adar,’ Legolas said with a shrug. ‘It would have taken me ages to get dressed in the hammock, the way it rocks and sways…’

‘Yes. I know all about how the hammock rocks and sways, having been privy to the aforesaid motion taking place overhead for a not inconsiderable length of time…’ Thranduil paused to take stock. ‘Very well. Perhaps here and now is not the moment for this. Present yourself in my study an hour before the supper bell. Alone. And decently clad, if you will.’

‘Yes, Adar.’

‘And, Legolas? You will have to hurry if you are to fit in your intended visit to Flora as well. Do not forget, now. I would hate you to disappoint me in this.’

Thranduil tipped his head and gathered the reins, preparing to set off. Before he did, however, he glanced up into the canopy.

‘Good afternoon, Govon,’ he called up into the tree. ‘After Legolas has visited Flora and her gwinig, he is attending a meeting in my study this evening. Do not let him be late.’

A moment’s silence, then Govon’s voice.

‘Yes, Honour-Adar. I’ll walk him across myself.’

‘Until later, then. And remember, Legolas; I know all your childhood hiding places.’

As soon as Thranduil, and Nelleron, had disappeared from view between the trees, Govon landed next his fëa-mate and handed him his leggings.

‘Next time, my fair elf, you, me, a small boat and a few cushions. Your adar might know all your hiding places, but I’m willing to bet he doesn’t know the first thing about mine.’


	232. Admired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which more visitors arrive to see Flora and her gwinig...

‘Let me see if I follow you, Arwen…’ Nestoril kept her voice serious, but there was something almost furtive about Arwen and Merlinith, as if they were conspirators, which made her want to laugh. ‘You want to visit Flora because, although you were at the birth, you didn’t really get to see the baby… and, Merlinith, you want to see the baby because…?’

‘Because I have no gwinig of my own, and Flora is the friend of Prince Iauron, who is brother of Legolas, who is fëa-mate to my own brother; we are practically family and, besides, when Flora was missing, I helped search for her…’

‘I see. Both very commendable reasons. Well, let me take a moment to see if Flora is busy, and if Belegornor is ready to receive admirers, and if so, we will take tea in Flora’s room. Just wait here.’

Nestoril left the two ellith standing at the desk and went through to check on Flora. The girl was standing near the window, the baby resting against her shoulder, and she was singing a song about rain on the forest and patting Belegornor’s back gently while he protested such treatment.

‘We have a little bit of wind,’ Flora said. ‘And so we are trying to get it up without bringing the milk with it.’  
Belegornor’s complaints were interrupted by a resounding burp and Flora shifted him down into her arms again.

‘There, that is better! Comfy again? Very good, little gwinig…’

‘I am come to see if you would like some company for a little while?’ Nestoril said. ‘Arwen, and her friend Merlinith, who is Govon’s sister, and a very nice person, would like to meet your baby and I thought we could all take tea?’

‘That sounds lovely; I would like to meet the sister of Govon. Does she speak Westron?’

‘I am not sure, but don’t worry; I will stay and translate.’

Going back to the desk to bespeak tea for four, Nestoril collected Merlinith and Arwen.

‘Flora does not know much Sindar, Merlinith,’ the healer warned as they made their way to Flora’s room. ‘I do not know if you have any of the common speech…’

‘More than my brother,’ Merlinith said with a small smile. ‘But I am sure it will not matter.’

In truth, it didn’t, for while all four ladies spoke different amounts of each other’s languages, they were each satisfactorily fluent in Baby. Coos and smiles and gentle voices and soft words sounded the same to Belegornor whether in Sindarin and in Westron or in Merlinith’s sometimes-accented Silvan, and he smiled and responded equally well to them all.

‘Would you like to hold him?’ Flora asked, and Arwen, being more familiar with the common tongue, was ahead of Merlinith in saying yes for the simple reason that Nestoril had to translate.

But she had not had the child in her arms for more than a moment or two before Merlinith stepped forward.

‘No, you don’t hold a gwinig like that,’ she said. ‘Let me show you,’ and before Arwen realised what had happened, she had relinquished the baby and Merlinith was cradling him and telling him what beautiful eyes he had and how he was going to grow up to be the best and bravest and wisest peredhel ever, in all of Middle Earth, and not like some she could mention who neglected their daughters.

Nestoril watched with amusement as Merlinith took a seat next to Flora, leaving Arwen trying hard not to sulk.

‘Do you have any babies of your own?’ Flora asked, and Merlinith shook her head.

‘No, no babies,’ she said, Nestoril translating for her. ‘No husband.’

‘Well, I also have no husband,’ Flora said, causing a burst of shocked and delighted laughter when this was translated. ‘And, really, I think I may be most fortunate.’

‘But,’ Arwen said, perplexed, ‘I had heard that it is difficult for human girls, if there is no husband?’

‘Well, my Da was angry, and my Ma shocked, but they always thought I would marry Cousin Marron, anyway, and Cousin Marron says he doesn’t mind about the baby, if I still want to be his wife. Except I do not have to be anyone’s wife, since my baby has a sponsor from his elven kin. So we will see.’

‘Arwen?’ Merlinith said presently. ‘Would you like to sit here and hold the baby now, if Flora does not object? I have been very selfish cuddling him for so long, but all I can say in my defence is I am unlikely to have the chance to hold a gwinig again… you will have babies of your own, I am sure… one day.’

Grateful and flustered and a little crestfallen to learn that Flora was going to be fine bringing up her own baby, alone, Arwen received Belegornor into her arms.

‘Oh, and you might want the towels beneath him, too,’ Flora said.

‘Towels? What for? Oh… Oh, I think I see… oh, dear… I think it may be a little late for towels…’

‘Well, it could have been worse,’ Merlinith said comfortingly. ‘He could have been on your lap. As it is, wash your hands and arms, and rinse your sleeves and you ‘ll be fine…’

‘Oh, has he done that again? I am sorry… let me take him from you…’

A knock at the door and Healer Gyril was there.

‘Forgive the interruption, Nestoril, but Prince Legolas and Commander Govon are here and would like to visit Flora… as it is a pleasant day, I have bespoke more tea and told them to lay it in the gardens, if that is well?’

‘Thank you, Gyril, that’s a good idea… would you mind taking Arwen to my quarters where she can wash? She has had a little incident… I am sure it is only Belegornor’s favourites who get such treatment, Arwen… and then take her to Legolas and Govon, and we will join you there once Belegornor is properly tidy again.’

*

As chance would have it, Arwen was first to join Legolas and Govon at the hastily-organised tea table in the gardens of the healers’ hall. 

The sight of her made Legolas grin, for the damage to her gown had been more serious than at first anticipated and, since she had left so many clothes behind her when she had thrown in her lot with the Mirkwood elves, she could not send to her rooms for a change of raiment and so was clad in one of the spare blue habits worn by the healers.

‘Taking up gainful occupation, Arwen?’ the prince asked as she took a seat.

Arwen rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, do not ask… that nephew of yours… he leaked on me!’

Legolas burst out laughing.

‘Well, I understand he did the same to Adar… you’re in good company. You got to see the babe at last, then?’

‘Indeed, I did. It does seem a pity we will lose him,’ Arwen said. ‘Flora will make him choose a mortal path, and he will die at the age when most elflings are just reaching adulthood… and then he will be lost forever, he will never meet his true father…’

‘Well, that’s not such a loss,’ Legolas said. ‘Iauron’s never been much of a one for babies and elflings.’

‘No? But… what if… somehow… in the Undying Lands… when he wakes, he were to find his son there…?’

‘No, he…’ Legolas broke off. ‘That isn’t going to happen, Arwen. I don’t know what strange and twisted daydreams have led you to think that might even be possible, but Flora can’t sail, she’s human. In any case, I do not think my Adar would permit it – he has his own ideas about Belegornor’s future, and they do not include a ship…’

‘Oh? And just what does His Majesty your royal father intend for the child of my betrothed?’

‘Betrothed? Arwen, you seem to be remembering things oddly! There was talk of a betrothal, I know, but with Iauron as he is – and I’ve no wish to hurt your feelings…’

‘Then just be silent, will you?’ Arwen exclaimed. ‘It has always as struck me as very odd, that whenever a person claims not to want to hurt my feelings, they always do!’

‘That is a very good point,’ Nestoril said from behind Arwen, making her jump. ‘But rather a morose topic for a tea party, do you not think?’

The healer beckoned to someone waiting, and the table was laid with tea and cake and biscuits, and once the servant had withdrawn, Nestoril smiled, looking round and trying to decipher everyone’s expressions. Legolas looked uncomfortable, Arwen cross and sad, and Govon… the poor commander just looked as if he would really like to be somewhere else at the moment. Anywhere else. Whatever was up with him? Perhaps it had something to do with the discussion that had been going on when Nestoril arrived? In which case, she had better find out more about it…

‘I think, Arwen, Legolas, I would like a little chat with you both in my study, when we are done here,’ she said, pulling out chairs from around the table and beginning to pour the tea. ‘Govon, Merlinith has been making Flora’s acquaintance. I have made sure to be there, so that I could translate, but they seem to like each other. Your sister is a very sensible person and I am sure will be a very good friend for someone like Flora to have.’

The commander looked up and nodded.

‘Indeed, Merlinith is a very kind soul. Everyone likes and values her,’ he said, before falling silent once more.

Merlinith and Flora arrived, Belegornor freshly washed and changed and in some sort of leather sling across Flora’s body.

‘Govon? I am not sure whether you have seen the baby yet?’ Nestoril said, trying to stir the commander from his mood. ‘But everyone else here has done so…’

‘Is it fitting?’ Govon said. ‘For surely, the baby is a person, small, yes, but he is not a parcel, to be passed around, or some trinket, to be admired…’

Nestoril stared in surprise and translated for Flora. The girl smiled and spoke at some length, but as Nestoril prepared to translate, Legolas did so, instead.

‘Flora says you are the first to say that, and it is kind of you to worry. But Belegornor is like to his father, he enjoys attention. He likes to be admired. And, besides, he has just… just urinated on Arwen…’ he paused, struggling not to laugh, ‘and so you should be safe to hold him. If you wish to. Flora recognises that not everyone likes babies.’

‘Of course I will hold the child, it is just… I do not wish to be disrespectful, melleth, do you see? I have seen the grand-naneths and aunts gather over one with a new baby, and it is like a battle, almost, but life is so precious, it is an honour, surely?’ He turned to Flora and gave her a wistful smile, trying out his Westron again. ‘Please, Flora, yes, the baby… to carry…’

Flora unfastened the sling and passed Belegornor across, still inside. Govon received the infant with a riot of emotions, envy, regret, joy, trepidation… for Legolas was looking at the gwinig, and his face was transformed, and was being a sponsor, an uncle, going to be enough?

‘Ion-nin,’ Flora said, and then reverted to the common speech. ‘Please to say, he is more waterproof in that shoulder-hammock.’

‘I wish someone had thought of that sooner,’ Arwen said.


	233. In Nestoril's Study

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril questions Arwen and Legolas, and Merlinith spends a little time with her brother...

The tea party broke up when Belegornor started yawning and grumbling and Flora said he was probably tired after all the excitement. 

Nestoril got to her feet. 

‘Arwen, Legolas – I will see you in my study when I have taken Flora back to her room, if you do not mind. Good day.’

Arwen glared at Legolas.

‘This is your fault,’ she said as she got to her feet. ‘If you had not been speaking so loudly…’

‘Well, at the point when Nestoril interrupted us, all I was saying was that I didn’t want to hurt your feelings… now, however, I am not so sure…’

‘That is not a very nice thing to say…’ Arwen said, heading for the door in from the gardens.

Legolas shrugged and sighed and made to follow.

‘I’ll see you in our rooms later,’ he said to Govon. 

‘Do not let her bully you, melleth.’

‘Who? Arwen, or Nestoril?’ He smiled. ‘I hope I won’t be too long.’

Left alone with her brother, Merlinith smiled.

‘Come back with me, Govon,’ she said kindly.

The truth was, that while she was happy to befriend Arwen, and although it had been lovely to see the little peredhel, it seemed like a very long time since she had had her brother to herself, even for a half of an hour.

‘I shouldn’t really, ‘Lin, I promised the king I’d deliver Legolas to his study before supper…’

‘That’s hours away yet. Come, you’re troubled about something, and I am your sister…’

‘Why do you not come back with me, instead? That way, Legolas won’t get home and wonder where I’ve got to.’ 

‘All right. And you can leave word for him with the healer on the desk.’

Govon nodded.

‘Come on, then. There’s nothing to drink but water or wine, I warn you…’

‘I have just had tea, I will not be wanting a drink. Just a chance to catch up with you. It’s been ages.’

‘Yes, I suppose it has, really. Sorry, ‘Lin.’

‘Oh, I do not blame you, my dear brother! I have been busy with Arwen so much of late and… and other things, and…’ 

Merlinith trailed off, suddenly realising her life had, perhaps, been a little empty of late. True, Govon had frequently been away on duty for months on end, and she had not minded that, she had got on with things and never been lonely. But it was different, somehow, lately. Perhaps because he was near at hand, and though they still met, and talked, it wasn’t just the two of them these days. There was Legolas to consider, or Arwen needed a friendly word, or a little advice… and the pattern of their routines had become out-of-kilter.

She had just about finished feeling sorry for herself when Govon stopped outside a door in one of the nicer corridors.

‘Here we are.’

He unfastened the door and held it for Merlinith to enter.

‘Oh, will you look at that!’ she exclaimed. ‘You change quarters and yet still put your weapon’s chest in exactly the same place – or where you would have done in our home, had I let you!’

‘I told you, ‘Lin – it’s logical. Near the door so you can grab what you need in a hurry if you have a sudden call-to-arms… Legolas agreed with me, you see.’

‘Legolas is an ellon, what would he know about keeping a room looking nice?’

Govon shook his head at his sister, smiling. 

‘Sit down, Merlinith, be comfortable.’ He threw himself into a chair opposite his sister and watched as her eyes roved the chambers. ‘I forgot, you’ve not been in here before, have you? What do you think?’

‘It’s much tidier than I expected…’ she said with a sniff. ‘But, you wouldn’t think these were a prince’s rooms, would you?’

‘I suppose not. The reason it’s tidy… Legolas has a regular meeting over breakfast with his advisor… who told us, once, he was not used to thinking clearly in a midden, so if we would please to sort out… since then, we tidy up in here at night ready for the day. And, today, we went out before Erestor got here, and have been out ever since, and so not here to make a mess again.’

‘That makes sense.’ 

A little silence settled over them, and Merlinith sighed. 

‘You know, at one time, we would not sit quiet, but we would talk, how was the day, how is such a one and did you see that person and… I suppose we have lost touch a little.’

‘True. And I could ask about Gwilwilithel, but it would only be out of politeness.’

‘And I could enquire about your weapons practice… Ai, Govon! In truth, it is not that there is nothing to say, but that there is too much! Seeing that little one today… it almost broke my heart, poor little mite… I had always hoped, one day, to have a gwinig of my own… and then when… when the one who liked me, when he died… I thought, well, Govon will marry, and have elflings, and I can be the best aunt in the forest and…’

‘Sorry, ‘Lin… well, you know now, I’m not made that way.’

‘I do not mind, you know, not really. As long as you do not mind. Besides, it is wrong to expect other people to do for us those things we cannot do for ourselves.’

‘It was something I had to accept, if I wanted a child, I would have to marry an ellith… and I did not think I could, and even had I been able to, it would not have been fair to the lady... No, it was better not to pretend to be other than I am, and now I am happy.’

Merlinith burst out laughing, causing Govon to look at her with astonishment.

‘What?’ he asked.

‘Well, if that is what you sound like when you are happy, brother mine, I would hope never to see you sad…’

‘I meant, I am vowed to one I love, who loves me. In that, we have great happiness. It is just… lately, other things conspire to make me… perhaps… a little low-spirited. And I was happy, earlier… we were in the forest, Legolas was showing me an ancient oak I had never climbed in before… but then, he was called back to duty too soon…’

‘Then what was he doing visiting with Flora?’

‘That was part of it…’ Govon broke off. ‘The king would like it if he could be sure his grandchild would grow up near the palace, I think.’

‘Oh, this is silly!’ Merlinith exclaimed. ‘The gwinig has a mother who dotes on him and yet the king wants the gwinig, and Arwen wants the gwinig… in fact, the only one who does not want the poor little mite is his own Ada…’

‘What do you mean, Arwen wants the gwinig?’

‘Something she said. It will get her into trouble, I am sure of it, and I am also sure she has not thought about it properly, but as far as she has thought, it seems to her sensible… in fact, I was going to ask if you might have a talk to her… you understand she means well, and she recognises that. And you are not royal, so she might listen to you…’

Merlinith wriggled herself comfortable in the chair and prepared to have a proper gossip with her brother… 

*

Nestoril chose to keep the meeting in her study formal and so took a seat behind her desk, gesturing Arwen and Legolas to chairs facing her.

‘Thank you both for your time,’ she began briskly. ‘Now, I had a distinct feeling, when I came upon you earlier, that there was an argument brewing…?’

‘It was not my wish to bring disharmony to your halls, Healer,’ Legolas said in as fine an imitation of his father as Nestoril had ever heard. ‘I beg your pardon.’

‘I didn’t call you in here for an apology but to find out what’s going on,’ Nestoril said sternly. ‘While I understand a certain degree of interest in Flora’s gwinig, I cannot help but feel there is something else at play here… and I will know it, or you will both be banned from my halls unless you are in need of our professional services.’

Legolas turned appealing eyes on the healer.

‘Do you promise?’ he said.

‘What?’

‘It is... with all due respect to Flora – and noting that I am an interested party, after all, while some of us here are simply visitors and guests and not sponsors of the child – I would be happy not to visit again. I find it unsettling, and it is probably uncomfortable for Govon, too…’

‘Then why are you here at all?’ Nestoril said.

Legolas hunched a shoulder briefly.

‘It is private,’ he said.

‘Arwen?’ Nestoril turned her attention away from Legolas and towards the elleth who sat picking at a thread in her borrowed robes. ‘What brings you here?’

‘Merlinith wanted to see the baby. And I had not, and…’

‘I meant, the conversation I interrupted…?

‘Nothing. It was a mistake.’ Arwen flushed. ‘I was not thinking clearly… but then Legolas said, about Iauron not liking children, and…’

‘Only because you had said you thought the baby should be with its father and…’

‘Well, isn’t that better than your father taking over?’

‘That is not what Adar meant, he…’

‘Wait, both of you, wait!’ Nestoril shook her head. ‘You could not mean it, Arwen?’

‘I… well, I thought, if things would be difficult for Flora, then it might be the answer to everything but… but then I saw how Flora loves him and… but he will die, Nestoril… the baby, he will not last…’

‘Oh, Arwen…’ Nestoril sighed. ‘I am sorry, but it really is nothing to do you with you what happens to Flora’s child. And any discussions concerning whether or not Belegornor accepts the Promise of Ilúvatar when he is older is between himself and his mother.’

‘But I am going to take vows with Iauron, his father…’

‘It does not matter, it is still not any of your business!’ Nestoril turned to Legolas. ‘Nor is it any of the king’s business, for that matter… and just what does his majesty intend?’

Legolas glanced at Arwen.

‘I would prefer to speak privately of this, Healer, if speak of it I must…’

‘I am sure you would, my prince, but it is not likely to happen.’

‘Really, it is only that… that my father wished me to enquire about Flora’s plans…’

‘Then why so concerned? And what was it Arwen was saying about your father’s intentions?’

‘Naturally, Adar is concerned that Flora wishes to leave so soon. I am sure he only wishes...’

‘Legolas…?’

‘Really, my father has not told me all his thought on the matter; perhaps you might be better to take it up with him in person…?’

‘Actually, my prince, that is probably a very good idea.’


	234. Nearly Late is Still Punctual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas returns to his rooms

Thanks to the note left with Healer Gyril, Legolas wasn’t surprised to find Merlinith sitting in Govon’s chair when he got back to his chambers. He tried to put a welcoming smile on his face.

‘Merlinith, I don’t think you’ve visited before? It seems wrong, somehow.’

‘Govon has always claimed it was too untidy to show to me before now. You have very pleasant rooms here, my prince.’

Odd. Legolas had thought Merlinith had long since got over any awe she might have had for his status; in fact, she generally only used his title when there were others present. But then he realised; there had been a little stiffness about her manner, and Govon was looking at her warily, too, and he realised her formality wasn’t politeness, but annoyance; for whatever reason, Merlinith was cross with him.

‘Well, I had better go,’ she said. ‘I have spent the entire day idle, unless you call keeping Arwen company gainful employment…’

‘Indeed, sometimes for that, I do not think one could be paid enough,’ Legolas said, trying to lighten the mood.

‘She is alone, and far from home, and misses her Naneth who she will never see again,’ Merlinith said. ‘She does not know that, of course, but I feel sorry for her nevertheless.’

‘I… how can you know that?’ Legolas asked. ‘Her Naneth is in Valinor, and Arwen is taking ship; of course she will see her mother again.’

Merlinith shrugged.

‘Sometimes, I have feelings about these things.’ She sighed and came down from her high horse just a little. ‘Just as I know you do not mean to hurt my brother. But when you took vows, I thought you would take better care of him than this!’

‘Merlinith!’ Govon protested. ‘I am fine – you cannot say things like that, you do not understand…’

She shook her head.

‘Govon, you are all the kin I have left, and so, yes, I can say such things, but if I did not have to, I would not have to.’ Merlinith rose to her feet and shook out her skirts. ‘So. Good day, my prince. Govon, be well.’

‘Let me walk you out,’ Legolas said.

‘What, so you can ask me what I mean?’ Merlinith shook her head. ‘Oh, no, my prince. I am afraid you need to work it out for yourself. Or ask my brother, if you must. But do not believe him when he says he is fine.’

She would have swept out of the room with her head held high, but faltered at the last.

‘I really only want my brother to be happy,’ she said. ‘Perhaps it is because you are both ellyn, you do not really see, yet, that there is more to being happy than simply loving and being loved.’

Legolas closed the door after Merlinith and crossed to sit at Govon’s feet in silence. Burning to ask what that had all been about, he wasn’t quite so foolish as to actually do so. Instead, he sorted through the dozens of things clamouring for his notice and shoved them all aside. 

He looked up at his fëa-mate. The beautiful hazel eyes looked tired, and the rich, generous mouth held a touch of resignation. Had he done this? Had his lack of foresight, his unwitting neglect, dimmed Govon’s joy?

‘I wanted us to have the day, friend captain,’ he said softly. ‘Just some time to set all our worries aside.’

‘It was a wonderful afternoon. Some of it. At practice this morning, it didn’t feel like work, not while you were watching, my fair elf. And it’s not your fault that my warriors are worried about their prospects and I have little comfort to give, since I do not know my own future…’

Legolas rose to his knees and placed his hands on Govon’s arm.

‘But nor is it your fault.’ He sighed. ‘All my father will say is that he is considering the matter. I think he is waiting for the right moment – although right for what, I could not say. But his sense of timing is usually good…’

‘Yet it is not good to keep brave warriors on the edge of uncertainty like this! It is not good to make them work towards a contest held for the sole purpose of seeing an end to the company they have served in with such courage. It is not good…’

‘No, it is not good. But there will be a place for you, and for the warriors of the Court Guard. Try not to worry about it, friend captain. I know, it is easy to say, and you worry for them, too. But if they are already worrying, what use does it serve for you, too, to be so concerned?’

‘I know.’ Govon turned his eyes to his fëa-mate. ‘Do not pay any attention to Merlinith, she means well, but…’

‘No, she is right, you are not as happy as you might be and whether or not that is directly my fault, you are in my care now… or we are in each other’s care, if you will… but it is always I letting you down, it seems… and I do not say that for you to deny it, just to make me feel better, nor to use it as some kind of excuse…’

Govon shifted forward in his chair to bring his face close to Legolas’.

‘Just because Merlinith may be right does not mean she has the right… and, yes, there are other matters weighing on me… I am afraid… afraid of a tiny little gwinig, how silly is that? I fear that this child will have far too much importance in our lives, and I cannot see how it can be that way and yet be well… I am not visited with foresight as Merlinith sometimes is, as my Older Naneth was, nor do I wish to be…’

‘Govon, do not worry about the gwinig!’ 

‘I saw your face, melleth, when I held him. When you looked at him, I… I didn’t know what to feel first… but that sense of newness, creation… truly, a gift from Ilúvatar, but there was so much else… it is the nearest you will get to being a parent, because of me…’

‘No.’ Legolas shook his head. ‘You know this is not true, you know I was already not going to be a parent…. Adar has some peculiar ideas, and I did not know… and then I saw the infant and I thought I understood…’

‘But you could be a parent, still. All it would take would be for you and Flora to…’

‘You and I, we are vowed.’ Legolas wanted to protest Govon’s anxiety, to shout down whatever he had been going to say, but instead gentled his voice. He had no wish to seem angry at his fëa-mate when his anger was really directed primarily Iauron, and then at his father. ‘We are sworn fëa-mates, and that is all that matters. I knew about Flora, and her situation, and everything had been settled before I met you, my friend captain. And, yes, to see you with the babe… with my nephew… I think it was how much care you took, the gentleness of you as much as seeing the child himelf that put that look on my face, you know. To see the person I loved best in all of Middle Earth with my brother’s son looking back with so much simple trust… well.’

‘You say I brood, and I fret, and you are right. Perhaps I should talk more. Merlinith has a way of talking, and being silent, and drawing me on to speak of things I would not otherwise feel worth mentioning. She… she does not trust me to judge properly when a subject needs airing.’

‘Govon, when we lie in reverie, I listen even to your breathing; I would listen to anything you said, whether you think worth mentioning of not, just to hear you speak, just to share your concerns.’

Govon managed a smile and stroked a finger across Legolas’ knuckles.

‘What concerns me most right now, my fair elf, is how long we have before I need to escort you to your Father’s study.’

Legolas looked up from the tracing finger with surprise into Govon’s eyes. His fëa-mate smiled and shrugged.

‘Blame me if we’re late,’ he said.

Legolas got to his feet and tugged Govon after him.

‘No, you’re not to blame for any of this,’ he said. ‘You have simply suffered as a result of it. Come, then. Let me start to begin to make amends.’

*

Thranduil had plenty to keep him busy in his study while he waited for Legolas to make his appearance. 

That his son would not arrive did not occur to him, but he was aware of the passing of time and was mentally preparing a lecture on lateness as well as a variant of the disappointment lecture when the expected knock came.

‘Come in.’

His son opened the door and turned to look over his shoulder.

‘I won’t be long,’ he said to someone behind him, and then entered the study.

‘Shut the door, Legolas,’ Thranduil said, seeing his son preparing to leave it ajar. ‘Good. Now, tell me. Why are you almost late, and what did you mean by disregarding my instructions concerning Flora?’

‘I thought you liked punctuality, Adar?’ Legolas said evenly. ‘I asked Flora what plans she had. She is waiting to hear from her Naneth, but wishes to go home as soon as she can. I didn’t see any reason to say more to her; there would be no point and she…’

‘Legolas! That is my grandchild…’

‘As you told me, Adar, not your only grandchild. And after all the trouble you went to, arranging a settlement, having me stand as sponsor… how can you change your mind now? You’re known as an honourable king, an ellon of your word… what will happen to your standing amongst the people of Lake Town if it’s known that you’re trying to persuade Flora not to go back to her family? Not even you could get away with that.’

Thranduil folded his hands together on the desk and tilted his head to look at his son.

‘Your morning meetings with Erestor are having an effect, I see; you are learning to think like a politician, at last… even if you did miss today’s session…’

‘I needed to spend time with Govon today. He’s concerned for his warriors; the entire Court Guard is worried about the future and cannot settle to practice for the tournaments while there is such uncertainty…’

‘Do not attempt to change the subject. I have already said that the members of the Court Guard need have no fear for their future employment…’

‘Easily said, Adar…’

‘I have my reasons for delay. Now. Concerning Flora…’

‘It’s not in my power to offer her anything she wants, Adar. And even if it were, all she wants is to go home. It is unkind, surely, to try to persuade her otherwise?’

Thranduil made a dismissive sound in his throat and turned away.

‘Besides,’ Legolas added, ‘Arwen was there today. And Merlinith, and Govon. And a healer fluent in Westron was present, too, just to make sure there were no translation difficulties…’

‘Arwen? What was Arwen doing there?’

‘Oh, she had an idea of her own concerning the gwinig. It was, if I may say, even worse than yours. Well, if that is all, Adar…’

‘No, Legolas, that is not all! What do you mean, Arwen has had an idea of her own?’

Legolas shrugged and made for the door.

‘Why not ask her?’ he suggested. ‘Good night, Adar.’


	235. Hanben's Hobby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril makes a surprising discovery about Healer Hanben...

It was three days before Flora had word from her mother, and then it was not good news. Nestoril was with her when the girl read the letter, saw her face change from delight to disappointment to worry and she folded the paper and looked up with tears in her eyes.

‘Not bad news, I hope?’ Nestoril asked softly, and was a little reassured when Flora shook her head.

‘It is… all is well at home. But my mother has the water fever, and so does not want to bring her illness to us. She will come, she says, when she is well, and collect me herself. And she is pleased to hear she has a grandson, it is important amongst us, to have a male child first. It is considered lucky.’

‘Oh, I am sorry to hear that!’ Water fever was one of many ailments common to the people of Lake Town and its environs, a short, potent illness that didn’t last more than a week or so and usually wasn’t serious. ‘Well, it should not be too long before she is better, at least.’

Nestoril smiled and patted Flora’s hand.

‘On the subject of illness, and your baby, there are some things you should know. We elves do not get ill, not in the same way you humans do, and it is my understanding that a peredhel baby will be much less likely to become sick than a human child, but it can happen.’

‘So it would not matter, then? He will not get sick?’

‘I wouldn’t say that. Just he will heal more quickly, and recover faster, than humans babies would.’ Belegornor stirred in his crib, whimpering, and Nestoril smiled. ‘Shall I pass him to you?’

‘Please.’

The healer gathered the infant into her arms and gave him a cursory inspection as she passed him across. He was doing well, alert and bright-eyed when awake, feeding without difficulty and Nestoril had no qualms about he and his mother leaving the healers’ hall. 

In fact, the sooner the little family could go home, the better, in her opinion; while Arwen seemed to have abandoned all thoughts of her silly, romantic and utterly wrong notion to keep father and son together, the king had been back to visit more than once and seemed to be taking a very strong grandparently interest and Nestoril was worried to see him growing so attached.... and then the baby’s presence could only be making things difficult for Govon and Legolas, however generous of spirit and understanding the former and apologetic the latter...

And now, just when the baby’s departure would be a relief, instead, a delay. Well, the king would be pleased, at least.

As yet, Nestoril had not confronted Thranduil concerning Legolas’ veiled warning; she had too many other matters pressing, and so had determined to let the king make his plans; if she had to, she could always thwart them later.

The truth was, she enjoyed sparring with the king. It never amounted to more than an exchange of opinions, but the opportunity to express such opinions, in choice and succinct manner, particularly when she was on her own territory and in the right, was a pleasure. Privately she thought it did the king good to realise not everyone and everything was under his sway, and certainly he never seemed to bear a grudge on those occasions where he found himself verbally bested by the healers’ hall.

‘I will leave you in peace to feed him, Flora. If you need anything, I will be in my study.’

*

Nestoril paused at the main desk. Hanben the apprentice was there, ostensibly helping visitors and enquirers, but in reality doodling in a notebook. That the apprentice was not entirely happy amongst her healers had not escaped Nestoril’s notice, but, after all, he had asked to transfer to the Great Cave. While his bedside manner left much to be desired, he was very good at seeing the connections between injuries and had a better-than-usual grasp of the workings of the fine anatomical structures of the body.

‘What are you doing there, Hanben?’ she asked in her friendly way. ‘Oh how interesting!’

He had stiffened at her voice, but relaxed at the kindliness of her tone.

‘I like to imagine things. As we were not busy… it is an idea I had, for a conveyance…’

‘Oh?’ Nestoril leaned over his shoulder to examine the sketch. ‘Hanben... this looks exactly what we are going to need to transport the princes...’

‘That’s what I intended...’ 

‘Would it be possible, do you think, to make this? And be sure it would work?’

‘Of course it will work!’ Hanben sounded offended. ‘But... to examine it in reality... to be able to see how it functions as a working model... would be interesting...’

‘More interesting than sitting at a desk with nothing to do, at least... Well, how would you like it if I passed your name on to Parvon? He is one of Lord Arveldir’s minions and is helping organise the journey to the Havens.’

‘I would like that very much, Healer...! But... my healing duties...’

Nestoril sighed.

‘Hanben, we both know you’re not entirely suited to work here – I am not complaining, you are skilled and conscientious, but it does not bring you happiness...’

‘To my shame. I had thought it would, and that I could be useful... I believed the reason I was not content at my last posting was simply because I am a little unsure around humans and other non-elves...’

‘Hanben...’ She shook her head. ‘Never mind. I will send word to Arveldir, and you can, perhaps, take a day away from the halls to work on your project... do you have anything else in mind, or is this your first invention?’

‘Oh, I am always imagining... I have notebooks full of these things – done in my spare moments, of course...’

‘Of course!’

‘I wondered, it can be so troublesome, getting an injured person into the bathing pools. And then we had the storm and I thought, if there were a way of heating the rain... so I have an idea for that... and perhaps we could find a way of taking the extreme stickiness out of web-silk – it would be an admirable way of wrapping injuries, if we could somehow make it only stick to itself like caul silk does... and... let me show you this, it is an idea I had for a device to make the winding of bandages simpler...’

It was a revelation. Hanben, it seemed, had far too many thoughts, but at least he was channelling them in a vaguely constructive direction. Privately, Nestoril thought a device for allowing one to fly was really cheeking the Valar a little – had elves been intended to fly, they would not have been given friendship with eagles – but it was the little things that intrigued her, the small ideas that could make big improvements to life in the palace. The warm rain idea – which Hanben referred to rather grandly as a hygiene cascade... new ideas for immobilising broken limbs, more useful for non-elves who took longer to heal... devices for helping in everyday activities to make them faster, easier.

‘Of course, there will always be those who oppose such invention,’ Hanben said with a sigh, coming down from his flights of fancy. ‘Either because it is new, and therefore dangerous, or because they cannot see the point...’

‘Well, some of these ideas certainly have applications here. I, for one, will not dismiss them out of hand. So, I will go to my study now, and write a note for Arveldir to pass on to Parvon and whichever of his staff is in charge of logistics.’

‘Thank you, Healer. And... for not objecting to my pastime...’

‘Why, not at all, Hanben,’ Nestoril said, turning away. ‘Everyone ought to have time for a hobby.’


	236. Preliminary Rounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the day of the first contest dawns...

The day of the first of the inter-command presentation contests dawned cool and bright, and those who could gathered early to watch the preliminary sessions. Participation was encouraged from warriors in all branches of the service, and drew considerable numbers.

Along with knife-throwing, the first day’s discipline was the single sword, and several fighting circles had been designated on the practice grounds so that multiple encounters could take place, the rules being simple; if you lost your bout, you were out. A short rest, and the winners of their previous bouts fought each other to progress For the knifework, it was less physically demanding, since half a dozen targets were lined up together and the participants there had fewer bouts to determine the winner, but as there were more who fancied their chances, there was plenty to keep the spectators interested.

And it seemed that everyone with a friend or relative to cheer on turned up. Some stayed just for the one bout of interest, and when their favoured warrior lost, took them away to commiserate as often as they stayed to watch, so there was a constant influx and outpouring of people around the arenas.

Legolas and Govon arrived late morning to see the latter rounds of the competitions. They stood at the back of the crowd, watching the latest group of knife throwers compete.

‘Some fair throws there,’ Legolas said. ‘Thiriston will have a contest on his hands.’

Govon nodded. 

‘He’s been practicing hard, but not as hard as he’d have liked; Canadion’s been interrupting. You might say interfering, but his timing’s always been perfect, making sure Thiriston doesn’t overwork that hand... he’s coming back to form, but he would have liked another few days.’

‘Who do we have in the single sword?’

Govon smiled at him and raised an eyebrow.

‘Did you say ‘we’, my prince? Surely, the royal family has to be impartial...?’

‘Oh, my father can be as impartial as he chooses. I just want the Court Guard to trounce the competition.’

They waited for the winner to be announced and applauded before going off to catch the last of the morning’s single sword bouts.

‘What are our chances here?’ Legolas asked.

‘Well, we have Hador fighting. He’s better with knife combat, but that’s not a chosen discipline here, of course...’

‘No. Too easy to accidentally hurt your opponent... Who’s that in the arena now? Left circle, the ellon with the paler hair, do you know?’

‘Oh, yes, I served with him. One of Esgaron’s who didn’t make the selection for the trip to the eyot. Fonor, he’s a good fellow. Has a brother works in Arveldir’s office... yes, he knows his way around a sword arena.’ Govon sighed. ‘We’re up against it, my fair elf... I had hoped Thiriston would be recovered enough for the wrestling, but his hand is a known weakness and the chance to take advantage of that might be too tempting... and if he injured it again, it might be the end of his career in the guard...’

‘So that’s where you’ll put Glorfindel? Well, his reputation alone will half win the bout for him...’

‘And he’s formidable in the arena... but I can’t help but feel for my command... the pressure on them to perform... this is for them to display themselves, and to keep their heads high when...’ he broke off. ‘I will not go over old ground again. Your father has it all under control, so I will trust him. For the moment.’

Legolas turned the subject.

‘So, I understand the semi-finals and the finals of the rank-and-file will start off the afternoon session? The short-sword fighters won’t have long to rest up...’

‘There will be an hour between their bouts and the three companies’ matches while the knife-throwers find their finalists. Theoretically, they need less recovery-time than the sword-fighters will.’ Govon grinned. ‘And you could argue that in battle, you won’t likely get a nice rest between orcs...’

‘True. Have our fellows had chance to practice today, with all this going on?’

‘Yes, indeed. The king made his private indoor practice room available to us – to all of us, Bregon and Esgaron included. Did you not know? Or wonder where I was while you were listening to Erestor?’

‘Erestor didn’t mention it. And yes, I wondered, until the good advisor made a particularly acid remark about my attention span.... I would have come to watch, had I known.’

‘Perhaps it’s as well you didn’t; Esgaron might not have liked it.’

‘Esgaron seems to find nothing to his liking these days, friend captain.’

‘True. Well, it looks like the competition’s finished for the morning. We should head back; I will need to gather my command and try to bolster their spirits before the bout.’

There was to be a considerable break between morning and afternoon sessions, both to give the successful contestants time to recover a little, and to allow for the installation of suitable seating; it was all very well for the king’s subjects to stand at the edges of the arenas, or to crowd together on benches, but the king himself would require proper accommodation. 

Already, as Legolas and Govon left the practice field, people were milling about with benches and chairs and attempting to bring some kind of order to the area.

‘How is Flora?’ Govon asked as they left the bright day behind and walked along cool, dim corridors towards their quarters.

Legolas stared. It was true that, since their last talk, Govon had tried to be more communicative about what was on his mind, but the subject of Flora had not been touched on.

‘I do not know; I’ve not been to see her since we took tea in the healers’ hall gardens together...’

‘I’d noticed.’ Govon bumped his shoulder against Legolas’. ‘And if that’s for my sake, thank you, but you don’t have to keep away... I thought you might have heard something, or Erestor might have told you, that is all.’

‘Well, there was some news, Erestor said Arveldir had told him... the girl’s mother is to fetch her, but has become ill. So they will be here a while longer.’

‘And you have not been to see your brothers, either. Is that because you might happen on Flora, by accident, in the healers’ hall?’

‘Well...’

‘Melleth! I really do not mind if you visit her...’

They reached their quarters and went in.

‘I mind,’ Legolas said. ‘It makes me feel guilty and responsible, when I know I am not. And I have all these secrets to keep from her – if she knew what Arwen thought, if she knew what Adar wants... and the child, I am in turmoil when I see the child and...’

He broke off shaking his head and Govon put a consoling arm around his shoulders.

‘You see, this is why I do not talk so much; it is difficult to express these things, and once they are spoken, they become more real... better not to upset yourself.’

‘But we become upset anyway, and at least if it is spoken, out in the open, there is the chance that someone might be able to help... and I do not mean me, I mean you...’

‘The babe tears at me, also,’ Govon said. ‘Perhaps for different reasons. Yet it is such a little thing, to have such a huge effect, to cause so much love and fear...’

‘We will never be parents.’

‘I know. Do you mind?’

‘For myself? No. For the kingdom...? That is why I feel guilt. But it is not my fault I have two older brothers who cannot marry and provide themselves with a proper heir. And, anyway, Adar says this isn’t Iauron’s first child; there are others somewhere in the kingdom. But you, do you mind?’

‘For myself, as you say, no. For you... maybe. For Merlinith, a bit. Although she could certainly find herself an ellon if she wanted; she is young enough, and pleasant enough...’ He shook his head. ‘We should be getting on with things; I have to be at the barracks in a half hour.’

‘And I have to sit with Adar to watch the contest... I would much rather be with you.’

‘I know.’ Govon leaned in to kiss his fëa-mate lightly on the cheek. ‘I will get something to eat at the barracks and see you later. Go and see Flora and your brothers.’

‘Perhaps. Tell Thiriston and Hador I have every faith in them. I’ll see you on the field.’


	237. Gatecrasher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas regrets visiting the healers' hall before the bouts...

Legolas wondered whether it had been a mistake to follow Govon’s advice.

Not that he hadn’t wanted to see his brothers, even though there wasn’t much to say. But they would be leaving, soon, and then his chance would be gone, at least for the foreseeable future. He would miss them... well, Tharmeduil, mostly. Iauron had always been a bit too loud for Legolas’ liking.

He had talked to Tharmeduil for a few minutes before heading back to the desk and asking after Flora. It seemed to be standard procedure, now, for any visitors to Flora and her baby to find themselves chaperoned by Healer Nestoril for the duration of their stay.

Legolas hadn’t minded, and had been relieved, too, to find the baby asleep and so he had not needed to endure the strange torture of holding his nephew.

‘I hear you are staying a few days more, Flora?’

‘My mother is not well. So once she is, she will come.’

‘About a week, we think,’ Nestoril said helpfully.

‘My father’s advisor said as much. I am sorry for you, Flora, you must miss your mother.’

‘Yes. And where is your... your Govon?’ Flora asked.

‘Oh, he is with his warriors. There is a contest today, and he is helping them prepare. In fact, I must be on my way, they will be starting soon and I do not want to be late...’

‘It sounds fun... Can I watch?’

‘Well, I am not sure...’

Legolas looked at Nestoril for rescue, but the healer had simply smiled.

‘It is a public contest, after all, my prince...’

‘I have seen nothing outside these walls since my baby was born,’ Flora said. ‘I would like very much to attend...’

‘Well... I have to arrive with my father so I could not escort you... and what about the baby?’

‘Oh, do not worry, my prince; I will bear Flora company,’ Nestoril had said. ‘I have been looking forward to this contest. Well, you do not want to keep your royal father waiting, do you? We will see you there, no doubt.’

*

And so now, here he was, sitting on high beside his father (and rueing his decision to drop in at the healers’ hall) while around them the seats slowly filled, dreading the moment when Flora and Nestoril arrived.

‘You seem tense, ion-nin. You are not worried about the outcome of the contest, surely?’

‘We are not supposed to have favourites; how can I then be worried?’ Legolas smiled at his father. ‘But Thiriston’s hand is not long healed; he does not feel ready, yet, for this test. Hador is skilled with the single sword, but I do not know who he will be fighting... it will be an interesting bout.’

‘Indeed, and the challengers’ rounds first, of course. So there is no need for you to be quite so anxious yet, one would think?’

‘Of course not.’

Legolas shifted awkwardly in his seat. He and his father were installed on a slightly raised platform on the higher row of a double layer of seating, Glorfindel, Arwen, Erestor and Arveldir arranged around them on chairs but a little lower. The lowest row was reserved for the Commanders and Over-Captain Rawon, so that Legolas was close enough to lean forward and stoke his fëa-mate’s hair but nowhere near enough to speak privately to him... it was frustrating, to say the least. 

To one side of the court stand, seating was in place for the three companies that had travelled with the Court; the warriors participating today gathered on the front row. On the far side of the court stand was an area for relatives of the three companies, and Merlinith was seated at the very front and nearest to the court. She waved at Govon, and she waved at Legolas, and she waved at Arwen. Arwen waved back and would have attempted a shouted conversation, but Erestor restrained her.

On the far side of the competition space an area for general spectators was rapidly filling and Legolas held his breath for a moment, seeing a figure dressed in pale blue taking a seat. But it was not Nestoril in her healer’s habit, and he had just relaxed again when at his side Thranduil stiffened.

‘Legolas? Did you know about this?’

Just in front of him – within reach, almost – Nestoril was settling herself next to Commander Bregon with a smile, and helping Flora to the place at the end. Tied across her body in a sling, baby Belegornor was a sleeping bundle drawing wary attention from everyone near enough to see. Incongruous enough to notice the rounded ears of a human, but one with an infant was even more of a surprise, and amongst the formal warrior uniforms, Flora’s lilac dress and Nestoril’s blue habit made them stand out like flowers in a cornfield.

‘That Flora and Ness were planning on coming to watch? I remember something about it... I didn’t think they’d bring the baby, though. Good thing they’re sitting with us, can you imagine the talk if they’d gone to the main spectator seats?’

‘Sadly, yes,’ Thranduil said, his tone icily clipped. ‘Although it is hardly better to have them amongst the commanders... you did not think to warn me?’

Legolas tried for an insouciant shrug.

‘I assumed you would already know; you seem to know everything, after all...’

Merlinith spotted Flora and waved. Flora smiled, and Nestoril waved back on her behalf.

Arwen, ever helpful, called down.

‘Healer Nestoril! You should bring Flora and the gwinig up here; I am sure there will be room if we rearrange things a little...’

Thranduil bit back a long-suffering sigh.

‘Arveldir, you had better see if the seats can be reorganised. And if Commander Govon’s delightful sister could be included in our party, she might have a calming effect...?’

‘At once, my king.’

By removing himself and Erestor from near the king, he was able to swap places with Flora and Nestoril and added a chair for Merlinith next to Arwen; it made for a slightly awkward row, for the ladies would need lean forward to talk across the king and prince, but privately, Arveldir thought it served His Majesty right, and at least Thranduil had ended up with Healer Nestoril next to him; Legolas was stuck with Arwen for his neighbour.

Glorfindel abandoned his place, too, coming to sit on the other side of the commanders and where he had a fair view of Triwathon in the adjacent area. The Balrog-slayer had chosen to present himself for the occasion in his fine blue kilt without considering that he might end up on the front row of seating. He seemed oblivious to how most of the females on the far side of the arena, and some of the males, suddenly shifted in their seats with intense interest.

Thranduil maintained a reserved, calm silence once he had greeted the newcomers, looking out across the arena and hoping the single sword combat would begin soon. Try as he might, he could not shut out Flora’s voice, although he was certain the woman thought she was speaking quietly to Nestoril. So he learned that Flora had spotted Thiriston and Canadion amongst the warriors on the next stand, and that she thought Canadion had such a sweet smile and a lovely voice and wasn’t it a waste, really, and...

It was a relief when finally Over-Captain Rawon got to his feet and walked into the centre of the arena to announce the contest, the reason for it, the running order, and the first two competitors in the sword fighting. 

They marched out onto the arena and bent the knee to their king, proud and anxious, and took their places. Thranduil acknowledge their obeisance with an elegant wave and a small, brittle smile; it was considered an honour to fight before their king, with so many eyes on them, and he knew it mattered to them that he be seen to be watching. 

He inclined his head to Rawon to give the order, and the fight began.

Well enough matched, both were strong individuals who moved well and who knew the proper moves, the two engaged in a flurry of clashing blades and swift, blurring movements. Several of the warriors watching leaned forward, soon beginning to shout encouragement, and the other spectators added their voices. The noise mounted, the excitement built, and then it was over, one combatant disarmed, the other with his sword tip at the fellow’s sternum. A nod from Rawon, and the winner helped the loser up and took his bow to eager applause, Thranduil acknowledging the win with a nod and a lift of the hand that caused the victor to grin, and bow again.

And so it went on, bout after bout, clash after clash while Thranduil tried to disregard the chatter of females, elven and human, around him and keep his eyes, if not his attention, on the contests before him.

Finally, the semi-finals were done. But if the king thought that would be an end to the awkwardness in the court stand, he was mistaken; the lull in proceedings simply made it easier for Arwen to lean forward and address a remark to Flora, which she did not hear and so Nestoril had to pass on... details of sleeping and feeding and all that went with it were passed around before him, the knowledge that Flora would be staying a while longer... all was discussed in multihued detail...

‘They’re coming out again,’ Legolas said. ‘Arwen?’

‘What? Oh, sorry...’

And the first pair of contestants – now winners, both – made their obeisance and the king acknowledged them, and it began again.

*

Govon sat in as much silence as he could, seated between Over-Captain Rawon and Commander Bregon. He saw the arrival of Nestoril and Flora, of course, felt the interest of those seated with him, especially when Bregon found himself briefly within arm’s reach of the woman and her gwinig, and could only be grateful that Arveldir arrived to whisk the ladies away and find new neighbours instead. 

He was intent on the bouts, weighing up the strengths of the winners, curious as to the outcome of their next contests...

Fonor, who he’d noted that morning, was through to the next rounds, and when his match came, Govon found himself edging towards the front of his seat, almost lost in the bout as the warrior, up against a heavier and taller opponent, still managed to duck and twist and dance his sword around to eventually flick the other weapon aside and claim the win.

It was the last of the preliminaries; the warriors who would go against the sword-fighters of Bregon, Esgaron and Govon’s commands were chosen, the winners applauded, and the arena cleared for the installation of the targets for the knife throwing. Govon allowed himself to relax.

‘Tedious, these things,’ Esgaron said. ‘Of course, if there were more warriors in our pooled companies, we would not have needed so many representatives from the rank-and-file...’

‘That’s not the reason behind it,’ Rawon said, his tone pleasant enough, for the moment. ‘It’s so those from the other companies have a chance to show their worth... and to give us the chance to see who is doing better than the rest...’

From the tier above, voices drifted down Govon recognised Merlinith’s friendly, interested tone. 

‘How are you both? Is he sleeping? Can I see...? Oh, such a sweet little face...’

‘Would you like to hold him?’ Flora asked.

‘Could I? But how long is there before the next contest...?’

‘Oh, I am sure it will be fine,’ Nestoril said. ‘Over-Captain Rawon must make the announcement first, and they are still setting the targets...’

‘Oh, then, of course, Merlinith... Could you pass Belegornor along, please, your majesty?

Everyone on the lower tier heard. Everyone turned to see what the answer to that question would be; Govon, to give him his due, was last to look.

‘Do not worry,’ Flora went on. ‘You see he is encased in leather wraps for the waterproofing... you should be quite safe... Healer Hanben made them for us...’

‘How reassuring,’ Thranduil said, receiving the infant and passing him along to Merlinith, bypassing Legolas and Arwen to do so. ‘Mistress Merlinith, you do know how to hold a gwinig...?’

‘Of course I do, my king. Please to pardon, I cannot curtsey with a babe in my arms...’

‘Do not worry. Simply take him...’

Govon turned back, smiling. There had been that in the king’s voice that he recognised as politeness under extreme duress; his majesty was perhaps not really enjoying the contest. 

The opening rounds of the knife-throwing were of great interest. Although Govon was not as expert at this discipline as he was with swords, it was easier to tell which of the contestants was better; the clustering of knives around the middle of the targets was simple to read. No-one, as far as he could tell, was anything like as good as Thiriston, on form... but that was the problem, was he back on form yet? He had been doing well enough the last Govon knew, as long as he hadn’t overworked his damaged hand...

Because of the logistics of clearing the arena for the swordfighters, and to give them chance to recover, the knife throwing would continue on from the preliminaries through to the finals with only brief pauses between practice throws and contest rounds. A glance across showed Govon that Thiriston was already preparing; Canadion was at his side, talking softly and massaging his injured hand. Celeguel, throwing for the honour of the Honour Guard, was working her own hands, stretching back her long fingers and her delicate features creased in a frown of intent.

Esgaron huffed out his breath.

‘Over-Captain, do you see that? A flagrant disregard of parade ground protocols, one of the contestants is holding hands with someone, I demand you disqualify him for...’

‘Scared, Esgaron?’ Bregon grinned. ‘Think the only way your candidate has a hope is if you get Thiriston out of the competition first?’

‘Not at all, it is...’

‘It is a hand massage,’ Rawon said flatly. ‘That particular warrior has a recent injury. If you object...’

‘I do indeed!’

‘Then if you look behind, there is Healer Nestoril. Ask her if that is a real, therapeutic massage if you doubt. But I do not doubt it is quite proper.’

Esgaron grumbled and settled down as the next batch took their practice throws.

They settled again to the contest, watching as the practice finished and the throwers took their stance. This group seemed, if anything, better than the previous set, and threw decisively and swiftly, the knives tumbling and thudding into the hearts of the targets with depressing regularity. 

It was not going to be an easy win.

*

Flora looked around her, filling up her eyes. From the uniformed warriors to the distant spectators, the surrounding green of the trees to the action in the arena, it was all exciting and interesting. The elves were all beautiful to look at, male and female alike, although some where haughty and remote in their fairness. But others, like Nestoril and Canadion, were simply friendly and nice, and made her feel special, welcome. 

Everyone seemed very interested in the baby, though. Merlinith had cuddled him for a few minutes, but he was back now, out of his sling (where he had become a little too warm) and enjoying the fresh air. The new leather over-wear seemed to be doing a good job of keeping the leaks where they should be, although that might just be because he hadn’t, yet, leaked... kind of Healer Hanben to make them, when all he seemed to do was talk loudly at her in Elvish...

Something was happening on the field below, some of the knife-throwers being brought forward to bow to the king. Perhaps Flora had missed something? She turned to Nestoril.

‘Can you tell me what is going on now, please?’

‘Yes, indeed. These persons are the winners and runners-up of the last rounds of the knife-throwing. Now they compete again, and the best three will go up against our warriors. We have Celeguel and Rimon throwing, who you may not know. And Thiriston, who you do.’

‘Oh, my friend Thiriston!’ Flora exclaimed in a voice that carried much too far. ‘If he is as good at throwing knives as he is at birthing babies, he will easily win!’ 

Through the next bout she kept a keen eye on the knife-throwers, trying to see who was best, who she should look out for, and was pleased when the one she thought would win actually did so. Clapping and applauding politely (she did not want to seem too happy, for it might seem disloyal to Thiriston), she shifted in her seat a little.   
The movement disturbed Belegornor, who protested with a half-cry that she was able to deflect, but not before many eyes turned towards her.

‘I will need to feed him soon,’ Flora said to Nestoril, not noticing how the king visibly shuddered at the thought. ‘Will any mind, do you think?’

Nestoril, who had noted Thranduil’s discomfiture, was tempted to suggest to Flora that she go ahead, if she did not mind, why should anyone else, but decided better not push his majesty’s reserve quite so far.

‘Will he wait a little while, do you think? Our warriors will be throwing in a few minutes, and after that, there will be quite a long break; we can slip back to your room then, perhaps, and come out again in time for the sword finals?’

‘That’s a good idea, Healer. Yes, I think he will do for a little while longer.’


	238. Knives and Targets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the final of the knife-throwing contest takes place...

‘It’s time,’ Over-Captain Rawon said. ‘Come, take your bows.’

He led Celeguel, Thiriston and Rimon to the front of the court stand and presented them first to the king, and then to the crowd. 

Flora waved at Thiriston who stared and shook his head for a moment, and then grinned and bowed to her. Celeguel leaned in to whisper something to him about secret admirers, which just made him smile all the more until they were called to order and sent to take their practice throws.

‘Good luck, mellyn-nin,’ Celeguel said lightly, taking her place. ‘We may need it.’

The knife felt greasy in Thiriston’s hand, its handle too heavy. Yet it was the same sort of knife he had used in competition for decades, the same he had been working with since allowed back to practice. He hefted it, tested its balance, lined up on the target, saw in his mind’s eye the blade cartwheeling through the air to hit the gold, and lifted his arm, remembering the easy flow of motion that transferred the knife from hand to air to destination. 

He drew back his hand, paused, released the knife with a flick of the wrist in a smooth action that felt good and easy, not strained and stiff, and saw the knife tip and twist and tumble to bury itself just outside the gold in the inner red. 

He breathed a sigh of relief. Not bad, not bad at all for a first throw. And it had felt right, that was the important thing. A glance at the targets to either side of his own showed Celeguel had made the outer gold, Rimon the blue. Well, Celeguel had always been good... not long recovered from a broken wrist, still showing the mark of dragon fire in her hair, she deserved a chance to show her skills...

Rimon threw again, Thiriston readied his own knife and drew back his arm...

...and a sudden twinge from his hand just as he released it sent the throw wide; he was lucky to find the black, the third ring out from the centre. He growled and swore and Celeguel, who had this time found the inner red, looked across.

‘The hand, again? Rub the palm with your other thumb, then work your fingers across the back. It will help.’

‘My thanks. Just a twinge, at the wrong time.’

‘This is not a timed contest, remember,’ Celeguel told him. ‘It is not a race, you may take as long as you need.’

‘Can see that going down well with the other competitors.’

‘Relax your shoulder; that will ease off the tension.’

‘You’re very helpful, for an opponent.’

‘Ah, we are not opponents yet,’ Celeguel said, readying her third knife.

Of the rest of his practice throws, Thiriston managed outer red, inner blue, outer gold. His last knife, released from his hand as he felt an ache suggest itself, made the inner gold, and Celeguel cheered and whooped.

‘Here is Thiriston Cut-Face, back on form!’ she laughed. ‘Now, when I beat you, I will know it wasn’t because of your injury!’

‘Well, we will see!’ Thiriston grinned back as their targets were removed and fresh brought out. ‘But I feel it will be interesting, at least!’

For the finals there would be three sets of six knives each, and the targets moved back for a further three sets; it seemed a very few throws to settle the contest, and in a way, Thiriston wished he had come through the early rounds the hard way; it would at least have given him more of an idea who he was up against, their style, their attitudes. 

But he knew his hand would not have lasted out; it was already starting to ache. This was usual, really; since Thiriston had been allowed to practice again, Canadion had made him pause between throws, between sets, and he had still ached. He’d learned to work around it, though; it was just those sudden twinges when all the nerves jumped and pain spiked unexpectedly, those he didn’t like.

Called to order, they were introduced again alongside the challengers, none of whom Thiriston knew particularly well. Rimon seemed familiar with two of them, though and exchanged pleasantries while the targets were properly settled and measured out and lots drawn for who aimed at which. 

Thiriston drew the fifth position between Rimon on sixth and one of the challengers, bemoaning his lot somewhat, on fourth; although angled so that every contestant and target was visible to both the court stand and the spectators opposite, the positions nearest the king’s viewpoint were the most coveted. As for Thiriston, he didn’t care, although he would have liked to be near enough to exchange insults with Celeguel, along the row on second position.

‘When you’re all ready...? Six knives a-piece, take your time throwing... but we do not want to be here all day, and there are some chaps with swords might get a bit impatient...’ Rawon said, drawing a nervous laugh from some of the throwers. ‘Very well. First set, you may begin.’

Rawon stepped back and the throwers prepared their arms. Again, Thiriston became aware of the weight and balance of the knife, bounced the handle in his palm, turned it to secure the blade for the throw. To his left, Position Four threw first, too quickly, nerves getting the better of him, prompting Position Three, also a challenger from the ranks, to release as well. Black and red respectively, nerves getting in Four’s way... Thiriston took a breath, felt the connection between knife and arm and hand and target and flicked the blade away...

It landed with a satisfying thud in the outer gold, and Thiriston breathed again.

After the end of the first set, Thiriston was fairly pleased with himself; he had done no worse than one stray knife in the inner blue, while the rest of his knives were clustered in and around the gold. To his right, Rimon had done almost as well, while the challenger on the left had suffered a few loose hits. He w wasn't able to see what the others had done, but Rawon called for attention.

'Set win to Position Two, then Five and One...'

He was on Five... Not bad, for one with a damaged hand... and Celeguel had taken the set. That wasn’t necessarily going to affect the outcome, since the throws from all three sets were taken into account and added up to reveal the winner; it was a useful marker, that was all, and if you were to lose the match, to be able to say, well, I won a set, that helped with the disappointment a little.

There was a pause while scores were noted and knives retrieved, and Thiriston took the opportunity to massage his hand. Rimon saw, and called over.

'Bothering you already, mellon-nin?'

'Not so much, no. Thanks for your concern.'

'I thought I had you. Must be close.'

'Indeed.'

Then the order came to throw when ready, and the second set began.

...Yes, the ache in his hand was constant, now, but he could work with the rhythm of it. Ignore the throws from around him; not a race... send two fast, flick and tip and tumble through the air... inner red and outer gold, pause to gauge the pace of the pain and go again... gold, red... inner gold, red... better, that time. More clustered. Only two reds, too... 

The challenger on Position Four was having a rough time of it, only one in the gold. Rimon, on Six, was grinning and shaking his head... what for? Three in the gold, difficult to see exactly...

‘Set goes to Position Five, then One and Six.’

Thiriston felt his face grinning even as he massaged the injured hand. The set! But there was no telling how close Celeguel had come, what she’d done first set... could have been six in the inner gold for all he knew...

‘Well done, Thiriston,’ Rimon said. ‘I’ll have you next time...’

It was close, certainly; Thiriston mistimed a throw and his hand spasmed and jerked when it shouldn’t have, causing a wobble that shifted its trajectory right out to the edge of the black. His other knives were good; gold twice and inner gold, and two reds, but Rimon had two outer golds, two inner golds, and two reds.

‘Got you!’ Rimon called out when Rawon announced the wins; Position One, then Two, and Six.

‘Well done. Let’s see you do the same at distance!’ Thiriston grinned back, but really, his confidence was ebbing. Another spasm, and a loose throw would simply go more off-line the further it had to travel.

He rubbed at his hand while the targets were moved and re-faced and the scores added up, trying not to growl at the delay, but he was starting to feel tense. True, he’d won a set, but so had Celeguel... and the challenger on Position One had won one and placed in two...

And when the results came in, they were not that bad. Position One, a challenger from the ranks by name of Horndaer, was two points ahead of Celeguel. Thiriston was six behind her, and Rimon two points adrift in fourth place. The other two challengers didn’t appear to be a threat, being some eight and nineteen points behind respectively.

Damn hand! Really aching now, and unless he wanted to try throwing left handed... 

The targets were in place, freshly faced, ready for the distance sets. And, really, they were not that much further away... a little more speed, a little more power...

‘Take your practice throws when ready,’ Rawon said, for, of course, none of the contestants had cast at this distance yet that day.

Thiriston flexed his hand. Just how many good throws did he have left?

How many would he need?

Rimon had already thrown twice, the ellon on Position Four a more cautious once, the lessons from the first sets learned, at last. Thiriston weighed the knife in his hand, adjusted his stance, and threw...

He’d put more energy into this cast, but the flick of the wrist that accompanied the throw had been deliberately restrained... still, the knife behaved well, cartwheeling and glinting in the sun to hit firmly in the red.

Resting for a moment, he ignored the throws around him, busy gauging the strength left in his hand, he picked the perfect time and sent a second knife after the first. 

Gold.

That would do.

Everyone else had completed their practice and Rawon looked across.

‘Position Five?’

‘I want to waive my remaining practice throws, Over-Captain.’

‘Something wrong?’

Thiriston shook his head; to admit he was in pain might make Rawon decide to retire him from the contest...

‘No, I just have the measure of it, that’s all.’

‘Very well. Get your knives back, everybody, and stand ready.’

Walking to the target to retrieve his two knives, Thiriston was already wondering if he’d done the right thing. It looked now as if it had been a show of bravado, claiming to know the target after just two casts. But Rimon was looking thoughtfully at him and Celeguel glanced over with sympathy in her eyes.

Maybe he should have taken the extra throws left handed instead?

Ah, well, too late now...

Rawon called them to their positions, gave the order...

Thiriston took his time, waited until both Rimon and Position Four had thrown their first knives before sending his own somersaulting through the air. That it hit the outer gold was a relief; that the challenger on his left had also hit the gold was a surprise; it was rare to be better at distance throwing, but it seemed to be the case for his neighbour. Rimon had made a reasonable red, too.

Second cast. Working around the timing of the ache now, trying to use it, to let go of the knife just in that pause between ache and throb... red, inner gold, gold, red, red...

‘Set goes to Position Two, Four is second, Five in third. Well done.’

Thiriston blinked and looked at his neighbour’s target. Four gold, two red... the fellow was finding his form, and now he was relaxed, could be dangerous... and Celeguel, with two sets won, must be doing well herself...

Next set was better; one outer red, five in the gold, three of which made the inner. But the ache was trying to become a pain now...

‘Position Five takes the set, then One and Two...’

What? Really? Must have been unlucky along the line, then... but there was Celeguel, again in the top three... Horndaer, the challenger doing well...

Last set. This was where it mattered. Scores wouldn’t be tallied up until after the throws, though, so no knowing who was where, how much ground Thiriston might have gained, or lost...

He massaged his hand, glad, at last, that he’d not taken all his practice throws...

The final set felt like a nightmare. It was as if the strength had gone from his hand, and it took a huge effort of concentration to gather his energies enough for the first throw. It went wider than it should, hitting the inner blue. Some consolation; Position Four was back to his old habit of throwing too fast, and himself had gone astray with his first two throws. Thiriston’s next was back on track, the centre of the red, and the ache abated long enough for him to make two golds in quick succession. His neighbour had by now thrown all his knives with only one gold to show for the set... it would have been encouraging, had the fellow been throwing better... to his other side, though, Rimon had finished, too... in fact, all the others had thrown and he was the only one left with blades to spin...

It wasn’t a race.

Slowly, easily, Thiriston made his arm move, his wrist flick, his fingers release. The knife blurred and circled and hit the gold.

One more. He only had to do one more. And whatever the outcome – a glance at Rimon’s target suggested he wouldn’t be a threat – Thiriston did, at least, have the honour of taking two sets, one at each distance...

He could feel the tension building from the spectators, the other contestants, and he wondered whether they had some clue to the scores, some sense that this was possibly an important throw...

Nonsense. They were all important.

And this? Just another throw.

He hauled back, let the knife fly...

And knew before it hit that it was just about perfect. He felt his face stretch into a grin as the knife hit the inner gold, rocked the target, and a cheer went up.

Not a bad throw to finish on.

‘Well done,’ Position Four said. ‘Hand been troubling you?’

‘You could say that.’

‘Trounced again!’ Rimon said, coming over to slap Thiriston’s shoulder. ‘Thought I might just have a chance of taking you today...’

‘I was lucky. Don’t think I’ve got another throw left in me.’

Rawon came across.

‘Thiriston? Healer Nestoril is here and wants to see you, at once, she said, with her fierce face on... why didn’t you say you were injured?’

‘Because it’s an old injury and I thought it was healed enough. And I didn’t want to sit this one out.’

Thiriston followed Rawon to the edge of the arena where Nestoril was waiting with a stern expression and her hands full of caul silk.

‘You threw well,’ she said, taking hold of his wrist and opening his hand to pry delicately at the injured tissues, noting where her examination made him flinch. ‘It is nothing too serious, just overwork of the soft tissues. But you must bind it, and rest it for a few days more. Otherwise Healer Hanben will be suggesting amputation again!’

He managed a rueful grin at that as she massaged salve into his hand and began wrapping it in caul silk, topping it with a thicker, stronger bandage she took all along his arm. For good measure, she added a sling.

‘Healer!’ he protested.

‘No, but trust me; you won two sets clear... but if you don’t get the win you deserve, and the crowd sees you in a very obvious sling, you will still be the hero of the day...’

Rawon called everyone back to their places for the results.

‘Position Two takes the set. Then One, and Five.’

Celeguel, again.

‘And your overall results... There is a tie on points for third place. With four hundred and seventy points, Position Five, Thiriston of the Court Guard and Position One, Horndaer, a challenger from the main guard...’

Relief and annoyance at the same time. Still, third was better than nothing...

‘...so taking set wins and placings into account, second place goes to Position Five, Thiriston of the Court Guard... and the win to Position Two, Celeguel of the Honour Guard. Come, make your bows.’


	239. Potential Repercussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Flora causes more disruption...

Flora watched Thiriston’s performance on the targets with great excitement, bouncing up and down in her seat whenever it seemed he threw well. Fortunately, Nestoril had taken Belegornor for a few minutes, so the infant was not excessively jiggled about.

‘What is happening? How is the scoring worked out? Is Thiriston winning?’

‘That’s the end of the first three sets. Thiriston is doing quite well – he is in third position – but I think his hand is troubling him,’ Nestoril said. ‘Scoring is... well, the closer to the middle of the target you hit, the more you score.’

When the contest eventually finished and the winners announced, Flora was delighted with Thiriston’s second place, and almost as pleased by the winner.

‘A girl won! A girl beat all those boys!’

‘Well, the girl is an elf... Celeguel is very good at her job. And I must be good at mine; can you let me pass, please, Flora? I must attend Thiriston’s hand.’

*

Thiriston took his bows, congratulated Celeguel and commiserated with Rimon, and headed towards the seats where Canadion was standing and applauding him.

Intent on grinning at his fëa-mate, he was surprised to find himself intercepted and enveloped in a slightly lop-sided hug, a torrent of gibberish Westron in his ears.

‘Well done, oh, I am so proud of you, well done! Are you hurt? Belegornor, here is Thiriston, who brought you into the world, and now he has won second prize...’

‘Flora?’ Thiriston said, recognising the voice and trying to disengage, hoping Flora wasn’t about to drop the baby. ‘Will you let go? Mind the baby!’

‘Oh, I know that, gwinig! Yes, do you want to see him?’ Understanding only her name and that one word, Flora released the big warrior and took a step back to properly present Belegornor, whose face was starting to crumple at being jostled about, when all he really wanted was his feed. ‘Here he is!’

‘He’s very fine, Flora, but I can’t hold him like this,’ Thiriston said, indicating his sling and trying to sidle off. ‘And Canadion...’

Flora picked up on the name, and nodded.

‘Yes, indeed, Canadion will translate for us!’

She set off after Thiriston towards the warriors’ seating, oblivious to the consternation she was causing. Candion, grinning delightedly, came to meet them.

‘Well done, melleth, are you much hurt?’ he said, giving Thiriston a swift hug. ‘I will forgive you for cuddling Flora, as we both know she is human and not your type anyway...’

‘Canadion, can you say to Thiriston, I am pleased he did well?’

Canadion nodded and repeated the message.

‘Thought it must be something like that. People are staring, aren’t they?’

‘If anything, they are looking with far more interest than during the contest. But I think we can silence them. Or at least give them a riddle to read...’ Canadion kept smiling and turned to Flora, swapping to Westron again. ‘And here is your baby! He looks much better than when last I saw him! May I hold him?’

‘Canadion, no!’ Thiriston protested, but his fëa-mate had already taken the child and was holding him in the crook of his arm as if the baby belonged there.

‘Shall we sit down? Flora, will you sit with us? There will be a little rest before the sword fighting.’

‘Let’s not,’ Thiriston said, but it was too late; Canadion had already carried the baby off.

‘Who have we here?’ Hador, himself a proud Ada, stood up to have a better look, and Canadion passed Belegornor back to Flora, who was delighted to show him off to a new audience.

Soon the baby was being touched and spoken to and generally admired by most of the gathered guard, Flora beaming and telling his name, and trying hard to understand what was being said. Canadion translated, but only the friendlier remarks, for there were not a few comments as to how the baby – obviously a peredhel – came to be there, and interest in the other half of his parentage.

‘It is not possible to give you a name,’ Canadion said, trying to make his voice solemn.

‘Oh, like that is it?’ someone said. ‘Poor little mite. One of the five who died in the Battle of the Three Dragons, was it?’

‘I really cannot say,’ Canadion said. ‘But there were other losses on that journey.’

‘That’s true. Well, I can think of one it won’t have been...’ the curious warrior said. ‘Maybe two, come to think of it... seems a shame... explains why she’s here, though, doesn’t it?’

*

‘Nestoril, just what do you think you were doing?’ Thranduil demanded as the healer took her seat once more.

‘Thiriston’s hand needed binding; he threw excellently, all things considered, but he needed a few more days, really; I hope he has not delayed his recovery, but...’

‘I did not mean with Cut-Face! I meant bringing Flora here and... and permitting her to go off with the warriors like that!’

‘Flora is our guest, not our prisoner, my king. Or do you suggest removing her and her gwinig to the dungeons?’

‘Do not be ridiculous, Ness!’ 

The familiarity of the king’s address, instead of reassuring Nestoril that Thranduil wasn’t really annoyed, only served to raise her ire that he could consider it a matter for jest.

‘Your pardon, your majesty,’ she replied stiffly. ‘I was wondering what you might recommend? Especially as I understand you were considering whether or not to install Flora in the palace...’

Thranduil snapped his head round to stare at her, all pretence at humour gone. 

‘I have not yet finished my consideration of the matter,’ he said. 

‘Flora has expressed a wish to go home and her mother is coming to collect her shortly; I doubt she will remain with us for more than ten days at most... but to keep her confined for so long...’

‘She should not be permitted to wander freely amongst the guard, at least; it was a bad idea, Nestoril. The Valar alone know what people will be thinking, it is most inconvenient...’

‘My king, it was not my idea. And I refuse to curtail the liberty of any person just because it is an inconvenience. It would be unkind.’ She shifted in her seat. ‘Almost as unkind as trying to persuade her not to go home at all...’

‘I will allow you to express your opinions freely within the boundaries of your own domain, Healer, but outside them I will trouble you to remember that you are not my advisor.’

‘Thank you, your majesty. I was never in any danger of forgetting that.’ She rose from her seat and dropped a very formal curtsey. ‘With your leave, I will return to my halls now. Good day, sire.’

Thranduil lifted a hand in dismissal and turned away. Although he kept his face impassive so that none outside immediate earshot would realise it, he was actually struggling to maintain a semblance of calm. That Nestoril should dare question his judgement in such a way...! 

His annoyance was made all the worse by the fact that the interest the warriors were showing in Flora made him aware that her presence might be causing undue speculation of a rather unpleasant sort... 

A glance across showed him his son was staring intently at the girl and her admirers, too. 

‘Legolas, I think it is time Flora returned to her quarters. The gwinig is undoubtedly due a feed, I heard Flora discussing it.’

Legolas jumped.

‘Father?’

‘You had better escort her before the child starts crying and drawing even more attention. Or before she decides to feed him in public. You are the child’s acknowledged sponsor, after all.’

Legolas bit back a sigh as he got to his feet and slid past Arwen and Merlinith. The afternoon had dragged, with Govon so near and yet unavailable for conversation and companionship, and now to be sent on such an errand... 

‘And do not be long, ion-nin,’ Thranduil added.

‘As you wish, Father.’

Well, at least his father’s parting command had made it clear he wasn’t talking to Flora by choice...

‘Can I interrupt?’ he said, smiling at Flora, attempting a conversation with Celeguel, who was holding Belegornor as if he was a better prize than winning the contest had been. ‘I am reminded that Flora needs to take her gwinig away to be fed, now, and asked to escort them... Flora?’ He repeated the gist in Westron, adding, somewhat imaginatively, ‘I think Nestoril has already left.’

‘Oh, of course!’ Flora said. ‘Belegornor has been sucking Canadion’s knuckle to pacify him, but you are right... give him to me, then...’

In the ensuing handover, Celeguel misunderstood when Legolas translated, and passed Belegornor into his arms. A moment’s panic, and it was at that moment that he saw his father staring at him as if he had just had a revelation... and Govon looking from one to another of them with stricken eyes.

He hurried to pass the baby back to Flora and led her away, looking back at Govon with longing and concern... how was he going to make his fëa-mate feel better after this?

*

‘Do you see that?’ Esgaron exclaimed as he saw Legolas suddenly holding the gwinig. ‘Is there a family resemblance there, do we think?’

‘I would think less loudly, if I were you,’ Commander Bregon said as he saw Govon flinch beside him. ‘Our prince is sponsor for one who cannot provide. Not our business to speculate.’

Trying to look away, anywhere but at his fëa-mate, Govon found his eyes drawn to the king. Thranduil was staring at Legolas and the infant with such intensity that the Commander quailed inwardly. What could that expression mean? Had the king just had some sudden insight to do with the gwinig? It looked as if Thranduil had just had the best idea of his long life... or the worst, depending on your viewpoint; whatever it was, Govon felt his sense of unease growing to unbearable levels and all he wanted was to grab his fëa-mate and take him far, far away from kings and commanders and their manipulations...

He took a breath, trying to steady himself as Rawon took his seat.

‘Well done, Bregon, good thrower you have there...’

‘She is indeed; I’m very proud of her. Didn’t expect to take Thiriston, though, but it looks like that injury of his still hasn’t cleared up...’

‘It’s taking long enough,’ Esgaron said. ‘If he were in my command, I’d be suggesting he retire... but I suppose as his company is disbanding soon, it won’t matter...’

‘He will have plenty of offers, I am sure,’ Bregon said. ‘Whatever the fate of our Court Guard is, I’m sure they won’t simply be allowed to fade into the other companies, though; they achieved too much for that to happen. Tell me, Govon, what do you make of the pretenders in the sword-work? There’s a couple I had my eye on this morning... Of course, you’ve got Hador fighting; he knows a thing or two...’

*

Thranduil stared at Legolas, Flora and the baby. He saw other persons staring, too, heard Esgaron’s remark, and realised that in order to stem such a tide of rumour as was bound to arise, he would have to let Flora, and her child, his grandson, go home.

Belatedly, he realised he had been foolish to think it would be possible, or right, to invite Flora to make her home in the palace and that he had, perhaps, put Legolas in a difficult position expecting him to make the offer... and, seeing the tormented expression on Govon’s face, watching him flee the field, he began to wonder just how many repercussions there would be from Flora’s ill-advised outing.

And as he overheard Commander Esgaron’s continued needling and sniping, he was quite sure there would be repercussions from that, as well...


	240. Premonition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas finds Govon has left the field...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandalwood Warning: Please be aware that the latter stages of this chapter are probably not fit for reading in public.

‘My prince! What are you doing here?’

Nestoril’s voice was not entirely approving, Legolas noticed, her eyes tight, somehow.

‘My father asked me to walk Flora across.’ He turned with a smile to Flora. ‘But I’d better be getting back.’

‘You are not waiting to escort Flora to the sword-fighting presently, then?’

‘No; should I do so? Or is there someone else who might? Or when shall I return?’

Nestoril pursed her lips, holding Legolas’ gaze. But she saw nothing of deception there, no sense that Thranduil might have suggested he keep Flora away for the rest of the afternoon..

‘I don’t think you need wait,’ she said. ‘Enjoy the rest of the afternoon; I have had enough fighting for one day.’

Not quite sure what she meant, Legolas said goodbye and turned to go. The quickest way was back through the corridors to the outer doors around the other side of the healers’ hall, and he arrived at the field with plenty of time before the sword bouts were due to start. Noticing a gap on the lowest row of seating, he frowned. 

Where had his fëa-mate gone?

*

Govon came to a stop in surprise. He had hardly been aware of getting up and leaving his seat, hadn’t even realised he’d fled the field until he’d come to a stop...

Now he found himself in the trees that surrounded the practice ground, out past the long archery range and beyond, a corner of the barracks visible just though the branches.

He sighed, his shoulders drooping. Well, he didn't think he could take much more of Esgaron's needling, that was certain... And as for that look on the king's face... it haunted him.

So easy, it would be so easy for his majesty to give an order, issue a command, and Govon could find himself sentinel on a flet near the Dwarf Road for the next six decades or so while his adar-in-honour put pressure on Legolas to legitimise Belegornor's presence in the kingdom for the duration of Flora’s human span.

Govon shook his head. It wasn't that he doubted his fëa mate's love for him; it was more that he doubted he was worthy of it. And that he had every confidence in Thranduil's ability to get his own way... 

He’d needed to move, to distance himself from the king, from Esgaron... at the moment, he would have quite liked to distance himself from himself, too, were it possible.

He set off through the forest, heading towards the one placed he thought he might find a little comfort.

*

'Have you seen Govon?' Thranduil asked as Legolas resumed his seat. 'He left rather abruptly; I thought he may have followed you.'

'No, Father; what happened?'

Thranduil lifted his fingers in a non-committal gesture of denial.

'I could not say. But he had been looking at you quite intently while you had the child in your arms.'

'That doesn't sound good. What did you say anything to him?'

'I? Nothing, in fact. What makes you think that?'

'He was all right about Flora now, that's all. So it must be something else...'

'Apart from the choice comments we have been hearing from one of the commanders from time to time today?’

‘I’d better go and look for him, then.’ 

‘Yes, do so. Whatever has caused his disappearance, it will not do for his warrior to be fighting without him here to watch!'

Legolas nodded and rose to his feet. The targets had all been cleared by now, and the fighting circle drawn. Sand was being scattered on the surface; it would not be too much longer before the ground was prepared for the pretenders’ bouts to begin.

'You had better tell them to delay, Adar,' he called back as a parting shot. 'Flora might be a little while, too.'

Without any certain idea where to look for Govon, simply worried and knowing he needed to find him, Legolas turned towards the palace and was halfway there when he realised something was pulling him towards the forest.

Once in the shadow of the canopy, he hesitated. Sometimes the call of the trees was very loud... but they weren’t always clear what they were shouting about.  
He rested against the trunk of a fine hazel tree, breathing in the scent of the forest around him...

Yes. He needed to go this way...

The trees opened their arms to Legolas and welcomed him into the soft greens realms of calm. He felt his worry for Govon begin to diminish as the billows of fragrance from the forest soothed him. Still not convinced his father wasn't in some way responsible for Govon's abrupt departure, he cast about, hoping for a clue as to where to go.

But, of course, he knew. He’d known all along.

Taking a moment to get his bearings, he hurried through the trees towards the greensward.

*

Govon walked out into the open space and lowered himself to the grass, his back to the rise. 

He cast his mind back to the day he had escaped from the healers' hall, escaped Merlinith’s well-meaning fussing and found his way here. Back then, he had not dared to hope that that the elf who had cared for him during his spider sickness would ever care about him, especially not once he had realised who that fair elf actually was...

So, whatever came next, at least he had had a few months of love, of being loved. At least...

He gave himself an angry mental shake. He was behaving as if it was over, as if Thranduil was going to try to separate them. Well, he would not give in without fighting for his fëa-mate.

Except, what was the point? Surely it had been doomed from the start?

And even if it hadn’t been, what now, with his career in shreds, his warriors objects of Esgaron's ridicule? He thought back to the day Legolas had walked out from the darkness of the forest shadows looking like a promise of forever, and the thought of how much he had to lose was too much and he dropped his head and found he was weeping.

*

Legolas hurried through the edges of the forest, drawn on by the chemical signals of the trees, sure now that he would find Govon on the greensward.

Alarm grew in him once more as he remembered Tharmeduil’s vision of a weeping Govon with downcast eyes and he realised he was beginning to fear what he would find once he got there.

He had tried – Eru knew, he had tried to reassure Govon, to support him in his self-doubt, but there was only so much he could do, really, only so many times he could say, I love you, all will be well...

No. No, he realised, there weren’t; there was no limit on how many times he would repeat the words, no boundaries on what he would for Govon’s sake.

He came out into the bright sunshine and saw Govon sitting cross-legged on the grass, his eyes downcast, his head and shoulders forwards, disconsolate, in a position he recognised from the drawing in Tharmeduil’s vision-book, and Legolas knew his fëa-mate was weeping. He swallowed and tried to gather himself together, resolving, this time, to banish Govon’s fears for good.

Taking a breath, he crossed half the distance between them and stopped. Govon hadn’t noticed him yet, hadn’t lifted his head.

‘Hey, friend captain. Are you well?’

Govon started at the sound of the beloved voice and shook his head, unable to answer. And then Legolas was with him, not intruding, not smothering him with an embrace, but just laying a tentative hand over his.

‘What did Adar do? What did he say?’

Govon shook his head and leaned forward so that he was resting against Legolas, tacit permission, now, to hold him. Legolas encircled him lightly with his arms.

‘Whatever it is, whatever is causing you so much anguish, I want to help. Whatever you want, or need, or...’

‘Come away with me,’ Govon blurted, his voice husky, shaking. ‘Come away, now, today, this minute.’

‘All right. Where?’

‘Somewhere that isn’t here.’

‘Is it so bad? That is, of course, if it’s what you want, my love...’

‘Yes, yes, it is. It was... did you see the look on your father’s face? What did it mean, what was he thinking?’

‘I didn’t see, melleth.’

‘He was... it was as if he’d just had a revelation of some sort... and he was looking at you and the baby and... and we know he wants the child to stay in the palace and...’

‘Govon, there isn’t anything my father could do, or say, to make me help him achieve that...’

‘But he is very good at getting his own way. And he loves you, which makes it harder for you to refuse...’

‘Not impossible, though. And, by the same reasoning, you love me, which means I’m not going to refuse you either.’

‘But he’s the king...’

‘No. No, melleth, where we’re concerned, he’s just my adar.’ Legolas leaned back, releasing his hold on Govon to take his hands and gently stroke his thumbs across his fëa-mate’s knuckles. ‘So...?’

‘I can’t... Esgaron, all the time... and no word, still, about the future of the guard... I’m going to end up on a watch flet near the Old Road keeping Dwarves from getting lost... so I might as well get out now, with you, before anything happens...’

‘Where do you want to go? Lake-town?’

‘Too many humans.’

‘True, there are a lot of them about. I can’t go to Rivendell...’

‘I don’t want you within fifty miles of Elrond, my fair elf!’

‘Lothlórien might welcome us... there would be trees, at least... or we could head for Mithlond.’

‘I can’t sail.’

‘Not to sail, just to live... or we could wander where we please, live off the land... soldiers of fortune, bows and knives for hire, perhaps...’

‘W...would you really?’

‘For you, anything.’ 

‘Now?’ Govon looked into Legolas’ bright blue eyes. ‘This minute?’

Legolas got to his feet, pulling Govon up after him. Not particularly wanting to run away from his responsibilities to the kingdom, still, his responsibilities to his fëa-mate came first. If he could just get Govon to take a little time to think about this, he was sure they would find another course of action. But getting his friend captain to pause, that was the tricky thing...

‘Well... I’d quite like to stop off in our quarters to pick up the oil, first... And maybe my bow, a quiver or two of arrows.’

Govon dragged the back of his hand across his face.

‘Good idea. The weapons, that is.’ He managed a half-sided smile. ‘And the oil.’

Legolas masked his relief at Govon’s change of tone. 

‘Come on, then,’ he said, reasserting his grip on Govon’s hand. ‘We can be on our way in ten minutes... twenty, if you want to take the horses.’

‘No, I’d rather go on foot. We can go up into the canopy then, difficult to do with horses.’

Legolas laughed.

‘Yes... and even if we did get them up into the trees, can you imagine sharing a flet with one...? We could go south, first, through the forest. There are fewer outliers there, we’re less likely to bump into other elves. Or else we head west, avoiding the patrols, but heading for the eyot. Once there, we can cross the mountains north of Imladris... it’s dangerous country, orcs and wargs, but with any luck the population won’t have had time to recover from the dragons yet...’

In this way, talking about possible options and routes, Legolas got Govon to their quarters. He still had no real idea where they would be heading; Govon was much clearer about where he didn’t want to go than where he did...

The door secured behind them, Legolas went into the bedroom and opened the cupboard where he kept his hunting gear. He ran his hand over his bows; he could only take one, really, and had just about decided the short bow would be more practical when he heard the sound of a stopper sliding out of a bottle and the waft of sandalwood filled the air. 

Turning, he saw Govon with the open oil flask in his hands, his eyes intense.

‘You would really do this for me? Give up your life here?’

Legolas nodded.

‘The only thing I won’t give up, Govon, is you.’ He gestured at the bottle in Govon’s hands. ‘Is there a reason why you’ve uncorked the bottle?’

A very small smile made Govon look, for a moment, slightly less haunted.

‘I thought... one last time, in the comfort of our own bed, my fair elf...’

Legolas turned away from the cupboard and crossed to his fëa-mate. Gently he reached out and began to unfasten Govon’s uniform tunic.

‘Well, you probably won’t want to travel in warrior garb...’

‘You look somewhat... overdressed yourself...’ Govon said, setting down the oil and stopper and bringing both hands to bear on Legolas’ silver formal coat. ‘Let’s get you out of your finery, my fair elf.’

It was quickly accomplished, Govon’s hands deft on the fastenings, Legolas, competent with Govon’s closures and soon the garments were left in a pool of puddled fabric on the floor, finery and work-wear tangled together.

Legolas stood looking at Govon for a moment, taking in the lean muscles, the marks of battle on the strong, potent body, all the while aware that Govon’s eyes were roaming him, in turn.

It was Govon who reached out first, who cupped Legloas’ face in his hands and pulled close to kiss him, and that was as it should be, Legolas realised vaguely, before all conscious thought was swamped in the dance of hands and mouths and other body parts. Govon needed to lead, to choose, to make his presence felt, and it was a pleasure and delight for the prince to be pushed back onto the bed, to fall away into the pounding of his heart and the need of his body, to feel Govon hard against him, so hard when his lips and tongue were so delicate...

A pause and the slide of oiled fingers invading gently, and Legolas moaned against Govon’s tongue as his flesh responded to the delight the sensation aroused in him. He arched up into the kiss, his own hands curving over the contours of Govon’s body, grabbing at his buttocks to pull him close, thrusting his hips up even as Govon thrust back before the commander turned him, raising him as he grabbed his waist to pull him back, to enter and fill him up with hard heat and to scrabble around with his free hand to encircle Legolas’ erection with strong fingers. The prince bucked back against Govon’s body, encouraging his beloved, and the commander began to move inside him, slowly to begin, savouring each measured slide back and forward, pulling away and then falling back in, gradually building up speed and intensity, his hand stroking Legolas in time with the thrusts of his hips, bringing his mouth to the silken skin of his fëa-mate’s spine to kiss and tongue and gently bite, to whisper words of love and need until the accumulation of sensations were too much and Legolas cried out as he spasmed and found his climax with a shudder and a gasp.

Govon released his hold gently, wrapped his arms around Legolas’ waist and pulled against him, allowing himself to become lost in the rhythm and urgency of his need until he pushed and cried one last time to find his own release and spasm into his melleth with a sob.

As Govon slid out of him, Legolas turned to take his fëa-mate in his arms to kiss him softly and stroke the hair back from his face. Govon was trembling, whether from exertion or emotion the prince didn’t know, but he smiled once the kiss ended Legolas held him close again.

‘There may be a small delay, friend captain,’ he said. ‘We will need to wash, before we can go anywhere.’

Govon sighed and snuggled in.

‘I think I’m happy where I am for the moment,’ he said.


	241. Persuasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas talks to Govon about leaving...

Legolas stroked soap over Govon’s skin, unhurried as he smoothed and washed and rinsed. Not entirely sure his fëa-mate had given up the idea of leaving, he began a considered conversation aimed at making Govon subtly aware of the difficulties attendant on running away from home...

‘We had better not linger, friend captain,’ he said. ‘They will wait the start of the sword fighting for as long as they can; Adar will be expecting me back and so will make them delay. It will actually be very impolite of me not to be there...’

‘True...’

‘...but it should give us longer to get clear of the palace – before we are really missed, and Adar begins to wonder where we have got to...’

Govon washed Legolas’ shoulders in silence.

‘Hador,’ he said presently. ‘I’ll miss Hador’s bout if we leave now. He’s not expected to win, not really. I think it might matter more to him, if he loses, and his commander isn’t there. And if I’m not there, that will just give Esgaron more fuel for his fire...’

‘If we hurry, we can still be in time to watch the bouts,’ Legolas suggested.

‘I’d like that. But... I don’t want to sit with the other commanders...’

‘I don’t want to sit with Adar,’ Legolas said with a grin, climbing out of the bathing pool and draping a towel around his shoulders. He shook out a second and held it for Govon. ‘Dry your back for you?’

‘Thank you.’

‘I have an idea. But first, I just want to be sure... is this about Flora? The gwinig?’

Govon shook his head as he let Legolas swathe him in towels and begin to dry him off.

‘I’m not... not jealous, if that’s what you mean. It’s obvious Flora likes you... but she likes Thiriston as well, and her little face really brightens when she sees Canadion looking her way... so I know she doesn’t think of you in those terms. It’s just your father, the way he was looking... as if... all I could see was him trying to make it all tidy and neat so he can keep the child here, and not realising the harm he might do, not just to you and me, but to Flora, too, and the baby. But he’s the king, he isn’t ever wrong...’

‘He’s a father, Govon. That means he’s often mistaken. But – really – Flora?’

‘She, herself, is not a problem.’

‘Good. Then we will pick her up on our way back and sit with her, and the baby, amongst the watching warriors and not in the court stand.’

For a moment Govon stared. Then he broke out into a laugh.

‘All right! And if any still speculate about Flora and the child, it will confuse and confound them.’

‘Oh, I think Flora has been doing quite a good job of confusing everyone already... aided and abetted by Canadion and Thiriston... so, good.’ Legolas reached for clothes, rejecting the formal coat of earlier and dressing in a simple shirt and leggings with a soft grey jerkin over it. ‘And, it means we will not be near Merlinith... if we were in the same stand, you might want to say goodbye to her and that would alert everyone in earshot... perhaps you might write her a letter; I intend to leave a note with Erestor...’

Govon shook his head, stunned; the truth was he had not thought beyond leaving, had not considered the possible effect his leaving might have on his sister.

‘I can’t... I didn’t... I can’t leave Merlinith, not like this...’

Legolas took Govon’s hands and pulled him to sit down on the bed.

‘I will go with you anywhere, stay with you anywhere, if that’s what you want. I hate to see you so distressed and to know it’s my fault...’

‘No, melleth...’

Legolas shrugged. ‘My father’s fault, then. But he’s my adar, so I feel responsible, still. And if you want to stay, after all, then we need to find a way for you to do so without being so crushed by Esgaron and by Adar.’

‘But I understand why Esgaron is like this... I do not blame him...’

‘Well, you should. Yes, he lost more warriors than you, or Bregon, to the dragons. But it was not your fault you were incapacitated in the battle – you almost died Govon, for Eru’s sake, how is that your fault?’

Govon managed a weak smile.

‘He was my commander, once. He deserves my respect.’

‘And you are a commander in your own right, melleth, and deserve his. No, respect works both ways. And really, I feel there is more to it than simply the losses he suffered. I think he believes you know it was he who was so unkind to Triwathon...’

‘Well, we all knew it!’

‘Yes – but nobody has yet said anything – unless you count Glorfindel growling at him – and I think he is afraid you might, so he is trying to keep you off-balance, to belittle you in the hopes that were you to say something about his treatment of Triwathon, he would have diminished you so much in the eyes of your contemporaries that they would think you were simply retaliating. Whereas everyone knows, everyone sees how unfair Esgaron is being. Even Adar noted it today with annoyance.’

Govon drew his brows together in a frown, shaking his head.

‘Could it be so? That Esgaron is not simply hurting, but is deliberately being unkind?’

‘Well, we have seen him be cruel to Triwathon; I do not think it such a long reach from that to continually sniping at you. And as for how to deal with him; you have an ally already in Glorfindel; I think his mysterious contest will go some way towards putting Esgaron back in his place. In the interim, perhaps you should just ignore the commander’s comments?’

‘I have been trying to, melleth...’

‘Yes, but this time ignore him in such a way that it is obvious you are doing so. Maybe with the addition of a slightly pitying look...’

‘Oh, I could not...’

‘Then confront him, perhaps. Just... something...’

Govon took a steadying breath.

‘I will try. I will try not to let myself be oppressed again – by Esgaron, or by your father.’

Legolas grinned. 

‘When you find the secret of not being squashed by my adar, melleth, would you share it with me?’


	242. Winner of the Bout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the fights continue...

Thranduil was beginning to wonder if Legolas was ever coming back.

He watched Rawon directing the work crew as they put the finishing touches to the newly-resurfaced sparring circle, making minute adjustments and (to Thranduil’s practised eye) obviously stalling for time. The over-captain stared off into the distance for a second, lifting his chin as if in recognition, and then turned to where the winners of the morning fights were waiting under an awning.

‘Very well. First two pairs, take your warm up.’

Thranduil watched idly as the warriors began their practice, putting the swords and themselves through a range of movements to prepare their bodies for the task ahead. But his attention was distracted when he heard Merlinith call out a greeting to someone... and heard the familiar tones of the human girl answering.

‘Healer Nestoril said she would watch the baby for me, so that I could see the fighting. I did not want to leave him, but I do not think Belegornor would like the sound of the swords very much, and Nestoril said I needed to remember I am a person as well as a mother...’

Hiding a sigh, Thranduil shifted position so he could see without appearing to look. 

Flora, without the baby now, and with Legolas and Govon attending – and Thranduil noticed that Legolas was no longer wearing his formal coat but was much more casually dressed – was allowing herself to be escorted to the warrior’s benches, where Thiriston and Canadion obligingly moved up to make room... and Legolas and Govon seated themselves next to her.

Thranduil found himself struggling not to display his displeasure... still, at least Legolas had brought Govon back, and whatever he had done or said seemed to have had some effect; the commander carried himself with more pride again, more ease, leaning forward to exchange greetings with Hador on the front row, to congratulate Celeguel, even to talk pleasantly to Calithilon, Esgaron’s competitor in the fights.

Realising Rawon was looking to him, Thranduil nodded, and the over-captain brought forward the first pair of warriors into the fighting circle. About to announce them he paused, and frowned; Glorfindel had got up from his seat.

‘I think I’ll join the prince and Commander Govon with the warriors,’ the Balrog-slayer muttered to Bregon. ‘Oh, look, there’s a seat free next to Triwathon...’

Once Glorfindel had settled himself next to his friend, Rawon turned back to the first fighting pair.

‘Try not to mind our guest,’ he said quietly. ‘These Rivendell elves, no sense of dignity... very well.’

He announced the two and stood aside.

‘Make your bows and begin.’

*

Legolas smiled to himself as he settled to watch the fight. At his side, Govon was chatting in low tones with the warriors on the benches behind and in front, his manner easy and relaxed, his confidence apparently returned.

‘What do you make of Hador’s chances, Commander?’ Erthor asked from the seats behind, his voice carrying so that Hador could not help but hear.

‘I am certain that the honour of the Court Guard will only be increased by Hador’s performance,’ Govon replied, which really was not an answer, but which served to bolster Hador’s determination to do his best. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing what we can do.’

‘May I get by?’ Glorfindel arrived, sliding along the row behind Govon to insert himself next to Triwathon with a sigh of satisfaction. ‘That’s better... the level of conversation over there was depressing! All I could hear was Esgaron bleating and Arwen and her friend clucking... it was like being in a farmyard... no offence to the lovely Merlinith, Govon...’

‘None taken, of course. My sister is very good at catching the tone of those around her and continuing it; so if Arwen is in need of a mother hen, Merlinith will be happy to oblige...’

‘Yes, you are very lucky to have her as a sister, Govon, and Arwen is most fortunate to have found such a friend. So, who do we like for this bout?’ 

‘Nimben has the range, but Oreldaer the experience,’ Govon said. ‘But neither are as skilled as Hador.’

The bout commenced and it was obvious to see that Nimben was nervous without quite knowing how to channel his energies to best effect; his movements were quick, less fluid than was to be expected from an elf, tentative somehow, without real power behind them. Oreldaer avoided Nimben’s enthusiastic lunges, parrying easily and conserving his strength. 

The two circled and closed and broke apart to re-engage, blades clashing and clattering, but it was not long before Oreldaer’s experience won out and Nimben found himself disarmed and staring, unbelieving, at his swordless hand.

‘First bout to Oreldaer,’ Rawon said. ‘Unlucky, Nimben. Go and rest, both of you.’

‘How will it be?’ Flora asked. ‘In my head, I cannot make it right. If there are three warriors here to fight three there, that will leave three winners and how will they fight off?’

‘It’s not quite like that,’ Legolas explained. ‘There are eight fighters from the morning session, so four matches, yes?’ 

‘Yes, that I see, it is not difficult. So four winners, and then two, and... they still fight against three?’

‘Well, four winners. They go through to the next stage. Then the losers of those bouts fight again... and the two who win that round go against each other once more. And that winner, he stands with the other four.’

‘But he has had an extra fight, is it fair?’

‘Well, at least the best of the losing fighters has another chance. After all, in battle, you would seldom have time to rest... Then there’s a draw to find out who fights whom – at least one of the pairs will both be qualifiers, of course.’

‘It sounds very complicated!’

‘Well, you will see, it will work out.’

Govon leaned forward as the next two came out.

‘Here comes Fonor; if it were not that Hador were fighting, I would cheer him on!’

‘Well, you can cheer him in this bout, Commander,’ Legolas said. ‘He’s up against Ellavorn... what do we think?’

‘Doesn’t know when to stop, Ellavorn,’ Thiriston said, leaning forward and joining in. ‘In a fight or in a drinking session...’

‘And when were you drinking with Ellavorn, may I ask?’ Canadion said sharply, causing the big elf to chuckle.

‘Before you were born, penneth. Nothing for you to worry about.’

It was a much faster bout than the last, fluid, more like dancing than fighting, Flora thought. She watched as a lighter-haired elf was pushed back almost out of the circle under a wheel of bright steel, saw him steady and regain ground to push forward again, heard the voices rise around her, some calling for Fonor to win, others encouraging Ellavorn... she decided she wanted the lighter haired one to win, after being pushed back like that, he seemed brave to her, determined, and when he finally won the bout she applauded and shouted along with the rest.

The next two bouts passed in a clash of blades and a whirl of hair as the warriors fought for the honour of winning through to the next round. Flora found it difficult to pick out the names, as most of the conversation around her was Silvan Sindarin, and without Legolas’ patient explanations, and Canadion’s entertaining observations, she would have felt entirely lost.

As it was, by the time the final five had been selected, she knew that Fonor had a brother who was something to do with helping Arveldir (the scary advisor) to run things for the king, that Ellavorn (who had won through the losers’ bouts to take the fifth place) had better not want to start drinking with Thiriston again and that nobody really knew which company Saithor, another successful fighter, actually served in.

There was a pause while the draw for the next four bouts was made. Hador, Calithilon and Bregon’s fighter Rhonir joined the five pretenders in the arena and were introduced to cheers and shouts of support. Flora knew Hador was Govon’s fighter, and felt obliged to shout for him, but her eyes kept sliding to Fonor, whose brave fight back under pressure had so captured her imagination.

The bouts were announced, the first two pairs began to warm up. Rhonir would fight first against Saithor, Hador would battle Ellavorn, with Fonor taking on the last of the challengers (someone called Malchon), and Calithilon against Oreldaer completing the line-up. 

Not terribly interested in the first bout, Flora allowed her attention to wander as Rhonir and Saithor met in the circle. She glanced across to where her friend Merlinith was sitting next to Arwen and felt a moment’s shame; Arwen tried so hard to be friendly and nice, but Flora couldn’t quite bring herself to like the lady. Merlinith was looking cross, for some reason, and it seemed Arwen was trying to calm her. 

How odd! Flora hadn’t thought Merlinith could ever be cross with anyone, she was such a nice, sensible person, so reassuring to be around...

*   
Merlinith pursed her lips. Eru knew, she was patience itself, forgiving and always willing to make allowances and respect the opinions of others. But Commander Esgaron was being far too opinionated about dear Govon for her to ignore any longer. 

‘...all know he doesn’t really care about a career, he’s got himself a nice enough arrangement so why he keeps saying...’

Right! That was enough!

Merlinith shook off Arwen’s pacifying arm and stomped down to the lowest row of seating, coming to a stop in front of Commander Esgaron with her hands on her hips, a scowl fit to make a dragon quail transforming her pleasant face. 

‘How dare you say such a thing of my brother! Govon has worked all his life, for many decades under your command; I remember you were only too happy to come and eat with us when you had nowhere else to go and no-one else to want you! And this is how you repay my Govon’s service and our hospitality, by saying horrid things about him? Commander, I...’

‘Madam, this is a private conversation!’ Esgaron blustered, not a little taken aback that anyone would dare to question him and more so that it was an elleth taking him to task.

‘Then why is it not taking place in private?’ Merlinith demanded. ‘You have a very carrying voice, Commander, especially, it seems, when it is saying unfair things and... and expressing opinions which reflect very badly on your judgement...’

‘This is none of your business!’

‘You say dreadful things about my brother and claim it’s none of my business? You should be ashamed of yourself!’’ Merlinith took a step back and scowled again. ‘And you are not the only one, if I may say! It is shameful, positively shameful how many people are prepared to let you get away with such behaviour!’

On the field, Rawon announced Rhonir as the winner of the bout, but all attention was on the verbal fight taking place in front of the court stand. 

Over the way, Govon shook his head as he heard his sister launch into her scold.

‘I had better try to deflect Merlinith before she gets into trouble...’

‘Let me come with you.’

Govon shook his head. 

‘Better not,’ he said, and left his seat.

‘...what your Araspen would say if she knew...’ Merlinith was saying to an increasingly blustery Esgaraon.

‘Leave my betrothed out of this!’

‘...I am sure she would be very disappointed...’

‘Merlinith.’ 

Govon touched his sister gently on the arm. She spun to face him.

‘You know what your trouble is, Govon? You are too nice for your own good...!’

‘Merlinith,’ Govon went on, a little more determinedly, a little louder. ‘Commander Esgaron has been through a difficult time...’

‘And have not you? Has not your fëa-mate? Or our king? We do not see anyone else behaving so appallingly...’

‘Come, they are waiting to start the next bout; come and sit with Flora and Legolas and me.’

‘Well... all right...’ She turned to face Esgaron again. ‘But remember, Commander – it is very unbecoming to talk as you have been doing; it will do you no favours.’

She allowed Govon to lead her to the warriors’ stand where she was met with general approbation from Esgaron and Bregon’s warriors as well as Govon’s. As she settled herself, she turned briefly to Legolas. 

‘Your pardon, my prince; I did not properly see; who won the last bout?’

Legolas grinned. ‘Did you not? We all saw, Merlinith... you did.’


	243. Accident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which one of the bouts comes to an abrupt end...

Thranduil had watched Merlinith and Esgaron’s encounter with mingled delight and annoyance. Delight because Govon’s sister had proved herself to be a force to be reckoned with... he was no longer surprised that she was unavowed, though... and annoyance because he’d had every intention of bringing Esgaron to heel himself and now he would have to wait until Merlinith’s scold had worn off before his own intervention could take place, if it was to get the reaction it properly deserved...

Still, it had been... entertaining.

He returned his attention to the bout just announced, feeling vaguely sorry for the combatants who had to continue, somehow, after so dramatic an interruption. It was Ellavorn, the challenger from the ranks up against Hador from the Court Guard.

From the start it was a nervous, anxious bout. 

After a skittish exchange of parries as the two tested each other out, Ellavorn threw himself into the fight, laying into his opponent as if he had something against him, almost, fast and determined so that Hador was hard-pressed just to defend himself. The blades met and met again, whirling, clashing. Hador spun to evade the blade seeking his, stumbled, Ellavorn mistimed his riposte, a cry went up, the challenger dropping his sword in horror and darting forward to where Hador, somehow, was grabbing at his side and staggering as blood ran out of his body, over his clutching hand to drip and pool on the dust of the combat circle. Desperately looking for help, Ellavorn supported the injured Hador down to the ground, apologising and asking urgently how badly he was injured.

Thranduil surged to his feet, began shouting orders over the other shouts coming from the crowd.

‘A healer! Bring a healer to the field! Where is Nestoril?’

‘She returned to her halls,’ Erestor, also on his feet, told the king. 

Glorfindel pushed through the gathering crowd to kneel at Hador’s side and examine him while Ellavorn begged for forgiveness over and over and over...

‘We can talk about sorry later, lad,’ Glorfindel said, gently enough. ‘You haven’t killed him, don’t fear!’

‘But... Captain Hador... I did not mean...’

‘It’s easy done,’ the Balrog-slayer said as he continued his deft examination of Hador’s side. ‘Display fighting in front of your king, the honour of the fight, eager to go through to the next match... you get a little over-excited, a little too eager... and, indeed, if you do not try your best, why try at all? Come, don’t be too hard on yourself.’

Hador lifted a hand to draw attention.

‘Ellavorn... just doing our jobs, both of us...’

‘See? We’ve all had training injuries,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Now, let me see this here... oh, not too deep, not too bad at all...’

While Glorfindel worked, Rawon tried to create some sort of order, keeping the crowds at bay, and was relieved when Govon hurried over with the rest of his command following.

‘Govon, good. Can you help keep the space clear for Glorfindel to work?’

‘I can indeed. Canadion, you know Hador’s wife, intercept her, reassure her, calm her, let her come. Lord Glorfindel...?’

‘Bit busy here, Commander... but he’ll do, I think. Has someone sent for Nestoril yet?’

Legolas appeared at Govon's shoulder.

'I'll go.'

'Thank you, my prince...’ Rawon said, shaking his head. ‘Ai, what a thing to happen!'

*

In her study, Nestoril wavered between sad anger at the king's lack of consideration for the feelings of those other than himself and a wish she had never agreed to go to the fighting at all; she hated it when Thranduil failed to live up to her expectations of him and really, she knew it was unreasonable of her, but...

A tiny noise interrupter her thoughts and she rose from behind her desk and crossed to where Belegornor lay in his cradle. He had stirred in his sleep, but not woken, unaware of the consternation his appearance at the fighting had caused. So small, so peaceful... and for this mite, Thranduil would have tried to keep Flora from her home, regardless of whether it was right or just or in the child’s best interest, disregarding the feelings of his son and honour-son... and to have to be here, and see it... there were times when she really, really wished she could be elsewhere...

Well, from the look of things, she thought, as she looked at the list in front of her, she was going to have the chance; her initial enquiries had turned up several healers who would be happy to go as far as the ship with the princes, but as for going further...?

She sighed. At times like this, she really didn't think she would miss Mirkwood very much; the king was being unreasonable where the gwinig was concerned, thoughtless for Legolas’ and Govon’s feelings... and at least Tharmeduil needed her... after all, it was not as if she was one of these Silvans who were afraid to sail, and she rather thought she might enjoy a sea voyage.

Of course, she would not be able to come back if she changed her mind... Still, there was time, yet, before they left, and several more weeks to be certain... and they said, once you saw the sea, it took root in your fëa... 

She turned her attention back to the work plan in front of her and was beginning to make headway with the timetable when a hurried knocking at her door was followed by the appearance of Healer Gyril, looking flushed and anxious.

'Nestoril, there has been an injury in the fights; I have sent Hanben with a stretcher team, he is good with wounds...'

'Oh, sweet Eru, no! Thank you, Gyril; I will come at once! Feril is in the princes’ room, will you take Belegornor through to her? And then stay here and make all ready?'

'Yes, of course. Word is it is not serious, and Lord Glorfindel attends.'

Nestoril hurried from her study, thanking Gyril as she went. Well, one thing was for sure: Gyril would be the perfect person to take over the running of the healers’ hall while she was gone.

*

Canadion intercepted Hador's wife halfway to where she, and elflings, had been watching the fighting.

‘Mistress Imbes? Do not be alarmed, it is minor, a slip, a scratch, nothing more! And he is in good hands...'

'You are certain?' Imbes asked.

'Indeed, and I am sent to bring you to him, but, perhaps, you would not wish your elflings to be distressed? Let me take them to my friend Flora, who is very kind, and to Merlinith, the sister of Commander Govon, and we will bring them to meet you in a little while at the healers’ hall?’

‘It is well.’ Imbes nodded. 'Now, my dears, you know Canadion, go with him to Merlinith while I speak to your Ada.'

Legolas beckoned from the edge of the fighting circle, a reassuring smile on his face as he escorted her to her fëa-mate.

'Truly, Hador is in no danger. But you will want to see for yourself...'

Imbes was a little taken aback to see her husband attended by no less a person than Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin, with Healer Nestoril there, too and with the king himself talking in low tones to Hador's opponent. 

'These things happen. Hador does not blame you, Ellavorn, so you should not blame yourself. Come, yuou should go home, recover yourself. Hador will get the best of care...' Thranduil caught sight of Hador’s wife and nodded to her. 'Mistress Imbes I will visit your husband later in the healers' halls. They are almost ready to take him, go you, too...'

Thranduil waited while Hador was lifted onto the stretcher and borne off, Imbes holding her fëa-mate’s hand and fighting back tears, the reassurances of both Nestoril and Glofindel hardly penetrating her awareness. He sighed and turned away.

'Over-captain Rawon, I do not think we have the heart to carry on with this contest today.’ Thranduil paused. Indeed, the thought of another two afternoons such as this was rather to be feared. ‘Perhaps we should first give thought to whether or not we should hold the future planned contests in their present form before continuing...'

'As you wish, sire.’

‘You may attend me in my study tomorrow to discuss it; Arveldir will send for you. Commander Govon?’

‘Yes, my king?’

‘Attend me...’ He folded his hands together behind his back and walked away from the chaos of the fighting circle to the comparative silence of the space behind the court stand. ‘I am sorry Hador was hurt; it seems to be a minor injury, however.’

‘Fortunately, my king. Ellavorn is an ellon to be reckoned with.’

‘He is old enough to know better; he needs taming. But at least it has cut short the contest and perhaps spared you more embarrassment from Commander Esgaron; you have had much to put up with from him already today...’

‘He has been troubled, sire, I understand this.’

‘No matter. Your sister is quite wonderful, Govon; I am really rather in awe of her...’ Thranduil lifted his head to hold Govon in the heart of his gaze. ‘You will have gainful employment, soon enough, Ion-in-Honour, you will presently be far too busy for Legolas’ liking, I think. And your command, too... but please, keep the knowledge to yourself.’

‘Thank you, my king, but such general assurances...’

‘Are of little real comfort, I know.’ Thranduil lifted an eyebrow fractionally. ‘But I cannot say more at present. Thank you for your time; let me know how Hador goes on and, Govon?’

‘Yes, sire?’

‘You could do worse than to speak to Ellavorn. It may be that you will find commanding more warriors in the future, and he would be an admirable addition to any company, with the right training. If he knows now that you do not blame him for the incident, that you bear no grudges, it will reassure him that serving under your command will not be a bad place to be.’

‘My king?’

Thranduil waved his hand idly and walked away.

‘Reconstruction... reorganisation... who can say what might happen in the next few weeks? Good day, Commander...’


	244. Announcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil decides what to do instead of having intercommand contests, and Nestori misses her dinner...

Hador was three days in the healers’ hall recovering from his injury. It was not a serious wound, shallow and long, but he had left a lot of blood on the floor of the fighting circle, and Nestoril thought it better for him to spend a little while in the comparative quiet of her halls while the spider silk stitches knitted his flesh together rather than at home with two elflings bouncing around.

Imbes and the little ones visited, of course. It being warm and sunny, the children could run around in the gardens where Flora, taking the air, made a fuss of them and they asked her questions she didn’t understand.

Hador himself had acquired a certain degree of fame from the incident, and privately admitted to Commander Govon, also a frequent visitor, that he would never have won the bout anyway, and at least this way there was no shame in how the fight had ended.

‘Hador, you would never have shamed us!’ Govon told him. ‘Even had you somehow not won every one of your bouts; I, and all of us in the Court Guard, are proud of you, and nothing would change that.’

‘Our king said the same, when he visited; he told me that, in fact, he had reconsidered the matter and decided that a contest of this nature really wasn’t showing our true skills... he says he has it in hand.’

‘Yes, our king always has matter in hand, or under consideration...’ Govon smiled as he said it whereas a few days previously, he probably would have sighed. ‘And I have heard something along those lines myself... but the only announcement made so far has been to say the next formal day of competition, for the short bow and the twin sword, has been cancelled.’

‘Ah, I am sorry to hear it!’

‘Are you? I must admit, I was quite glad... it is not that I do not doubt Canadion’s skill; we have all seen he is a good shot, unless it’s at spiders... or Tinuon, for I’ve worked twin swords with him... but the politics of these things...!’

Hador smiled slowly.

‘As far away from the commanders’ seats as I was, still one couldn’t help but overhear some of the things said... your sister...’

‘That reminds me; she has asked me to see if you and your wife would like to visit with her after dinner one evening... she has also invited me and my fëa-mate, and suggested I ask Ellavorn, too, if that doesn’t offend?’

‘It’s very kind, and we would be pleased to come. As for Ellavorn, he was only doing what I was doing – trying to win... it is just that he was doing it with a little more vigour...’

‘Good. Then I’ll tell Merlinith she can speak to Imbes to arrange it. And no doubt I’ll see you at the formal dinner tomorrow night; our king is once more sending formal invitations out, and I have a feeling that’s when he’ll tell us his latest scheme to honour us... I do not care what it is, myself, as long as it doesn’t end in blood, this time.’

*

Thranduil took his place at the high table for the formal dinner, swirling his formal robes into place and glancing around the table. The Commanders of the three companies were present, along with Over-captain Rawon. Govon, of course, was next to Legolas. Arveldir and Erestor, Arwen and Glorfindel completed the first table, the latter pouting slightly because his friend in the guard was seated at the second table with others of the Court and Honour Guard and Esgaron’s company. 

And...

There was an empty space.

‘Arveldir, where is Nestoril tonight?’

‘Ah. The Healer sends her regrets, but she is unable to attend due to pressures of work; she asked me to say that, unfortunately, there are times when she has to put her charges first and cannot simply abandon them on a whim.’

‘On a whim, Arveldir?’

‘Indeed, those were her words. She was confident your majesty would understand.’

‘Was she, indeed? And how much notice did she give?’

‘The message reached me barely a half hour ago, sire; I assume our healer was hoping to be finished with her work and had waited until the last moment before declining...’

‘That is one way of looking at it. No matter. Since there is place vacant next to Lord Glorfindel, invite Triwathon to fill the space, would you? Perhaps try to make it seem a mistake that he was not brought to the high table to begin with.’

‘As your majesty pleases.’ Arveldir bowed himself away from the table and went to speak quietly to Triwathon. ‘Captain, were you not told? I fear the message miscarried; there is a place for you with your friend at the high table; we await you.’

‘Really? No, I didn’t realise... thank you...’ Triwathon followed Arveldir to the high table, bowed to his king. ‘Forgive me, your majesty...’

‘No matter, Triwathon... you are here now...’

Thranduil waited until Triwathon was standing next to Glorfindel and then seated himself, allowing Arveldir to signal the rest of the diners to sit and beckoning the servers forwards. 

He made his way through the meal as ever, offering polite conversation to right and left, thanks to the servants, nods to Arveldir when it was appropriate to clear a course, or serve more wine, but the fact was he could have been eating wood shavings and drinking pond water for all the attention he gave the fare.

The fact of the matter was that he knew for certain that there were no severely injured persons in Nestoril’s care at present; there were standing orders to keep him informed of any change in his sons’ conditions, and the likelihood of Flora or the gwinig having a crisis were remote... in any case, surely he would have been told?

What, then, was this work that Nestoril was unable to set aside for the space of an hour?

The more he thought about it, the more Thranduil realised he’d not seen the healer since the day of the ill-fated warriors’ contest... even when he’d gone to visit his sons, Ness had not been present... 

Was she avoiding him? Why?

Tempted to visit her in her halls later to see exactly what she was busying herself with, he decided not to. In her own domain she could be quite a lioness if cornered... better to wait and perhaps catch her off-guard elsewhere. Or summon her to the Hall of Audience which was his territory... he dismissed the thought. In truth, he didn’t mind it when Nestoril challenged him, sometimes... but since he had no notion what was up wither her, he had probably better find out before he confronted her.

Of course, she might, really, simply be too busy to eat. In which case, why were there several other healers present in the hall?

No, it was a mystery. But he had better let it rest for the night.

*

Nestoril was, in fact, very busy. Receiving the summons to formal dinner and a place at the high table, she had thought on her feet and was already framing her regrets before she had even properly finished reading the invitation. It helped, too, that Arveldir had chosen to send one of his junior staff, rather than coming himself... although, to Arveldir, she might just have admitted that the king was not quite her favourite person at present...

So, as soon as she had made her face look properly regretful and seen the messenger off, she collected her cloak and bow and hastened out to where Hanben had said he would be conducting trials of an adapted boat design for easier conveyance of the two princes.

She found him, his contraption, and a rather damp assistant, at the edge of the river in one of its shallower stretches some mile or so from the palace.

'No, no, Feren!' he was saying. 'Away from you! Turn the hand-crank away from your body!'

'It is confusing! Can I not simply sit the other way round?' 

'But then you will not be able to see if anything happens to the cargo!' Hanben glanced round, saw Nestoril approaching. 'Healer! Good evening! What do you think of my prototype?'

'Very impressive!' She replied. 'It looks much more as if it would work than the small model did.'

Having said what was proper, Nestoril took a step back to properly look. 

Hanben had taken one of the narrow river craft as the basis of his design, altered it to make it longer and narrower, and added two sets of wooden wheels fore and aft. The wheels themselves were odd, having been changed so that they looked more like those one saw on a water wheel, and it soon became apparent that Feren was attempting to turn the front set of wheels without himself becoming soaked in the process.

'This is a new thought, is it not?' Nestoril asked. 'To use the wheels in the water as well as on land?'

'Indeed,' Hanben said, growing enthusiastic as Feren looked about to wheel himself far down the river. 'I thought, we have the wheels, we must carry them somehow, why not outside the boat all the time and use them...? Feren! Turn for home now! Move to the other seat... Ah, now, that is not going to work, is it? There will be a prince in the way...'

'Why can he not simply reverse direction?'

'The wheel is not designed like that... although, it could be... Feren! Get out and tow it back...'

'You have done remarkably well,' Nestoril said. 'How long will it be, do you think, before it is properly ready?'

'We have to get the wheels constructed in Lake Town... about a week for them to make and dispatch... We are nearly ready, but what would be useful would be to see what the boat is like with a passenger... Healer, would you care to assist...?'

If she hurried, she could probably get back to the place in time for dinner, and it would look as if she had hurried her work in order to attend... faced with the choice of what she thought of as giving in to Thranduil's autocratic demand that she grace his table, and the prospect of getting soaked in the river, Nestoril chose to take her chances in the boat.

'I will be delighted to help,' she said, smiling. 'What do you want of me?'

*

'What is up with your father?' Govon asked. 'He is trying so hard to look as if all is well in his world, but I am learning not to be fooled...'

'Do you know, I hadn't noticed? Well, I have been far too busy looking at you... but I did not know Triwathon was invited?'

'Nor I. Has someone declined his invitation and my poor warrior a last-minute standby?'

'It could be; Arveldir is expert at covering up such things, and Triwathon looks happy enough...with just a hint of embarrassment that suggests he thinks he's to blame...'

At the end of the meal, Thranduil raised his hand for Arveldir to have the dishes removed and more wine brought. That done, the king nodded and Arveldir announced his majesty would speak to the people.

'It was with regret that we ended the recent inter-command sword fighting early,' Thranduil began. 'But as a result, it has been decided that a better way to honour our Court Guard will be instead to hold an exhibition of twin blade fighting and a display of traditional wrestling to involve our commanders and our honoured guest, Glorfindel of Gondolin. There will also be an open archery event where any who wish may enter either short or long bow. Contestants in twin sword will be Commanders Bregon and Govon...'

'Will I?' Govon muttered.

'...traditional presentation will be adhered to, similarly so for Lord Glorfindel and Commander Esgaron...'

Glorfindel grinned and fixed Esgaron with a happy stare, flexing his muscles ever so slightly.

'...these events to take place in three days’ time. Preliminary rounds will be held for both long and short bow from tomorrow under Over-captain Rawon's command... Very well. We are pleased Captain Hador has recovered from his injury, and note that it was simply an accident with no blame to Captain Ellavorn. We wish you a pleasant evening. Arveldir, answer any questions, will you?'


	245. Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril makes a decision...

Arveldir spread his hands for silence as a babble of questions followed Thranduil’s departure from the feasting hall.

‘Notices are being posted in the usual places... I understand it will be necessary to sign up for the archery trials as there is expected to be considerable interest and we cannot have more than five bouts of each discipline on the day...’ 

He glanced at Rawon, who nodded and rose from his place.

‘Those willing to take part can sign up in the morning from after the breakfast hour, with a view to taking part in preliminary rounds in the afternoons, civilians and warriors alike... there will be no automatic qualifications for the archery... it will be possible only to sign up for one contest, you cannot participate in both, so pick your discipline wisely... more details will be given at the start of the preliminaries...’ He paused, allowing a moment for them to absorb this information. ‘Bring your own bows. If you do not have a bow, you will not be able to compete.’

‘Not that it’s likely to narrow the field at all, at least in short bow,’ Legolas said to Govon in an undertone. ‘Who here does not have their own bow?’

‘True,’ Govon said. ‘Traditional presentation... we had better stock up on warrior paint...’

‘You looked startled when Adar said you’d be fighting... of course, you didn’t know about this?’

‘No.’ Govon grinned. ‘I was going to ask you the same thing; he’s your Adar...’

‘Well, you may have noticed, he hasn’t summoned me to his presence the last few days... probably too busy planning and plotting... I think I’ll enter the long bow contest... if I can borrow your bow?’

‘Of course; I’ll be too busy practising with my swords to even think about the archery... come to think of it, the only one of us who didn’t look surprised was Glorfindel...’

Hearing his name, the Balrog-slayer leaned forward and grinned at Legolas and Govon across Thranduil’s empty seat.

‘Oh, I was surprised, all right! It’s just when you have a face as old as this one, it takes a moment to respond to what you just heard... so I had time to readjust. Finally, I’m getting my rematch!’ He turned his attention back to Triwathon at his side. ‘Will you paint me, on the day?’

‘I’d be glad to.’

Rawon had finished speaking, and retreated from the hall leaving Arveldir to swallow and ask: ‘Any questions?’

‘I have one,’ Glorfindel said, loudly and clearly over the rest of the voices. ‘When did his majesty tell you about this?’

Arveldir turned haunted eyes on the golden-haired Balrog-slayer.

‘Ten minutes before we came in to supper,’ he said quietly as more voices called for his attention. ‘It makes for an interesting life, I suppose.’

*

The first Nestoril knew about the reorganised contest was when she left her private rooms the following morning. Outside her study door, just down the corridor, one of Arveldir’s assistants waiting..

‘Forgive the early intrusion, Healer, but I was told now might be a good time to catch you...’

‘Parvon, is it not? How may I help you today?’

‘I have a message from the office of the king... you may have heard about the forthcoming pubic event?’

‘No, I have not... is it relevant?’

‘There will be displays of wrestling and twin blade fighting and an open archery contest... and it was thought that, perhaps, in the light of Captain Hador’s unfortunate injury, it would be wise to have a healer present on the day...’

‘I see... is that one of the notices...? May I have it...? Thank you...’ Nestoril cast her eye over the information, now well-phrased and concisely put. ‘Well, I am sure I can find someone free to take the duty...’

‘Thank you; I will tell my lord Arveldir... would it be yourself who will attend?’

‘Oh, no, I doubt it,’ Nestoril said absently. ‘It states here the archery is open to all who register... I think I may be too busy competing...’ 

She folded the paper and thought for a moment.

‘Healer Hanben is good with wounds. He has been assisting with preparations for the forthcoming journey with our princes, but I will make sure he is free to attend on the day. Thank you, Parvon. Please pass on my best wishes to Arveldir; I am sure this has come as a bit of a surprise to him...’

‘It is fair to say we are quite busy at present, yes.’

‘Well, you will be wanted; do not let me delay you further.’

‘Thank you, Healer. Good day to you.’

Free to go into her study at last, Nestoril took her place at the desk and began looking over her papers, but after five minutes gave up with a sigh. Her mind kept coming back to the information sheet in her hand... if she wanted to compete, she would have to register this morning... perhaps she had better slip off to the barracks and sign up now, before her day became busy with Hanben and boats and Flora and Thiriston’s hand...

What was she thinking? She was a healer, not an archer! True, she was a good shot; she had taken a spider out of the canopy before anyone else had seen it... but competing? She would be up against career archers, real experts... although she seemed to remember she had been besting those same experts not a few months ago... it would be fun, perhaps, a last chance to participate before she left the palace.

For, she realised with a sigh, she would be going away with Iauron and Tharmeduil and probably Arwen. None of her Mirkwood healers were willing to leave Mirkwood – in fact, the only one who had offered to leave even the palace was Hanben, and that was only to make sure his conveyances worked properly; he would see them as far as the portage across to the Langflood, he had said. Feril was travelling as far as Lothlórien, at least, but to expect her to sail to the Undying Lands was too much to ask. Still, the agreement with Cirdan was that the Woodland Realm would send a healer across the seas...

Nestoril caught her breath on a strange little sound in her throat, surprising herself; it was far too early in the day for an excess of emotion, such was only forgivable after long hours and stressful conditions... she was fine... it was a cough, a clearing of her airways, not a sob. She had promised, had she not, that a healer would be found? And that if none were available to send, then she would send herself? 

No, she was already committed, and, on consideration, it was not so bad. Tharmeduil was a dear and good friend; they had laughed together and talked for hours about all manner of things, not only his illness; he was a charming companion, clever and amusing and full of fun...

The decision firmly made, she would have been off at once, if she could, before there was time for any more worry, any regrets. But that wasn’t possible; all was not yet ready and, really, she needed to make her farewells... without letting it be known, of course, that they were farewells, for that would only worry people unnecessarily.

So it would do her good to take part in the archery contest; it would be something to tell Tharmeduil about, when he woke up in the Undying Lands.

She rose from her desk, left word with the duty healer that she was stepping out for twenty minutes, and made her way to the barracks.

Rawon had set up two long tables behind which several of his sergeants were seated, taking names for the two disciplines. He noted the distinctive blue of Nestoril’s habit and head-rail, and went to intercept her.

‘Is something wrong, Healer?’

‘Good morning, Over-captain! No, not a thing; I have just come to put my name down for one of the trials.’

Her voice carried and many heads turned to look at her.

‘I will not say, ‘are you sure?’, because the tale of your spider-killing is being told and retold with great delight around the barracks, but...’

‘Long bow, please.’

‘If you will join the table where Fonor is taking names, he will help you, Healer. But competition will be stiff – the prince himself has put his name down.’

Nestoril smiled.

‘Then the prince had better get practising.’


	246. Trials

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which several persons take part in the archery trials, and Govon receives a summons...

Nestoril returned to her halls to find she had not been missed, except by Hanben, who was waiting outside her study for her.

‘Good morning, Healer,’ he began. ‘I thought you would like to know that I’ve sketched out the new idea we were talking about for the paddle wheels, and on a small scale they work very well indeed...’

‘That is excellent news! I’m glad to see you, for I have a task for you... not today, but for the day of display fighting and archery. Following on from Hador’s unfortunate accident, the king’s office has formally requested the presence of a healer at the games, and you are just the person! You are quick and able with such injuries as are likely.’

‘Your trust honours me,’ Hanben said. ‘May I, meanwhile, spend a little more time on the conveyance, perhaps? I am meant to be on the duty desk at the next change...’

‘You may have the morning; I will be busy this afternoon.’

Thus Nestoril found herself behind the desk when Thiriston, attended as ever by Canadion, arrived to have his hand examined. Turning the watch over to Healer Maereth, she took charge personally and led him to a treatment room to examine his hand and redress it.

‘It seems much improved since you have been resting it,’ she said. ‘I understand it cannot be easy for you...’

‘Frustrating. Especially as the whole contest’s been voided... worse shame for Celeguel, of course, since she won...’

‘Talking about winning things,’ Nestoril began lightly as she re-strapped Thiriston’s hand, ‘I have entered the long bow contest and wondered whether I might borrow a bow from one of you?’

‘Take mine, Healer,’ Thiriston said. ‘All I can do is look at it at the moment.’

‘You’re very kind,’ she said with a smile. ‘And... may I borrow Canadion also, for an hour? I want to get a few shots in first and thought I could set up a butt in the gardens; they are long enough, just for a reasonable practice, and will be empty at the hour of the day-meal... Just for a few pointers? You would be welcome too, of course... unless you are busy, Canadion...?’

‘I’d be delighted to help, Healer,’ the penneth said with his ready smile. ‘I think it is a wonderful idea... I am down for short bow myself... so I will not have much time, for my trials are due before yours... but an hour, at the day meal, and we can practice together.’

‘That’s excellent! Thank you, both of you. So, you are all done, Thiriston, and I will see you later.’

Walking them out, she resumed her place behind the desk, saw Feril pass through on her way to sit with Tharmeduil, greeted Arwen as she arrived to visit Iauron,  
busied herself with paperwork and almost could not believe that the morning had passed so quickly when Healer Gyril arrived to take over and, a few moments later, Canadion and Thiriston arrived, bows in hand, to help her with her practice.

‘Oh, there you are already!’ she said. ‘I have had them make a target out of a bale of straw and set it up outside; will you see?’

*

Legolas, having had a similar idea to Nestoril, had spent an hour in Govon’s company on the greensward with his own makeshift target. News having spread that the prince intended competing, he soon found himself with a shooting partner in Triwathon, ably encouraged and supported by Glorfindel. Govon was not competing.

‘Not only as I will be busy myself,’ the commander said easily, ‘but because I know when I am out matched; Triwathon learned from an expert... and my fëa-mate is expert, so, my thanks, I will save my energies and my dignity.’

He watched in pride as Legolas found the gold with five shots out of six, besting Triwathon who’d managed four.

‘I am looking forward to watching these trials,’ he said.

But just as he was preparing to leave with Legolas for the barracks, one of Arveldir’s staff approached and bowed.

‘Your pardon, Commander, but his majesty wishes to see you.’

‘What, now?’ Govon demanded, looking to Legolas for support.

‘His majesty said, at the second hour after the day meal so, not now, exactly,’ the assistant said. ‘But he said to meet him at his private practice ground and to bring your swords.’

‘Very well. Thank you for the message; I will be there.’ 

And so when Legolas set off for the archery butts, Govon went home to prepare. He buckled on his twin-bladed sword belt, prepared his swords with honing oil fragranced with sandalwood (Legolas’ idea; it had made Govon smile) and sheathed them. He dressed in leggings and tunic, recalling the first time he had sparred with Thranduil when he had worn his fighting kilt and Silvan warrior paint, desperate to impress, to prove himself a fitting partner for a prince.

He arrived outside the practice chamber and a glance at the telling-of-hours lamp showed he was early, but not by too much. Of course, the king would probably want to keep him waiting... 

He took a seat on the bench outside the doors and rested his head back against the cool stone wall, resting his eyes and relaxing his mind as much as he could, allowing himself to think back to those heady, early days... it still was early days, of course, months rather than years or decades... but so sweet, so promising, still, when the uncertainty could be forgot... it was all very well, Govon mused, for the fëa to want what it wants, but some consideration had to be given to individuals living with the fëa’s demands...

A creak and click drew Govon back to himself with a start and he sat up, focussing his attention. 

Thranduil was in the doorway looking at him with amused, cool eyes.

‘Govon. You have not been waiting long, I trust?’

Govon allowed himself to grin.

‘If I say no, sire, you’ll think I was late getting here... you requested me?’

‘Indeed...’ A hint of a frown creased the smooth skin of Thranduil’s forehead. ‘Arveldir has some notion of taking part in the archery trials today, and so I am left with his assistant to carry messages and such; a worthy fellow, keen enough, but he may not have realised... and then he has vanished... ah, but you have your swords, so you must know...? Govon, you will be displaying your skills against Commander Bregon in three days’ time. Whom else are you going to practice with? Come along.’

*

Gathering with the rest to watch the short bow trials, Nestoril saw familiar faces in the crowd and went across. 

‘Arveldir! What are you doing here? Erestor, hello.’

‘Short bow... I am up in three bouts... and beginning to regret my impetuosity...’

‘In fairness,’ Erestor said from his side bowing in response to her greeting, ‘I may have talked him into it just a little... and you, Healer? You have a long bow slung at your back...’

‘Indeed, on loan from Thiriston. Arveldir will be up against Canadion, amongst others...’

‘And you will have Triwathon and our prince to contend with...’

‘I know! It will be just like while we were away, will it not?’

‘With fewer dragons and spiders, I hope.’

The bouts were quick, twelve archers at a time, six arrows each. Canadion won his set to cheers from amongst the gathered spectators, and, seeing Thiriston’s head above the crowd, once Arveldir had been called to his bout and Nestoril had wished him good fortune, she went across to join Thiriston.

She found Legolas, Glorfindel and Triwathon there, too.

‘They’re being strict,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Only the top two from each bout are going through.

‘Then I hope I am not drawn in the same bout as my prince and your friend,’ Nestoril said with a smile. ‘For then one of them would be unsuccessful.’

‘Fighting talk, Ness,’ Legolas said with a grin. ‘I look forward to shooting against you.’

Rawon called order and Arveldir’s bout began. He shot well and smoothly against an assorted field of warriors and hunters and civilians, and came away with a stunned grin to genteel applause from Erestor; he had not won, but had taken second spot and so was through to the afternoon’s sessions.

When the long bow trials began, Nestoril found herself called before Legolas or Triwathon, and took her place with their wishes for her good luck still in her ears. As there were fewer participants for this discipline, only six targets were set up, but the rules were the same; just the top two would continue on.

Taking her place in a line-up of all-civilian contestants, she wondered if that was just the luck of the draw, or whether an attempt had been made to roughly sort like with like... whichever it was, she was glad of it, for had she been up against both Legolas and Triwathon at once, she would not have liked her chances.

As it was, the bow sang deeply and strongly, and her arrows flew more or less where she wanted them...mostly gold, one or two in the red... and she heard a gasp from the person next to her (one of the cellarers, it was) when she saw she had utterly outmatched him... and went on to win her bout with ease.

Glad it was over with, she rejoined her friends and waited to cheer for Triwathon, who was next up. He won his bout with aplomb, and Legolas, too, won his round.

‘So, we will all meet on the day!’ Nestoril said excitedly. ‘How wonderful! It is just the thing, the perfect way to make my farewells to the forest...’

‘What do you mean, Healer?’ Triwathon asked into the sudden silence that followed. 

‘Oh, Nestoril is going to see my brothers down to their ship, aren’t you, Ness?’ Legolas said.

‘Well, yes,’ Nestoril said, tipping her head and preparing to qualify her statement. ‘But the thing is, I had to promise Cirdan that someone will sail with them... and...’

‘But not you, Ness?’ Legolas said, his question unleashing a clamour of protest from her friends – yes, her friends, all of them... and she raised her hands to shush them.

‘There is no-one else to send... and, really... I want to make sure they are safe, I want to be able to promise their Adar they will be looked after on the voyage... I have made no secret of the fact that I might sail with them...’ Desperate to turn the conversation, not having realised she would be quite so missed, she picked on the first thing she could think of to distract them. ‘Legolas? Where is Govon today?’

‘Govon? My father sent for him... I think they’re going to practice together.’


	247. The Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil learns more than he expected...

Thranduil looked his honour son over: twin swords belted on, leggings, boots, tunic, very proper for a formal practice with the king. Not quite what he’d come to expect from Govon, however.

‘You will not be dressed like this on the day, I hope?’ Thranduil asked, removing his outer robe and draping it over a coffer.

‘No, sire. On the day I will wear the same kilt and the paint and the arrogance I brought in here last time we met swords together.’

‘Good.’ Thranduil himself was dressed in shirt and leggings and boots today, his hair tied back loosely. ‘To begin... what exactly did your father teach you of double swords?’

‘How to fight with them, mostly. Some of the Silvan ritual duelling stances... sweeps and balance work.’

‘So... you were formally taught nothing of the Sindar Way...?’

‘Not to my knowledge...’

‘It is ritualistic, measured, precise. It includes fighting with one blade reversed and if, at first, it is tempting to claim that your ignorance of the form explains how you managed to defeat me...’

‘I thought we had agreed to call it a draw...?’

‘...the reality was, you won because you fought well. I doubt I can show you how to improve, but I can, at least, extend your knowledge. So. To fight with blade reversed, lead with your strong hand as usual and reverse the grip with your lesser hand so that the blade points behind you. Movement comes from the pivot of the elbow, the natural flow of the turn as you lead with the strong hand...’

Thanduil unsheathed his swords in a twin whisper of steel and began to slowly move the blades.

‘It is easier at speed, but harder to see... have you used the blades like this before?’

‘No, sire.’

‘Neither has Bregon. A traditionalist, but only in the common forms. Now you try...’

For twenty minutes Govon worked to Thranduil’s suggestions, learning the new way of working the blade. It came easily, although he found the reversed hold tiring after a time.

‘Indeed,’ Thranduil said, when he mentioned the fact. ‘It works the opposite muscles to those you are used to. Thus in a long battle it can help ease fatigue and bring more balance when you swap hands. But you have the pivot well. Take a moment, and then we will put our blades together.’

Govon nodded, glad to catch his breath and stretch his muscles. 

‘Did you bring water?’ Thranduil asked. 

‘No... I was in haste to be properly early...’

‘Here.’ Thranduil passed him his own drinking flask. ‘I have reluctantly given permission for Glorfindel to hold his mysterious contest in this chamber... I do not suppose you know any more about it...?’

‘I don’t.’ Govon took a drink, surprised to find it actually was water and not Dorwinion. He cast a sly glance at his Adar-in-Honour and made his face neutral. ‘I understand it is all in hand, but there is nothing more to be said at the moment...’

Thranduil was silent for a moment and then permitted himself a short, sharp laugh.

‘Well said, Govon! You quote my own words back at me... but you must admit, there is a difference between a small contest and the future of an entire company of warriors...’

‘My point exactly, sire; my warriors’ future is of far more concern than a contest whose purpose seems mostly to give Glorfindel something to keep him busy when Triwathon is otherwise engaged...’

‘Be patient, Govon. Wait until after the contest... I have a small matter to attend to first before I can make any major announcements... come, if you are rested, let’s see how much you have learned.’

It seemed to go well; Govon was at ease with the blades, meeting Thranduil’s slow and stylised movements with precision and surety, and even as the bout speeded up, he matched stroke for stroke, adding in thoughts and ideas of his own so that the whole practice became a dialogue, a duet of four swords in harmony. As the movements became easy, as Govon relaxed into the rhythm of the formal performance, Thranduil began to chat, idly, it seemed... how was Legolas these days, and Merlinith...? Did Govon know how the gwinig was going on? Was there word, yet, from Flora’s mother as to when she would collect her daughter and the babe?

And then, a question asked so casually that Govon was instantly alerted.

‘Have you seen Nestoril lately?’

‘In passing, in and out of the healers’ hall.’

‘Does she seem quite well, to you, Govon?’

The practice called for Govon to sweep his blades at this point and turn away, so Thranduil didn’t see the curious look that passed across the commander’s face.

‘I hadn’t thought... I’m sure she’s fine... if not, she’s in the best place, isn’t she?’

‘I have not seen her at dinner lately, that was all.’

‘I suppose she’s busy preparing for the journey.’

‘Yes, who to send will be a problem for her.’

‘Didn’t you know?’ Now Govon’s surprise showed, for it was all over the healers’ hall and the barracks and, he’d thought, common knowledge. ‘She’s going herself... oh, unlucky!’ he added, as Thranduil somehow lost control of both his blades at once. He raised his own swords out of the way to give Thranduil time to recover. ‘Do you mind if we take a break? I’m still not used to this backwards hold...’

‘I think we have done enough for today,’ Thranduil said, his voice suddenly hard and clipped. ‘Thank you, Govon. You are coming on very well. Continue to work.’

And, turning on his heel without even picking up his outer robe, Thranduil stalked away leaving Govon staring after him and wondering what in the name of all the Valar was up with the king now...

*

Nestoril returned to her halls still smiling. She stowed her bow and tidied her habit and head-rail before going to the desk to enquire after the peace of her halls while she had been gone.

‘All is well,’ Healer Maereth said. ‘Except that Healer Hanben has begged for longer for his project...’

‘Well, we are quiet enough, certainly, but it is not fair to the rest of you.’

‘Oh, but it is to help our princes to travel more easily... I will gladly work half his duty, as long as it will mean those who have to leave the forest will return more swiftly... I do not know how any can bear it, to be out under such big, open skies as I hear of...’ Meareth shuddered. ‘And you have travelled all the way to the river, Healer, across the plains and back, and you will have to go away again...’

‘Well, some of us are more suited to travelling than others,’ Nestoril smiled. ‘I will take the other half of Hanben’s duty as long as I am not needed... meanwhile, I will be in my study.’

She had been there long enough to drink the tea and eat the bread and cheese and fruit that Gyril had arranged for her lunch, to have looked over her workload once more and to begin to plan her handover when a commotion – no, an absolute racket – outside startled her. Raised voices in the corridor, Gaelbes calling for Hanben, Hanben’s voice and a stern, strong command in tones of ice she recognised far too well.

‘Leave us. Inform Healer Nestoril we await her convenience.’

Thranduil? Using the Royal Plural in her halls?

Nestoril got to her feet in a rush; the king had not sounded like himself and for a moment, in spite of the overbearing formality of his tone, she feared something was not right, some terrible accident...

A knock on her door and Gaelbes, hesitant, shaky.

‘Healer Nestoril? A... a moment of your time...?’

Taking a breath and putting her most professional expression on her face, she turned the handle.

‘Yes, Gaelbes?’

‘His majesty... our king...’

‘Yes, I heard his voice. Please show his majesty in, and then you may return to your work.’ She lifted her head to address the corridor. ‘All of you, I will need nothing further, and my thanks.’

She held her door wide and folded herself down into a deep curtsey , keeping her eyes on the ground until Thranduil had swept past.

‘Oh, do get up, Healer!’ he said in clipped tones. ‘And shut the door.’

‘Of course, your majesty...’

‘And stop that!’

‘I beg your pardon, my lord king?’

‘As you never tire of telling me, these are your halls. Drop the formality, Nestoril, and tell me what in the name of all the Valar are you thinking?’

Alarmed by the forcefulness of Thranduil’s tone, Ness closed the door quietly and turned back to look at her king. He had gone to the window and was staring out, fists jammed on his hips, his hair tied roughly back. With a start, she realised he wasn’t in his formal robes of office, not even the long silver coat he usually wore for semi-official meetings; no, today he was in shirt and leggings and boots and she rather thought he had been exerting himself... of course, Legolas had said something about Govon being called to a practice with the king...

Had Thranduil come straight from the bout to her halls without even freshening up first?

‘Well?’ he demanded.

‘I am not quite sure what you think I have done... if it is about Flora...’

‘No, it is not about Flora! It is about you... I have just been told that you have decided to sail with my sons! And you did not think to consult me, to ask if you may?’

Biting back an angry reply – it would be so easy to rage at her king, to let him rage back – but it would solve nothing, not really, instead she poured two glasses of winter wine and set them down on a small table, realising, as she did, that all her former anger and disapproval of Thranduil’s behaviour towards Flora, his disregard for Govon and Legolas’ feelings, had dissipated.

‘With respect, sire, I did not realise I needed to; I have made no secret of the fact that if I am required to sail, I will, and...’

‘Find someone else.’

Nestoril took the winter wine over to where the king still stared out of the window. His face was frozen, unreadable.

‘Who do you suggest, sire?’ she asked softly, pushing the glass at his hand so that he was forced to take it. ‘Gaelbes, two years married and beginning to wonder if now is a good time to ask for an elfling? Or Maereth, who is terrified even to leave the confines of the forest? Gyril, perhaps, you would have me send her? She is the daughter of traditional Silvans, of course, and the very notion of her sailing will sound to them like a death-sentence, a punishment... Thranduil, there is no-one else...’

‘Hanben.’ Thranduil gulped at the spirits. ‘Send him.’

‘He will see us to the boundary of the forest. But he does not have the experience to properly care for your sons, even if he wished to go.’

‘Arwen, then. She plans on sailing.’

‘And Tharmeduil has seen her stand on the quayside and wave the ship off. Do you remember, you spoke of your unwillingness to sunder her from her father any further?’

Thranduil sighed, and Nestoril knew, yes, he remembered. She sipped at her own winter wine and allowed her king a moment or two to come down from his fury.

‘I, at least, do not fear to sail,’ she told him gently. ‘And I am very fond of Tharmeduil.’

‘Nestoril, I... you will be missed...’

‘Will you come with me a moment, sire?’ she asked, taking the now-empty glass from his numb fingers and setting it down. ‘I need to explain.’

Quietly she led the way through the halls, raising her hand towards the desk where her healers were gathered, wondering what was going on. Outside the door to the princes’ room she stopped and tapped on the open door out of politeness, for Feril was there, singing gently to Tharmeduil, holding his hand.

‘May we have a few moments privately, Feril?’

‘Of course, Healer.' Feril bowed her head respectfully. ‘Your majesty.’

Nestoril shut the door softly and steadied herself. She looked first to Iauron, smoothing his covers.

‘Prince Iauron’s fëa is safe in the care of Námo, if Lord Glorfindel is correct; I do not doubt him. But since Iauron’s body is here, and his fëa over the Sundering Seas, the two cannot be united while he is this side of the seas... or while he lives. In all likelihood, as time goes on, he will weaken and begin to fade. Whereas Tharmeduil...’ She smiled, and sat on the edge of the prince’s bed, taking his hand and stroking it. ‘Tharmeduil is aware of us. But he has been in the dark for so long, and how long before his even patience begins to wear out? How long before he, too, begins to fade?’

‘Ness... I am on the point of losing my grandson, my two oldest sons... must I lose the closest thing I have to a friend as well?’

‘I promise you, my king, I will see them safe.’ Now she allowed herself to sigh. ‘I promise I will do this for them, for you, and for the kingdom. Imagine how painful it would be for your subjects to watch them fade and die, the pain it would bring everyone? How much better to see them sail, in hope of healing? And the plain fact is, Thranduil, if I do not sail, they do not sail.’

She looked up with suddenly glittering eyes.

‘And yet they must,’ Thranduil said.

‘Yes. If they are to live, they must sail.’

The king shook his head, his voice heavy, resigned.

‘Very well. If you can find no other, I will not prevent you from leaving. But will you at least try to find an alternative?’

‘My king, I already have tried. This is how it must be.’

‘Please be at the high table tonight. Be my guest at dinner.’

‘Sire, I... I do not think I will be very good company.’

‘No more will I. But I have to be present to comment on the results of today’s archery trials, and... and there will be so few opportunities, in the few weeks left, Nestoril...’

‘Very well. Thank you for the honour of your invitation, then. Would you like more winter wine? And to talk more of the plans for the journey?’

He shook his head.

‘I do not really wish to know,’ he said.


	248. Arrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril makes some enquiries and lays some plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, MANY thanks to the team at AO3 who have done sterling work today to get the site back on line after the gremlins conga'd all over it with their hobnail boots on... the site usually runs so well that it comes as a shock when we can't get on to post or to read, and the updates on Twitter have been extremely helpful.

The day before the display fights and archery contest, Nestoril escaped to the archery butts for an hours' practice to find Legolas and Triwathon already at it, Glorfindel and Govon calling out advice and insults from the sidelines.

'Join us?' Legolas called with a grin. 'Plenty of targets free...'

Nestoril shook her head.

'I would like a chat with Lord Glorfindel first, if you do not mind?'

Glorfindel grinned and moved up on the bench, patting the space next to him.

'Have a seat and what's on your mind, Ness?'

'Thank you.' She tried not to sigh as she sat. 'I wondered if you would mind talking about the Undying Lands?'

'No, I don't mind...’ He lowered his voice. ‘Don't want to offend any Silvan traditions, though...'

'You won't offend me,’ Govon said. ‘My mother sailed, and my Older Naneth; we have never quite believed the Valar would be so ungenerous as to refuse us admission if we sail with good intentions.’

‘Triwathon doesn’t seem keen on the notion of sailing, I’ve noticed, but it seems to be more, ‘why would you want to leave the forest?’ than ‘we won’t be welcome so I’m staying put.’ Yet I have seen Silvans in the Undying Lands, I’m sure of it. You’ll probably like to hear that there are trees. Perhaps not big, dark forests infected with gigantic venomous spiders, but there are woods and things.’

‘Woods and things,’ Nestoril nodded. ‘That’s a good start…’

'Good. Well, have you got any specific questions? Otherwise this will just turn into “what Glorfindel Did on his Holidays Before he Went Back to Work Again…” I’ll be glad to try to answer you?'

Ness nodded.

'I do indeed have questions. Most urgently, I need to know how long the sea voyage takes? Roughly will do...'

'Ah, now, that's a question and a half, that is! Came back with the Istari, myself. It took ten days or so, I think, but they might have been cheating, using magic... If you listen to the new arrivals, some say a month, others less... The shortest trip I remember hearing of was twelve days...'

'I see. That's very helpful. Yes, I can keep the princes well for a month, if I must. What provision is there, for the sick and injured?’

‘Lady Estë is there, of course. She brings rest and with it, healing. She works at night. I have never seen her work, but don’t you worry about your lads; they’ll disembark and probably someone will suggest taking Tharmeduil to Lake Lorellin for the Lady to visit him, and probably Iauron to the doors of the Halls of Mandos, which is probably where his fëa is currently in safekeeping. But don’t you worry about any of that, Ness; once you get there, people will help you.’

Nestoril exhaled, realizing she really had been worrying about that, and Glorfindel’s words were a welcome reassurance.

‘That is so good to know… and… is it nice, there?'

'Nice?' Glorfindel queried. 'I didn't really see it with happy eyes… I can tell you a fair bit about the Halls of Mandos, if you like...' 

'I hope that won't be necessary...'

‘So do I, Ness, but if you should end up there, mention my name and Námo will look after you.’

‘Thank you… I think… What about living? Homes, communities, that sort of thing?’

‘Pretty much as you’d expect… there are one or two large settlements… I didn’t go, I was only out of the Halls for a few days before I sailed and I didn’t much feel like sightseeing. Sorry. But everything you need can be got there, or made there... Except for honey beer.' He smiled. 'They don't have that there.’

‘I see… I am sorry, all these questions and it is unfair of me – who expects to be able to ask for any information before they sail? I am very grateful.’

Glorfindel paused for a moment, weighing her up.

‘So, you're really going to go through with it?’ he said, kindly. ‘This rumour that you’re leaving isn’t just some power-play to make certain people rethink how much you’re needed here?'

'Do I look like the kind of person to make power-plays?'

'Oh, every time...perhaps not about this, though, not something so… permanent. When are you going?'

'Realistically, as soon as is possible.'

'You do know I'll be coming with you? As far as your ship, that is? Arwen's still set on going, and I promised to take her home when she was ready. In this case, though, I’ll be leaving her at the quayside, I can't sail yet. So, you see, it matters to me when you leave.' He looked across to where Triwathon was lining up a shot. 'It matters a lot...’

‘Well, we await reports coming in from the scouts who have gone out along the river… the boats are building and will not be ready for at least a week… I have a few matters of my own to settle, so I doubt it will be in less than ten days, but it could be longer…’

Glorfindel nodded.

‘Ten days… well, at least it’s not, saddle your horse, we’re leaving tonight, I suppose…’ With a grin, he turned from Nestoril to speak to Govon on his other side. ‘Commander? About Triwathon... can I take him with me to see Arwen off? And then can I keep him?'

Govon shook his head, grinning.

'That depends on Triwathon, do you not think? If he is still in my command when you leave, and if he wants to go, of course I will permit it. But you must keep him safe, bring him back safe... or I will seek you out and, Hero of the First Age or not, I will take you to task for it.’

'Pleased to hear it,' Glorfindel said. 'He deserves no less.'

Legolas and Triwathon finished their sets and came over, laughing and disputing their shots.

'Up you go, Ness,' Glorfindel said.' Wipe the floor with them, only nine golds between them...'

'We were practicing cluster shots, not going for gold,' Legolas said.

'Of course you were, Legolas... yours was just a pretty big cluster, if you ask me… now, Triwathon has them all nicely grouped together…’

Ness smiled to herself, listening to the easy banter. She would miss it, the informality and simplicity of her friends in the guard... but she would have friends on the far side of the seas, too, she realized. Tharmeduil, of course. She discounted Iauron as a friend, but the princes’ mother had always been friendly and approachable. Others, too, long gone now, faces she remembered clearly, names she spoke only a few times a year, healers who had gone with the army to Dagorlad and died there, never to come back. Or those who had patched up too many wounds, seen too many horrors and had needed to be gently shipped away… She would not want for friends. She would make sure she did not want for things to do.

Lining up, she nocked her arrow, loosed it, got into the rhythm... There was a certain release of tension in the work, the steady, regular thud of arrow into target, and her quiver was empty long before she expected it to be.

And the gold was rather full.

A smattering of applause as she retrieved her arrows, and she smiled as she turned back to her audience.

'Well, I think I will do, mellyn-nin. I will see some of you on the field tomorrow and I will be eagerly watching the sword display and the wrestling bout,' she said. ‘And do try not to get hurt – Hanben is Healer in Attendance tomorrow, and he has been busy inventing things to make the journey easier so his mind may be wandering…’

She waved a farewell and set off for her halls to stow her gear and return to the desk where Gyril smiled at her as she approached.

‘All is quiet,’ Gyril said. ‘Arwen is with Iauron, and so are Flora and the gwinig. But Feril is there also to keep the peace. Flora has news to share; this morning she had a letter from her mother, who will be setting off on the next barge and will be here in two days…’

‘Well, that is good. Happy news, for Flora indeed.’

‘Indeed. And we have been getting requests from people generally who wish to make their farewells to their princes…’

‘We talked of that once before… will you speak with the king’s office and ask Arveldir to enquire if our king objects to putting the princes where they can be more easily visited at certain hours of the day?’

‘Of course, Healer.’

‘Thank you. And I would like you, and Maereth, and Gaelbes in my study during the quiet hour, please. There is something I would like to put before the three of you.’

*

Nestoril filled in the time until the meeting with her three senior healers by beginning to make a list of the things she would need on her journey. Trusting that Glorfindel was correct, and that she would be able to find all she needed when she arrived in Valinor, she restricted herself to those items she would want for the journey to the ship. Travelling clothes, yes, her bow and arrows… a proper habit and head-rail for on board, so that she arrived in the Undying Lands looking like a Healer and not a Hunter… it was not really a long list, not until she started thinking of what she would need for the princes, and then it was tempting to add all manner of things in… Tharmeduil’s books and sketches, although perhaps Thranduil would want to keep those… maybe copies? Pigment sticks, for if the prince woke and wanted to draw… caul silk…

A tap at her door, and she noted with a start it was already time…

‘Please come in,’ she called, and her three healers – her friends – entered. 

‘Maereth thought to bring tea,’ Gyril said as Nestoril gestured towards the comfortable seating area.

‘How very considerate! Thank you, Meareth.’ She waited for them all to settle themselves, until everyone had tea, and then smiled in her friendly way before she went on. 

‘Well, it is no secret that I am leaving… and I wanted to make arrangements, before I go, for who will be in charge once I have left. And you are all most capable and competent, any one of you could run this place easily.’

‘But we have different strengths,’ Maereth said. ‘If we had to leave the forest, I would be useless!’

‘You are so very good with confused patients, though,’ Gyril said.

‘Because they are frightened, and I understand fear…’

‘I think there is a need for all your talents,’ Nestoril said. ‘I would like to nominally leave Gaelbes in charge – you are less overawed by the king than Maereth and Gyril…’

‘This is true,’ Gyril said, nodding. ‘Or at least, Gaelbes, you hide your fear better!’

‘That is the secret to meeting him on equal terms, in truth,’ Nestoril said. ‘The Healers Hall is part of the kingdom, but we do not only serve the people of Mirkwood; we have a wider duty. But our king is likely to be out of sorts once we leave; he will have just lost his two oldest sons, the chance of a suitable alliance for Prince Iauron… he is likely to be fractious and we know he is prone to low spirits. So it will call for a strong heart to treat him with the proper mixture of respect and authority. If you, Gyril and Maereth, are happy to work with Gaelbes as the figurehead of the Healers’ Hall, I think it will be better for the king, and therefore the kingdom, to have just one person to respond to. I know you are thinking of taking a career break soon, Gaelbes, but in a year or so, the king will have settled down again, I hope, and…’

‘I cannot think so far ahead and imagine you not here!’ Maereth said.

‘Yes, indeed; I still have trouble thinking you do not simply mean only while you are away,’ Gaelbes echoed.

‘My dear friends, it is settled; I am going away and will not be back.’

‘We do not want to believe it,’ Gyril said softly.

‘I am sorry.’

‘We cannot believe it, yet,’ Galebes said. ‘So, yes, I will accept the care of the Healers’ Hall. But I will keep your room cleaned and heated for you through the winter, and I will be Acting Head of the Healers’ Hall, with your permission. And after that, we will see. But until those who escort you to the ship return with news that you have sailed, it will all be in your name.’

‘Well… I am touched, truly. But do not be making a shrine of my rooms, it would be silly! And, Gaelbes, you really should at least use my study…’

‘We will see,’ Gaelbes said.


	249. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas helps Govon ready himself for the display fight.

Having learned his lesson from the previous contest, Thranduil had Arveldir write a polite and almost-friendly invitation to Flora, suggesting she and 'one of her friends amongst the Healers' might like to watch the display fights in the comfort of the king's company. Secretly, he hoped that Nestoril would be the chosen friend, but didn't really hold out much hope.

So he smiled when he received Flora's reply saying, yes please, and Nestoril would come too, until it was time for her to shoot her bow. The whole was written in the common speech, of course, but in slightly awkward script, Flora had tried to add ‘le fael’, I am grateful.

Well, since he would not have the pleasure of Flora's company for many days more, it was an opportunity to see the gwinig again... 

Somehow the rumour had got around that the child's father was one of the warriors lost to spiders or to dragons during the recent journey to the eyot, although of the seven who had died, only three could be considered likely candidates, the rest being either married or not inclined towards the female form, it had stopped speculation and even earned the king a measure of respect for supporting Flora with such dignity, and approval to Legolas for sponsoring the child. If Thranduil had any qualms about allowing this tale to perpetuate, he hid it well.

Thinking on, in response to Flora’s acceptance, he had Arveldir write another note, this time to the healers’ hall proper, asking if there was anything that could be done to make things easier for Flora and the gwinig on the day… and received rather a lengthy reply… a separate pavilion to provide shade and shelter and to which Flora and the gwinig could retire for nappy changes and such would be useful. A good chair, room for a cradle. Refreshments for Flora, since humans need to eat and drink more frequently than one might suppose...

‘Arveldir, see to all these suggestions for tomorrow, will you?’ Thranduil said, handing the note back to his advisor and pretending not to see Arveldir’s panicked expression. ‘And it might be a good idea to arrange for refreshments for all in the royal enclosure, too, for the middle of the session. Between the twin-sword display and the long bow will be excellent.’

‘Very good, sire… not presented in the same pavilion, I assume?’

‘No, a second one, not too near Flora’s,’ Thranduil had said, and got on with the rest of his day secure in the knowledge that all would be done appropriately. Or Arveldir would hear about his king’s displeasure.

Truth to tell, the king was beginning to look forward to the day… and to the day after when he had a very special event of his own in mind…

*

'Are you feeling nervous?' Legolas asked. 

It was the morning of Govon’s display against Bregon, and he was keen to be supportive and reassuring. Of course, it wasn’t a fight, so Govon was unlikely to get hurt, but he would be on display in front of the assembled court, guard, and populace of the palace.

'A little, maybe. Not as much as when your father invited me to practice with him.'

The prince poured warm water over Govon's hair to rinse the suds out, following that with more water on his strong, smooth shoulders; a libation.

They left the bathing pool, swathing each other in towels and hugging each other dry.

'Tell me about that day,’ Legolas prompted, although he’d begged, and heard, the full tale several times already. ‘When you left our rooms, you were in uniform... proper uniform.'

'I was thinking, it wasn't only a sword practice, it was a test. I thought your father was trying to weigh me up, to see whether I was a fit companion for you… I knew I could show him I was brave, worthy of you that way, but I was still a wild wood elf... Then I remembered, of course, your mother was Silvan. So if I embraced that Silvan side of me, showed I was proud of everything I am, he might respect that. My kilt was still in my former room, Merlinith found me the paint sticks - although she refused to help. It was, she said, 'too wild'.’ Govon gave a one-sided smile at the memory. ‘I readied myself there, wrapped a cloak over everything, and presented myself to your father in all my wild and arrogant wood elf pride.

'He loved it, of course,' Legolas said. 'And I was so proud of you... well, you're dry. What's next, paint, or kilt?'

'Kilt is probably best. We can hold it away from my hip when you paint the scar.'

'Um... Hard to concentrate...'

'Yes, it is, very hard...' Govon's eyes intensified, and he sighed. 'Not until after the bout. It's traditional.'

He buckled his leather kilt in place and lifted his chin.

'If you will start with the puncture marks left by the spiders. Ochre and blue, you know how I like it.'

'I do indeed. And the paint.'

Govon smiled as Legolas outlined the tiny scars on his throat.

The prince moved on to decorate the arrow scar on his beloved’s shoulder in blue and green, entrance mark and exit wound both, drew over Govon's formerly-broken ribs, outlined the long, fierce scar over his hip, green and ochre, drew swirls and spirals over each lung in green and blue, front and back.

'What's this?' Govon asked, surprised, twisting to see in the looking glass. ‘It’s beautiful.’

'Where you inhaled the breath of the grey dragon,' the prince said. 'You nearly died.' 

'As you keep reminding me. And, as I keep telling you, I didn't die. My turn now.' Govon held out an imperious hand for the pigment sticks. 'Blue, please.’

He took the stick and drew a double line above his carved wood armband, another double line below it.

'Green.'

On his other arm, Govon drew a set of corresponding lines. Between these he wrote the names of all the warriors in his command, finishing with another double line under.

'Today, I fight for the honour of all the warriors who are worried for their future. I fight to honour you, my beloved, too, for the honour of my king. And for my own self-respect.'

'You're done?'

'I'm done.'

'You look wonderful. Fierce and proud and... can't wait to bring my warrior home later, my friend captain.' 

'Can't wait to be brought, my fair elf.'

'Leggings?'

'You're joking, of course.’ Govon raised an eyebrow. ‘Kilt and boots and paint. Sword-belt and swords, nothing more.'

'Then just be very careful if you have to do a fast twin blade spin, or you might startle the ladies.'

Govon laughed.

'What about you, my love? Are you ready, relaxed, practised enough?'

'We get a few shots first out near the barracks, before we begin. I'll be fine. And at least I get to watch you before I shoot. Even if I do have to sit with Adar, I will be cheering you on.'

‘I am ready. Will you walk me through to the barracks?’

‘I will indeed. Carry your swords for you?’

‘Thank you.’

Legolas dressed quickly, shirt, leggings, formal coat – not because it would be expected, but to honour Govon. His armband he adjusted so that he wore it conspicuously on top of his coat sleeve, swapped braid clasps with Govon and carried his swords and sword-belt proudly through the corridors and out to the barracks where all the participants were to assemble.

‘We now hear there’s going to be a refreshments break,’ Over-Captain Rawon said when all were gathered. ‘It won’t affect Commander Govon or those in short bow, but the others will be an hour later starting than expected…’

Glorfindel lifted his chin.

‘So there’s not point my getting changed just yet, then?’

‘The refreshments break would be a better time for you and Esgaron to prepare, I think,’ Rawon said.

‘Excellent. I don’t need to worry about getting all smudged, then. So, what are we post-refreshments performers to now do, then?’

Rawon shrugged.

‘Watch the pre-refreshments performances, of course. What else?’

What else indeed? Legolas took a formal farewell of his fëa-mate, helping him buckle on his sword belt before leaving the barracks and making his way to the seating area where Arveldir was trying to organize everyone.

He grinned as he watched the advisor trying to usher Arwen to a seat near Erestor and Erestor shake his head hastily. Flora had made herself, and her gwinig, comfortable towards the end of the row, Nestoril beside her.

‘Good morning, Arveldir. How formal are we meant to be today?’

Arveldir bowed to Legolas.

‘Good morning, my prince. I think your father our king would like to have you near him, but otherwise, we are less structured than we were for the previous contest…’

‘I can see that.’ There was seating laid out for far more persons than just the court, those members of the Court and Honour Guard not involved in the short bow matches waiting respectfully for Arveldir to beckon them in. Legolas decided to be helpful. ‘Thiriston, why don’t you sit with Flora to cheer Canadion on? Do we have anyone else in short bow? Tinuon, are you going to join us, or not?’

‘We do indeed,’ Tinuon said with a sideways grin at Arveldir. ‘Our good advisor…’

‘Of course, I remember now! Well done, again.’

‘Thank you, my prince. I had not realized at the time, but my assistant Parvon also has entered… we are not in the same set, fortunately…’

‘Well, you’d better get yourself off to the barracks,’ Legolas said kindly. ‘Go, prepare. Erestor and I can keep everyone in line here.’

‘Are you sure?’ Arveldir said. ‘Because here come Glorfindel and Triwathon…’

‘Go, mellon-nin,’ Erestor said, getting up from his seat and leading Arveldir to the end of the enclosure. ‘Be calm, be focused, be as skilled as I know you are. I will be watching.’

‘Why don’t you sit here, near me?’ Legolas suggested. ‘You’ll have a fine view of the sword display.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Glorfindel agreed, ushering Triwathon along with him. ‘Are you sure those ladies should be quite so near the front? With the kilts, and everything?’

‘I am a Healer,’ Nestoril called back in dignified tones. ‘I have seen it all before and, since both Flora and Arwen have brothers, one assumes they have, too…’

‘Your majesty, good morning!’ Erestor said loudly, so that everyone had time to get up and bow or curtsey as was appropriate and hopefully to stop talking about the contents of the warriors’ kilts. 

‘Please, no formality,’ Thranduil said with a lift of his hand as he made his way through. ‘Flora, how is your baby today?’

‘He is well, thank you. Would you like to hold him?’

‘Assuming he is properly watertight, yes…’ The king flicked his coat back out of the way and sat in the empty place between Flora and Erestor, for the moment ignoring his own raised chair. ‘Is he sleeping well for you?’

‘Not too badly, thank you. Here he is… there…’

Thranduil accepted the bundle of baby and folded him into the crook of his left arm so that his head was properly supported. As Arwen stared at his apparent ease with the child, he shrugged.

‘One supports the head suitably, and always carries the child so one’s sword arm is free.’

‘Of course one does,’ Arwen agreed. ‘And he does look very comfortable there.’

‘Not too comfortable, I hope; I will need to pass him back before the short bow commences.’

Across the field the gathered spectators watched as targets were installed and lines marked out. Participants for short bow began to assemble at the edges of the range, and Over-captain Rawon came forward and bowed.

As the over-captain was about to announce the order of the contest and introduce the first set of archers – even with only two going through from each set, so many had entered that several bouts would be required – he found himself required to wait while the king passed a gwinig to a young person near him before taking his rightful place on the raised dais.

Finally the king arranged himself in his chair and crossed one leg over the other, lifting his fingers in a sign to Erestor who was standing in for Arveldir.

‘Over-Captain, his majesty is waiting. Do continue.’


	250. Short Bow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which spectators gather and the short bow archery contest takes place...

Once certain the king was settled in his seat, Rawon bowed again and called forward the first group, announcing their names as they lined up.

Canadion was on the second target from the king’s enclosure, and Thiriston shifted forward in his seat as his fëa-mate took his place. The penneth seemed confident and relaxed, but not cocky or above his competition; he smiled and wished his neighbours well and seemed modestly delighted to be there, winning his bout with ease, congratulating the second and third spots who would also go through, and really making it all look very easy. From his seat, Thiriston tried not to applaud too loudly, but Canadion’s eyes sought his and the big elf nodded and smiled how proud he was, and Canadion’s face split into a delighted grin to be so acknowledged, while Flora handed the baby to Nestoril so she could jump to her feet and clap and cheer exuberantly.

Legolas leaned forward to smile and speak to Thiriston as Canadion, and the others, left the field and Rawon beckoned the next contestants forwards.

‘Have you two sorted out your avowing day yet?’ the prince asked.

‘Not yet,’ Thiriston was gruff, awkward. ‘Until we know what we’re going to be doing, where we’re going to be in a few weeks, it’s difficult to pick a date…’

‘May I offer a suggestion?’ Thranduil said, startling everyone. ‘The Autumn Solstice would be a good time, if you are able to be ready so soon; I am sure all your friends in the guard will be free then… and, as Canadion is distantly connected to the family, it will not be inappropriate to hold the ceremony in the Grove of the Fëa Trees, should you so wish.’

‘Thank you, sire,’ Thiriston said. ‘That is an honour indeed! I will put that to Canadion, and see what he thinks.’

Legolas glanced at his father. Was that meant to be some sort of a hint, a clue to suggest the Court Guard would still be here, then? But Thranduil’s expression gave nothing away, the king turning his attention back to the field where the second dozen of contestants were lining up.

Neither Parvon nor Arveldir were in the next bout which was won with considerably fewer shots in the gold than Canadion’s set had been, but, of course, the top three archers were applauded off the field and Glorfindel grinned at Erestor.

‘So, that performance ought to give heart to your friend; we know he can do better than that.’

‘We do indeed,’ Erestor agreed. ‘But he allows himself to become nervous about such matters. He will be up soon, and we shall see.’

When Arveldir took his bow when his name was called, however, he appeared to be perfectly calm and at ease. Dressed in his formal sombre brown robes and with his hair caught back in a single plait, he made a striking figure amongst the greens and greys of archers in tunic and leggings.

His station was towards the far end of the range, and he walked over to take up position looking collected and ready. 

Rawon called everyone to order, and the bout began.

‘I cannot see!’ Erestor complained in a fierce whisper, craning his neck to try to peer beyond the seven archers’ stations separating his line of sight from Arveldir’s place; it would have been improper to stand. ‘Can someone tell me…?’

‘Erestor. Attend me, if you will,’ Thranduil commanded, his voice drifting languidly down.

With a frown he took care to hide from the king, Erestor got to his feet, turned to bow with his features perfectly arranged, and made his way to stand at the king’s shoulder.

‘How may I help, sire?’

‘You may begin by telling me if your view is improved.’

Erestor looked out across the field. From the vantage point of the king’s raised dais and from the extra benefit of now being required to stand, he had a much better line of sight across the targets.

‘Your majesty is most considerate; greatly improved, my thanks…’ He paused while, on the field, Arveldir nocked his arrow, lined up, released. ‘Two of the first three in the gold, I think, and his near competitors clustered off towards the reds…’

‘Excellent; you had better stay here and keep me apprised, then.’

‘Lord Arveldir is lining up another shot… I believe his elbow may be a little high… the way the breeze is blowing, one must allow for that, I suppose… ah; he has adjusted his stance and… Oh, indeed, quite, quite excellent! Another in the gold, I believe… Nor is he hampered by wind-blown hair as are some of the other archers… that single braid, I had my doubts; it seemed a little severe, but it really does show off how fine his facial bones are, how elegant that sweep of neck…’

‘Erestor?’

‘Yes, sire?’

‘Perhaps in slightly less detail.’

On the front row of seating, Nestoril could help not but hear, and smile to herself. In truth, the king did seem to be making huge efforts to be… to be… well, nice to everyone. Pointedly inviting Flora to sit in the royal enclosure, and then asking how she could be made more comfortable… offering Thiriston and Canadion use of the Sacred Grove for their avowing… that was more than simply taking a kingly interest, that was real thoughtfulness… it was too much to expect it to be the result of her recent scold, since she and the king had already let that pass into the past… perhaps it was simply that the realisation of how much he was on the point of losing had made Thranduil aware of how much he still had, and that he ought to show proper appreciation while he could.

But whatever the reason, it lightened her spirits, the more so when Legolas spoke to her.

‘Have you been putting something in Adar’s tea, Ness? I don’t remember when I’ve ever seen him this affable…’

‘Indeed, I think it was probably before Iauron was born; or at least, before you brothers were old enough to get into mischief…’ She nodded as she caught Legolas’ startled look. ‘Oh, in his younger days, before he had so many large matters to deal with, your father had more time to think of the small things which really make a difference to people. He was quite, quite charming before the burdens of kingship wore him down… it is good to see he has not entirely forgotten how to be pleasant when he has no need to be.’

Legolas laughed and turned his attention back to the archery. Most had taken all their shots now, just one or two still finishing up. Position three was a clear winner, but for the minor placings, it looked to be close. While Arveldir had done considerably better than his near neighbours, he had perhaps not shot as well as several others, and he looked more tense, waiting for the result, than he had while taking part.

Rawon beckoned the first three forward.

‘Ai! He has done it, he is going through!’ Erestor exclaimed. ‘Well done, well done indeed!’

‘Feel free to return to your seat, Erestor, but do return for the final,’ Thranduil said, adding, with a trace of his more usual acid, ‘your insights were most informative.’

‘Thank you, lord king,’ Erestor said, bowing his head fractionally. ‘I will do so gladly.’

After the triumph of Arveldir’s shaky third place, the fourth bout seemed a little anticlimactic. Parvon, brother to Fonor (whom Flora had so admired in the sword-fighting) came an easy second, and Erestor applauded dutifully, since Arveldir was not there to himself acknowledge his assistant’s success.

‘What’s next?’ Flora asked, settling Belegornor more comfortably on her lap. ‘Do they go again to find a winner? And when do we see Govon fighting?’

‘Yes, the finals will be next, as soon as the targets have been refaced. After which, indeed, you will see a display of twin-sword work; it is a very old tradition even by Silvan standards. I hope you will enjoy it.’ Nestoril smiled. ‘I am certainly looking forward to it.’

‘So am I,’ Legolas said with a grin. 

*

The luck of the draw put Canadion and Arveldir on adjacent targets towards the middle of the range, Parvon on the coveted position closest to the royal enclosure.

‘Well, good luck!’ Canadion said with his easy smile. ‘We all seem to be on form today; what say we try to take all the honours between us for our king?’

‘That, I think, is a little ambitious,’ Arveldir said. ‘But my thanks for your confidence. Parvon; whatever the outcome, you were second in your bout, I only third.’

‘My lord, you forget – you outshot me, with seven golds to my six; I was merely fortunate with my competitors…’

‘Well, let’s all just enjoy being on show!’ Canadion said lightly as Rawon began to shout out the names of the finalists. ‘And then we can go and enjoy the display fighting.’

‘Try not to enjoy it too much,’ Arveldir said with a small, tight smile. ‘I am sure your Thiriston will be watching you watching.’

The thought amused and relaxed him as he took his stance, waited for the order to shoot. After all, he knew he was outmatched; he was a survival archer, an if-I-must hunter, and had it not been for Erestor, he would not have entered at all.

Yet here he was, out of several hundred who had taken part in the preliminary rounds, now through to the final twelve… that was not bad going, really, not for a stuck-behind-a-desk advisor who much preferred words as a weapon-of-choice…

Line up, sight, pull… release.

Gold, red, gold-gold… ah. Blue. Be more aware of the wind direction, look at which direction the others’ hair was blowing… red. Gold again, good. Red, red… not so good, readjust… gold. Better, yes. Red and… Gold to finish. Yes, respectable, really, and…

‘Oh, Canadion, well done! Eleven in the gold!’

Canadion turned towards Arveldir and grinned. 

‘That was fun! You see, if you relax and enjoy…’

‘I do not think it is in my nature to be quite so relaxed, penneth! But I am sure Thiriston will be justly proud of you.’

Rawon went up the line.

‘Some good shooting in this batch! Arveldir, if we’re pressed to war, I want you in the reserves. And your assistant, too! Good, Canadion, good… wrist action’s improved…’

‘Indeed, I have been practicing, I assure you…’ 

Rawon shook his head and went to examine the targets, making notes before coming back to announce the placings from twelfth up to fourth, Arveldir could not help but sigh to hear himself called in fifth place, but Parvon had redeemed the honour of king’s office by placing third, and Canadion a clear, and joyous winner.

The winners took their bows and the losers pretended to be pleased for them, joining in the applause before seeking to leave with as much dignity as they could. 

On his way to off the field, Arveldir heard his name called as Erestor came to the front of the king’s enclosure and called out to him.

‘Most unfortunate, mellon-nin! Will you wait a moment, I will come out to you?’

Arveldir paused, made his way towards Erestor.

‘But there is the display…’

‘You are obviously distraught, and in need of consolation… allow me to carry your bow back to your quarters, at least?’

‘Well, as you can imagine, I am a little disappointed…’

‘In which case…’ Erestor looked back over his shoulder, saw Legolas trying not to smile, Thiriston openly grinning (but pretending to be looking at Canadion), Glorfindel with his arms crossed over his chest and smirking. ‘Would one of you be so good as to beg Commander Govon and Commander Bregon’s pardon, but we are otherwise occupied with important matters…?’


	251. Display

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bregon and Govon hold their display fight...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're in a hurry you could quite easily skip this chapter - it's pure indulgence, a chance to get Govon into his kilt and war paint again. I make no apology for it.

In the barracks, Govon and Bregon kept their painted selves out of sight while they waited for the call for their performance. It seemed like a long while before Over-captain Rawon appeared to tell them to start warming up.

‘Are you ready, Govon?’ Commander Bregon asked.

Govon grinned at him.

‘Are you?’

‘Well, I haven’t had the benefit of personal tuition from our king... although I did spar with him once... I have been practicing with Tinuon, but I’ll admit I’m more used to double-lhaing...’

‘Well, I just had the one lesson... and it’s just for show, though, today,’ Govon said. ‘Display. Do you think we should have worked together?’

‘Probably. But it would be less authentic, don’t you think, if we’d decided ahead of time what we were going to do?’

‘True.’ 

Govon got to his feet and began to stretch and work his muscles, slowly warming up. Bregon, too, stood, and cast aside the cloak he’d had over his shoulders to reveal several orange and red and blue designs surrounding a variety of battle scars.

‘Nice painting,’ Govon said. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen you traditionally decorated before.’

‘No. It’s not something I thought I’d ever do, again... in fact, I was surprised you even knew about it.’

‘My father was a real Silvan traditionalist.’

‘Ah. That’ll be why you’re not going with the leggings, then?’

‘Not today,’ Govon said. ‘That’s wrestling garb, kilt and leggings.’

‘I agree with you, but my wife insisted... ready?’

‘As I’m likely to be.’

They left the barracks to march side-by-side towards the field and the fighting circle, pausing at the sidelines for Rawon to announce them and then coming forward to make their obeisance to the king.

Bregon crossed his twin swords over his chest and then swept them out to the sides as he bowed.

Govon performed a twist and a jump and landed on one knee to face his king, swords crossed over his body. 

A smattering of applause as the king gestured the combatants to their feet and they made their way to the combat circle to take their start positions; sideways on to each other, right sword tip to the ground ahead, left tip to the ground behind.

‘Whenever you’re ready,’ Rawon said, ‘you may begin.’

‘Govon?’

‘Bregon.’ 

Govon inclined his head to his opponent and lifted his swords to cross his body. Bregon echoed the move and made the first strike; left sword up to block, right sword to attack. Govon twisted away, his blades countering and swinging round as he employed the back grip Thranduil had taught him. Bregon turned away, allowing his swords to grate and slide as he moved his torso out of range just in time.

‘That’s a new one to me,’ he said.

‘Our king taught me.’ Govon pulled his forward blade back, ducked under a sweep to see the second sword coming towards him at shin level, and fast, and had to jump to avoid contact, bringing his knees up quickly and landing in a crouch to cross blades and sweep them out to hold Bregon’s questing swords at bay. The leap and recovery drew approval from the crowd, gasps from the front row of the royal enclosure. ‘But that’s not traditional, is it?’

Bregon laughed as he swept a circle, tracing the air with his sword tips as Govon moved against him, double parry, single thrust, twist and cross.

‘No, that was one of Tinuon’s. He said it’s easier for a shorter elf like him to jump than to duck...’

‘You know, if we’ve got breath to spare for talking, we’re not working hard enough.’ 

Govon drew his blades in to his body, circled them in rhythm as he turned a full circle to engage Bregon in a clash and ring of double steel on double steel. Bregon laughed, enjoying the work, countering and attacking, working the swords until both he and Govon were sweating freely in the warm sunshine.

‘Slow it down a little?’ Bregon suggested. ‘Your paint is starting to run.’

‘Is it, indeed? Yours too... are you sure I didn’t nick you? Or did you use much red paint on your upper arm?’

‘No, it’s paint, you didn’t come near me!’

‘I could if I wanted to, though.’

‘Of course. As could I you. But this is display.’

‘Of course.’

They broke off from the flurry to step back and slow down the pace, weaving their blades in slow, wide circles to pattern arcs and spirals and wheeling over and around and between.

‘Have you had any word yet?’ Bregon asked.

‘No. Have you?’

‘Less important for me,’ Bregon admitted. ‘And for Esgaron. But he’s got an interview with the king tomorrow... you didn’t know, then?’

For a fraction of a second Govon’s blades had wavered, and Bregon pushed in; display or not, to finish with one’s weapon pointed at the throat of one’s opponent would be very satisfying. But Govon recovered to bring both swords up in front of his face and parry Bregon’s attack aside, an onslaught of fierce, whirling blades until the commander was pushed back to the edge of the circle.

‘Steady, Govon, steady!’ Bregon exclaimed, a nervous laugh catching in his throat as he realised if anyone was going end up with a sword at his throat today, it would be him. ‘Display, remember?’

‘Apologies.’ Govon inclined his head and withdrew his swords to the cross-body starting position, allowing Bregon to come back at him in classic display; left on left, low, right on right high, simultaneous left on right, right on left. ‘What about Esgaron and the king?’

The dance of the classic form separated them as they circled to bring swords down overhead, woven together in a web of metal, holding the stance. In a real fight, they would be now pushing against each other, trying for dominance, but here – just display – they simply stood for a few seconds.

‘Only that – he’s been called to speak to the king is all he will say, but he’s looking very smug about it. Maybe it’s for a reprimand... it would be deserved, at least.’

‘But our king tries not to get involved with reprimands to the warriors; those he leaves to Rawon.’

‘True. And Rawon is looking to catch our attention. Last flurry and then end with a grand cross and bow?’

‘Whenever you are ready.’

They slithered their swords apart and engaged again before breaking away, Bregon to sweep and weave his blades and finish with one behind his back, one before his face, Govon in another twisting leap to bring him onto one knee with the swords extended to the sides, head bowed.

Silence, and then the applause. The shouting. The cheers, Rawon calling them to stand and take their bows.

‘Well fought, mellyn-nin,’ the Over-captain said. ‘A fine display. Govon, I think it is time we put twin-blade back into the practice next session. If you haven’t got your next orders by then, I’ll have you as one of the tutors.’

‘My thanks, Over-captain. If I can put in a good word for Tinuon, who is also skilled...’

Rawon laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, pushing him towards the royal enclosure where Erestor was trying to catch their attention.

‘And no doubt by the time the next session starts, you’ll have all your command expert at twin-blade! Well, it seems you and Bregon are wanted. Let me not keep you from your admirers...’

‘His majesty’s compliments to you and to Commander Bregon, and he would like you both to join him for refreshments with his other guests in the pavilion,’ Erestor said. ‘And very well fought, Commanders! An exhilarating display!’

‘Our thanks,’ Bregon said with a bow. ‘I suppose we ought to clean up first...’

‘But this is only a short break; if you do that, you will not have time to eat before the long bow begins...’

‘And I must be here for that,’ Govon said. ‘I have several friends competing. And my fëa-mate.’

‘Besides, your paint is so interesting,’ Erestor said. ‘Commander Govon? The names on your arm...?’

‘My command. I fought to honour them, out of respect for their service. At present, none of us know what will happen after the formal disbanding of my company. But all have served with honour, and several have families, responsibilities, and...’

‘Govon.’ Thranduil’s voice swept languidly down. ‘There is no need to reiterate your case. You fought in honour of your warriors. That is all Erestor needs to know.’

‘Forgive me, my king.’

‘Flora wishes to speak to you, I believe,’ Thranduil said. ‘After which you may attend us in the pavilion.’

Flora was, indeed, waiting, the baby in her arms apparently fast asleep. She smiled and went off into a stream of Westron out of which Govon could catch but one word in ten. Nestoril came forward to offer a translation as Legolas looked away, hiding a grin.

‘Flora is most enthusiastic about your skill, Commander Govon, she thinks you look very nice in a... she means kilt, but there wasn’t a proper Westron word... and that... forgive me, Legolas is very lucky in his choice of... again, I am sure she means ‘spouse’...’

‘She said ‘wife’, didn’t she?’

‘Well...’

‘It is an old joke between us.’ Govon smiled at Flora and managed to thank her in tolerable Westron. ‘And the baby slept through all the noise?’

Flora nodded and Nestoril moved back the baby’s crocheted cap – Arwen had been busy again, Govon guessed – to show tiny pads over his ears.

‘Just to muffle the sound,’ the healer explained. ‘Now, I am going to bear Flora company while she sees to Belegornor in private and with room to move, and you are going to be applauded and ogled in the king’s pavilion.’

‘Thank you, Healer. Oh, and Ness? Good luck for this afternoon. Not that I want you to beat my fëa-mate, but if you could almost win...?’

She laughed. ‘Goodness, I had almost forgot I’m competing later! Well, I will do my very best, then – to almost win!’


	252. Long Bow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril chats to Esgaron before taking part in the long bow contest...

After the refreshments break, Nestoril saw Flora settled back in her seat and set off to the muster point for long bow. There she waited to hear which of the three bouts she would be in, and lined up with the other contestants to take a few practice shots. Triwathon was two stations away to her left; there was no sign of Legolas.

Practice was good-natured, unstructured, with archers coming and going every few minutes. Towards the end of her practice, she found herself shooting next to Commander Esgaron.

‘Commander! I didn’t realise you were competing?’ 

‘I didn’t realise long bow would be open to non-combatants,’ Esgaron replied. ‘I had thought short bow was intended for civilians.’

‘Open to all, the over-captain said,’ one of Rawon’s sergeants told him. ‘As long as you sign up just for the one discipline, and have the use of the relevant bow, anyone can enter.’

‘Indeed,’ Esgaron raised an eyebrow. ‘It certainly seems anyone has...’ 

Nestoril turned towards him, more curious than offended, but Esgaron seemed to remember who he was talking to and had the grace to flush.

‘Present company excepted,’ he said. ‘I did not intend to insult you, Healer.’

‘Oh? Who did you mean to insult, I wonder?’ Nestoril said.

‘Well... no... it was a generalisation... I do not expect you, a non-combatant, to understand, but the companies of the guard are by nature competitive about such things. Deprived of our promised contests because Hador could not get out of the way of a simple sweep... this is now the only place we have left to vie for supremacy... and to have to share with the general population...’

‘I would not have thought it would bother you so, Commander,’ she replied. ‘Surely, the more skilled will win through, whether non-combatant, survival archer, prince or healer?’

Esgaron subsided, but Nestoril hadn’t quite done with him yet.

‘Besides,’ she added, ‘Lord Glorfindel has a special contest arranged, I understand. He is pretending to be very secretive about it, but he also cannot stop talking about it. And he has the king’s permission... it is for the commanders and their seconds and a few specially selected warriors from each company, I believe, and it is to take place tonight. I thought you would have known?’

‘Yes, I’ve heard the Balrog-slayer mention it... I hadn’t thought of taking part, it seems like foolishness...’

‘Oh, that is a shame! You never know, it might lean more towards your particular talents than, say, wrestling is? Such a pity your first bout with Glorfindel ended on a technicality, I was so looking forward to hearing the outcome... are you eager for this afternoon’s rematch, Commander?’

‘It is a lot to expect, that one take part in long bow and then a wrestling match straight after...’

‘Oh, but you are drawn in the second bout, are you not? And there are three sets, after all, for long bow. You will have a few minutes at least to recover your strength for the wrestling, while you watch the finals...’ 

Nestoril fired off her last shot and lowered her bow. 

‘Well, I do not think that is so bad, for a non-combatant,’ she said. ‘I will watch for you in your bout, Commander. Good fortune to you.... Oh, Captain Triwathon! I must say, your target is looking very impressive! Are you done? Which bout are you in?’

Making her way across to Triwathon, she fell into step with him as he went to retrieve his arrows.

‘I’m in the second bout. And you?’

‘Oh, I do not go until third... and I’m shooting against Legolas! I wonder if, when I beat him, he will claim he let me win out of good manners...’

‘Talking of which, I very much enjoyed overhearing your discussion with Commander Esgaron concerning non-combatants... and I wonder whether he has noticed yet that you suggested he would not win through?’

‘Well, he has not turned puce or started shouting... I think it is fair to assume he has not... and just which of us were you accusing of good manners?’

He laughed as he pulled his arrows out of the target. Nestoril waited for a lull in the shooting to fetch her own.

‘Ten minutes!’ the sergeant called over the field. ‘Bout One in ten minutes! First two sets, muster at the field!’

‘That means me,’ Triwathon said.

‘You will be fine,’ Ness told him. ‘Glorfindel will cheer you on and flex his muscles for you, and toss his hair at Esgaron, and you will be wonderful. You do not quite have to grind Esgaron’s reputation into the dust, but just make sure you beat him comfortably.’

Triwathon grinned.

‘Healer, I will certainly do my best!’

*

Canadion found himself in a very happy place after the refreshment break; seated between Thiriston and Flora on the front row of the royal enclosure. He had offered to be Flora’s translator for the afternoon, and was very glad to cuddle her gwinig and talk to her about the long bow contest.

‘So, Glorfindel’s friend Triwathon is shooting in the second bout, and our prince, and our friend Nestoril in the third. They only go six at a time in long bow, and two go through from each.’

‘So it is like this morning?’

‘Yes, except for the numbers. Because long bow is harder, there are fewer contestants, and so fewer in each set.’

‘I see. Canadion?’

‘Yes, Flora?’

‘There is a woman who is staring at you.’

‘But you are the only woman here; it is a she-elf, an elleth.’

‘Then there is an elleth...’

‘She was right the first time,’ Thiriston. ‘That is no elleth – that’s your mother!’

‘Oh, you...!’ Canadion laughed. ‘But, yes, it is indeed. Flora – that is my Naneth.’

‘I will be seeing my Naneth, soon,’ Flora said. ‘She is coming on the next barge, and will be here in a day or so. I am very excited to show her the baby!’

‘I am sure you are,’ Canadion said, glad to have an excuse not to look at where his mother was frantically trying to get his attention from the spectators’ seating on the far side of the archery range, now being arranged for long bow. ‘I am sure she will think he is beautiful. Oh, look, Over-captain Rawon is bringing the first archers to the field.’

The first contestants were announced and took their bows before lining up and waiting for the order to begin. The bows being far bigger, they took more effort to draw and looked more imposing, impressive, to Flora’s eyes, than the first contest. The arrows flew further, hit harder, and the first round was over, the winner and second place taking their applause almost before she had got used to the sights and sounds of the action.

By the time the second lot of contestants came out, though, she felt confident she knew what was going on. Canadion pointed out Triwathon, on the third station, but didn’t bother mentioning Esgaron, at the coveted nearest position.

‘And Triwathon is Glorfindel’s friend?’ Flora queried.

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘And he is the pretty one with the waving gold hair and the blue eyes?’

‘That’s me!’ Glorfindel said in the common tongue from behind, laughing. ‘I’m the pretty one!’

‘Well, you are all pretty, it seems to be how elves are. But you are prettiest, I think, you and Canadion. And your friend is nice. Oh, and the stern one that does the king’s messages, when he remembers not to be stern. And...’

‘Room for another one on there?’ Glorfindel said, interrupting, and swapped his seat for one on Flora’s other side, displacing Erestor who moved away with a long-suffering sigh. ‘There, that’s nice. Lovely view of them all, isn’t it? Was at the wrong angle to see Triwathon, back there. You watch, he’s got a lovely action... amongst other things...’

It was nice to know something about one of the contestants, Flora thought; it made more sense of the contest, if you could see it mattered to someone. So Flora watched Triwathon while Glorfindel told her how he was a quiet, gentle person, perhaps a little shy, but really very kind and generous of heart.

‘And he can shoot straight, too!’ Flora said, as Triwathon’s first arrow arced through the air to find the gold.

‘Yes, indeed. A fine shot, our Triwathon is!’

So when Triwathon was called winner of the bout, Flora clapped and cheered and waved along with Glorfindel, earning herself a puzzled smile from the warrior. Esgaron placed a close third, but not close enough to go through.

‘Well, he’ll have plenty of time to rest up before the wrestling,’ Glorfindel said. ‘I just hope there’s enough time for Triwathon to help me prepare.’

‘Oh, I sure you will not lack for help,’ Canadion said. ‘Not from me, of course,’ he added with a smile at Thiriston.

‘No. It has to be Triwathon,’ Glorfindel said. ‘I’m fighting for him, today.’

*

By the time Nestoril was called to her station, she was beginning to feel a little nervous. Legolas had arrived at the practice butts not five minutes before the bout was called, and had fired a steady, swift, and accurate stream of arrows at the target, utterly demoralising most of the opposition, some of whom had been hoping he wouldn’t turn up.

‘So it would seem we are competing for second place,’ someone muttered.

‘Nonsense!’ Nestoril said firmly. ‘I fully intend to give our prince a run for his money. But good luck to the rest of you.’

‘Besides,’ another said, ‘when else will the likes of us have this chance again?’

The draw placed her several positions away from the prince, so it was not possible to do more than smile and wave as he passed. Those to either side of her she knew only slightly, and both looked rather tense and dour, as if this really mattered to them. Of course, she realised, it must be important; she had been used to shooting in sight of the king, even if it hadn’t been under competition conditions. But for many of these archers, it was a rare opportunity, and for the first time she wondered about the wisdom of Legolas competing in an open competition, thinking of that earlier remark. Yet for these other archers, it was a chance, also, to shoot alongside their prince, something to be able to tell their children and grandchildren; yes, I saw our prince shoot, I shot with him, once. It was an honour to lose to him.

The elf to her left drew his bow, the pull stretching his strength, and released to find the outer gold.

‘Oh, well shot!’ she exclaimed, earning herself a wary glance. ‘Forgive me; I am used to encouraging those I shoot with, and they supporting me in turn. I did not mean to distract you.’

‘I practice alone,’ the fellow said. ‘But let me see what you can do?’

Nestoril inclined her head to him and took a breath. She nocked her shaft and drew the long bow back, back, feeling the bite and pull of the tension, sighted carefully, and released breath and arrow at the same moment. To her relief, and secret delight, she made gold, just a fraction away from the inner.

‘Oh, yes!’ the elf to her other side said in surprise. ‘A contest, indeed!’

He lined up his own first arrow, but only made the red.

‘Unlucky,’ Nestoril said. ‘But the breeze was blowing your hair; one of the benefits of a head-rail, all is kept safe from the wind.’

‘Plus it makes you a striking figure, Healer,’ he on her other side said.

‘Well, shall we go again? Our prince may think he has this bout sewn up, but that does not mean we cannot enjoy ourselves, does it?’

The fact that three of the contestants were chatting did not escape their far neighbours, and the easy, relaxed mood was contagious, so that soon all the line-up were complimenting and commiserating with each other, even Legolas, a little bemused, joining in.

‘You do know this isn’t practice, don’t you, Ness?’ he called down the line. ‘This is serious!’

‘It is for you,’ she called back, laughing. ‘I have three in the gold already, and am on your heels, my prince, so look to your aim!’

Light-hearted or not, it was a serious business, with only two places available for the final. Ness held her aim true, beating her neighbours, and taking second place to Legolas’ win. As they took their bows, Legolas glanced at her with a small shake of his head.

‘It does not feel right; I know it was a fair match, an open contest, but...’

‘You could rescind your right to go through.’

‘Yes, but it would seem patronising to whomever took my place...’

‘You could suggest Esgaron take it. He was close third, and it would be a delight to see him patronised...’

Legolas smiled ruefully.

‘No, I think I will take my chance,’ he said. ‘See you in the final.’

 

It did not take long for the targets to be refaced. With only six shooting in this contest, Nestoril wasn’t surprised to find herself next to Triwathon, who had drawn the position nearest the royal enclosure.

‘Near enough to be distracted, if you allowed it,’ Nestoril said. ‘Glorfindel is waving at you.’

‘Indeed... and a human female... I am sure we haven’t met...’

‘Oh, that is Flora! She is a dear friend.’ Nestoril carefully did not say of whom. ‘And very friendly, generally. I expect Canadion has been gossiping again.’

‘And he is holding the gwinig! I have heard several tales about the child, but none of them seem to make any sense...’

‘Well, it is Flora’s gwinig so it is Flora’s business, I am sure,’ Nestoril said, smiling to take any sting out of her words. ‘And here is Rawon! Good luck, Triwathon!’

It would have been surprising had Legolas not won the bout. What did come as a little bit of a surprise, to the other career archers who had got through to the final, was that they were all soundly trounced by a healer in a blue gown and head-rail to match, who laughed her way through each shot, and commiserated with the third placed warrior, Triwathon, by giving him a gentle cuddle.

‘Never mind! You shot really well, and it was but the difference between an outer gold and an inner red between us!’

‘No, I do not really mind,’ Triwathon said. ‘I need to hurry from the field anyway; I have a warrior to paint...’

‘And no doubt he will console you far more pleasantly than I,’ Nestoril called after him as he left with the rest.

‘You almost had me,’ Legolas said. ‘In fact, had you not been laughing so much...’

‘Oh, but I was trying to distract you,’ Nestoril said. ‘Still, it was fun. Now, make sure you take all the time you can accepting your congratulations and the adoration of the crowd; Triwathon has a Balrog-slayer to paint ahead of the wrestling; we do not want him to have to do a rush job, do we?’


	253. Prematch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the wrestling can begin, there is a small matter of bodypaint to be addressed...

An alteration in the happy nature of the gwinig taking place while the field was being cleared and prepared for the wrestling meant that Flora took him back from Canadion’s lap; for such a small individual, Belegornor had a very big voice.

‘I will take him away and sort him out,’ Flora said, over the wails. ‘Please do not let them start the wrestling until we return; I want to see Lord Glorfindel do his fighting.’

‘And I want to have a word with you in private,’ Thiriston said to Canadion. ‘Come on.’

‘Is anything wrong?’ Canadion asked lightly. ‘Or are you just going to give me my prize for winning short bow this morning?’

‘Oh, if there were time... Nothing wrong. Just... I think, after your Naneth staring at you earlier she might come over and...’

‘I would like to talk to her,’ Canadion said wistfully. ‘I know she can seem harsh, but...’

‘And you can, no, I don’t mean to make you think I don’t want you to see your naneth... look, I want to talk to you first, that is all.’  
He led off around the back of the royal enclosure, and once out of view of the king, caught Canadion’s hand and tugged him into the refreshments pavilion, now cleared except for one or two tables and benches, dim and private.

‘Earlier, Legolas asked me if we’d decided when we’re taking vows yet. I said it was hard, not knowing what’s going on and the king said... he suggested the autumn equinox... if you like. If it’s not too soon...?’

Canadion dropped Thiriston’s hand and launched himself at his fëa-mate, wrapping his arms around his neck and squealing his delight.

‘Be calm, penneth! Is that agreement, or is it a bad idea?’

‘Our king is never wrong!’ Canadion said, disengaging to smile into Thiriston’s face as if he had never been so happy. ‘How could it be a bad idea?’

‘Well, you might like this, as well, then. He said, as you’re almost related, we can use the Sacred Grove...’

Thiriston staggered as he was almost knocked of his feet by Canadion’s delight. He laughed at the babble of happy noises and hot kisses on his neck.

‘Well, I’m glad it was me told you and not Thranduil... I dread to think what you’d have done...’

Canadion giggled and hugged tightly.

‘Oh, it will be wonderful! The Sacred Grove, where our prince took his vows! And...’

‘See why I wanted to talk to you before your Naneth came looking for you?’

‘Yes! It will be such a thing to be able to tell her! It is like saying, the king has given us permission to be vowed, so she dare not complain... not that I would let her stop me, but it would be sad...’

‘Can we be ready? It’s only a few weeks?’

‘Of course we can be ready! I can be ready in an hour! Who will we ask to be our Witness?’

Thiriston shrugged.

‘Maybe Commander Govon; he’s been a good leader.’

‘And who can come? Do you mind?’

‘Anyone you want, even your Naneth. But if you decide to ask any of your former conquests... very glad to have them see you’re mine, forever, death or ships, just I don’t want to know what they were to you...’

‘Oh, I wasn’t meaning that!’ Canadion said. ‘I thought... Flora, maybe?’

‘Flora? She’ll have gone home by then...’

‘She could come back for the avowing, perhaps stay for a day or so?’

‘Well, ask her, if you like...’

‘Ask who what?’ a new voice said; Glorfindel, entering with his kilt in his hands and Triwathon at his side. ‘Just wondered...’

‘We were talking about guests,’ Canadion said. ‘You’ll come and see us vowed, won’t you? Both of you?’

‘If I’m still here, I’d love to,’ Glorfindel said. ‘But just now I need to get ready to wrestle, and the king said we could use his pavilion to prepare, so if you’d excuse us...?’

‘Sorry. And good luck, not that you need it... I’m really looking forward to watching you!’ Canadion said.

‘Not too much, I hope,’ Thiriston rumbled.

‘Exactly as much as is proper and no more,’ Canadion said with his swift smile. ‘Now, come away, I want to talk more about who we will ask...’

*  
After Thiriston and Canadion had left, Triwathon dropped the canvas to obscure the entrance, and even as he was reaching for the paint sticks, Glorfindel was reaching for him to press a hasty kiss to his lips.

‘Sorry there’s not more time... was so proud of you, so well you shot...’

‘There’ll be time later. Come, get your boots off, your leggings tied above the knee, and your kilt on. Then I’ll braid your hair back and paint you.’

‘Your pardon,’ Arveldir’s voice from outside. ‘But Commander Esgaron has leave to share this pavilion, also.’

Triwathon left Glorfindel changing and went to tie back the canvas.

‘I am sure that will be fine... Is Mistress Araspen helping the Commander prepare?’

Arveldir looked behind him.

‘The commander appears to be alone...’

‘Ah. Then would you stay, please? It is awkward...’

‘I understand the last bout ended in controversy; perhaps the presence of an independent party would be useful.’

‘I’m ready over here!’ Glorfindel called, stretching languorously and managing to ignore Esgaron’s arrival while drawing attention to his magnificently-bared torso.

‘Sit for me.’ Triwathon smiled to himself as he gathered Glorfindel’s hair, brought it back to plait into the required single braid. ‘What colours would you like?’

‘Green will show up the burn scars nicely. Blue around the other ones. And I want your name on my arm, like Govon had Legolas’ on his this morning.’

‘All right. You flatter me.’

‘What’s he doing in here?’ Glorfindel muttered as Esgaron seated himself at the other table with a glare.

‘Getting ready.’

‘By himself?’

‘Well, I am not about to help him,’ Triwathon said softly.

‘Glad to hear it.’

Arveldir stationed himself near the entrance to the pavilion, an impartial witness to Esgaron’s scowl and Triwathon’s determined focus on his task.

‘There; your hair is done, hir-nin; does it feel secure?’

‘Yes. Not too tight, but safe.’

‘Would you stand for me?’ 

Triwathon began drawing paint across Glorfindel’s marks of battle and fire, tracing the outlines of the pink weals on his skin with green, highlighting the white scars with blue. Smiling to himself, he added touches of purple here and there for emphasis, just to make all look more beautiful and exotic. 

‘You have a very steady hand today,’ Glorfindel said as Triwathon came to decorate the front of his body. ‘I remember the first time you touched paint to me...’

‘It was such an honour to be asked to help you,’ Triwathon said, smiling. ‘At the time, I was too overawed to properly enjoy it. No longer, though.’

He leaned forward to speak softly into Glorfindel’s ear.

‘Each mark is a kiss I will redeem later.’

‘I’ll hold you to that.’

Triwathon smiled and turned his attention to Glorfindel’s biceps. Mindful of his instructions, he outlined a band around Glorfindel’s arm, and wrote his own name there. And with a respectful nod towards the west, on the other arm he added, not just a name, but a phrase that ran to two lines of script: “Glorfindel, Forever Beloved of the Lord of the Fountains of Gondolin.”

‘There; you are done, painted and prepared. No doubt you will get terribly smudged...’

‘Thank you. And just what did you write on my arms, it took you forever, my entire life history?’

‘Not quite. Although, maybe... Sadly, I have no looking-glass for you to see...’

‘I can seek a looking glass,’ Arveldir offered. ‘I am sure Lady Arwen will have one about her person.’

He turned to leave. Glorfindel got to his feet, Triwathon following, leaving Esgaron alone to braid his own hair and paint his own scars.

‘You know, Arveldir, I think the commander expected you to help,’ Glorfindel said. 

‘But that would not be appropriate; it is a task for an invited friend,’ Arveldir said smoothly. ‘A Silvan tradition. Although properly, Esgaron’s betrothed should have been there.... Ah. Lady Arwen? Do you happen to have a looking glass with you...?’

‘I do... Triwathon, what lovely work! How beautiful...’

‘Well, let me see, then?’ Glorfindel demanded. ‘Oh, Triwathon, lovely work doesn’t begin to describe... can’t see all the way round and the writing is backwards, but... what have you put that for?’

‘Today, you are mine.’ Triwathon shrugged. ‘But really, yesterday and tomorrow, you are his. I would not pretend more than is my due. Unless you think it makes you appear... indecisive...?’

Glorfindel laughed and drew Triwathon in for a friendly hug. 

‘Oops. Should I not have cuddled you? Everyone’s staring...’

‘At you, not at us. Well, you are... even without the paint... stunning.’

Rawon came over. 

‘Good. Do you mind warming up on the field? It will keep the crowd happy while we wait for Esgaron; what’s keeping him?’

‘Nobody to paint his back for him,’ Glorfindel said. ‘I expect he’s trying to reach a difficult bit.’


	254. Grudge Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Glorfindel and Esgaron face each other in the wrestling circle once more...

‘What is happening?’ Flora asked. 

Belegornor was now clean and dry, wrapped in fresh waterproofings and laid down in his cradle where he was murmuring around yawns. Nestoril, who had taken refuge in Flora’s shelter after the excitement of her shooting contest, looked out.

‘Commander Esgaron and Lord Glorfindel are warming up before the match.’

‘Glorfindel is very pretty, do you not think?’

Ness smiled. It wasn’t quite the word she would have picked.

‘I know what you mean,’ she said. ‘And he has been decorated by his friend Triwathon. Come and see; I will rock the cradle for you, if you like.’

‘Oh...’ Flora breathed. ‘And do they always paint their bodies?’

‘No. Just special occasions.’

‘I want Glorfindel to win!’

‘So do I,’ Nestoril said. ‘Can you see well enough from here?’

‘Quite well, yes.’

*  
Glorfindel gave Triwathon an easy smile as he saw his friend return to his seat, and went out to begin the stretches to loosen his muscles. The crowd applauded, stilled, watched in anticipation. Esgaron appeared and began his own warm-up, performing to the stands and somehow managing to be less impressive than his opponent; Glorfindel’s golden hair alone was enough to seduce all but the most determined eyes away from the Commander and towards the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin.

Presently Rawon called them to make their bows to the king and the audience, and led the way to the fighting circle where he ran through the rules for them.

Nestoril translated.

‘No finger-bending, no grabbing in the kilted region and no hair tugging...’ she said. ‘Fight with honour and for honour.’

*

‘And... in case you were in any doubt, combatants, a deliberate foul when the bout is already lost, such as ended your previous encounter, will not only void the match but will result in public humiliation of the one committing the foul,’ Rawon said, his voice soft and deadly. ‘This is in front of your king, and you will respect that.’

Glorfindel and Esgaron faced each other across the expanse of the fighting circle.

‘Hello, again,’ Glorfindel said, taking up his stance and beginning to shift his balance from left to right, giving him the appearance of swaying while actually not moving at all. ‘Ready to lose honestly, this time?’

‘Since you will not be here much longer, perhaps I will simply concede...’

‘Really? After you’ve gone to so much trouble with your paint? Oh, except you haven’t, have you?’

Esgaron feinted to the left, dropping his shoulder and turning his body to take a step forwards.

‘You will find I have fewer scars than many; I am a good enough warrior to avoid them.’

‘Or clever enough to lead from behind...’

Glorfindel sidestepped as Esgaron closed the distance between them and grabbed for him, himself turning to grab the Silvan’s wrist and twist his straightened arm. The commander edged nearer to ease the strain, bringing his face close to that of the Balrog-slayer. Such an expression of contempt was in Esgaron’s face that Glorfindel almost relaxed his grip in surprise. Instead, he pivoted, trying to take Esgaron’s arm behind him but the commander twisted free and resumed his defensive stance.

‘Not that I feel the need to highlight my scars; my prowess speaks for itself!’

‘Does it so, Esgaron? It’s whispering a bit, then. Whereas I don’t speak of my adventures at all; the whole world seems to know them already.’

Glorfindel watched as his opponent clenched an unclenched his hands, suggesting the commander would try to take a grappling grip for his next move. Even so, when Esgaron instead spun to deliver a foot towards Glorfindel’s lower stomach, the Balrog-slayer was not deceived, instead snatching out a hand to grab Esgaron’s ankle, causing him to hop and swear.

‘Oh, now I see why we have to wear breeches or leggings with the kilt,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Bit draughty for moves like this otherwise...’

Esgaron flailed, trying to keep his balance and the Balrog-slayer grinned, yanked the commander’s elevated ankle towards him, and then swept his own foot forward to knock Esgaron’s other leg from beneath him. He landed hard, Glorfindel stepping away; had the commander landed prostrate, he would have pressed him down to claim the win, but Esgaron had not fallen all the way back and staggered to his feet, lunging for Glorfindel with a roar and tackling him mid-ribs with his shoulder, pushing him backwards several paces before the Balrog-slayer leaned forwards and locked arms around his waist, hauled him off his feet to swing round, regain his own balance, and drop Esgaron back down again, breaking his hold and stepping away.

The commander was breathing heavily, in pain from his previous bad landing, but trying not to show it. Needing to gain time to recover, he nodded towards Glorfindel.

‘Your paint got a little smudged, then. And your young friend worked so hard to make you look pretty!’

Glorfindel grinned. ‘Watching, were you? I can’t say I’m surprised... and Triwathon does have a lovely touch...’

‘Yes, I remember...’

Glorfindel reminded himself that he was still meant to be pretending he didn’t know about Esgaron and Triwathon.

‘Oh?’ he said, watching in case Esgaron was just trying to distract him.

‘Although it has been a while, now, since I felt the touch of Triwathon’s hands on my skin, it is something to look forward to...’

‘You can’t believe that’s ever likely to happen?’

‘You can’t pretend you don’t know he served my needs, once? How many of his previous affairs has he bothered to share with you, I wonder?’

‘Let me see... well... no... there’s no secrets between us, if that’s what you mean. Certainly he told me about everyone who ever meant anything to him...’

‘He wrote his name on your arm; the paint will last longer than his fidelity, you’ll see... and yet, you bear another’s name... and who is going to console him when you leave, do you wonder?’

‘Pretty sure it won’t be you.’

‘Is that what you think?’

Glorfindel shrugged, and used the movement to hide a sudden spring forward to take a locking grip on Esgaron’s shoulders. The commander tried to bat his hands away, but wasn’t quick enough and the Balrog-slayer latched his fingers into the pressure points along collar bone and upper shoulder, digging in, making sure of his stance while Esgaron tried to find purchase somewhere on Glorfindel’s arms or torso.

‘I want to call a break, need to clarify the rules!’ the commander shouted, lifting his head and projecting his voice. ‘Unfair advantage to my opponent!’

‘All right, release, both of you. Step away.’ Rawon walked into the circle between the two combatants. ‘What’s the problem, Esgaron?’

‘He has too much paint; it is making his body slick and I cannot get a decent hold...’

‘You had access to just as much paint, Esgaron, that you chose not to use it is not your opponent’s fault...’ Rawon held the commander’s gaze for a moment. ‘And do not think I have not noticed that you called for clarification just as it seemed you were in difficulties... do that again and I will call a foul and give Glorfindel the win.’

Rawon backed out of the ring and gave the signal to start again. Glorfindel prepared to close again, but Esgaron seemed less eager to test himself against Glorfindel’s hold and feinted several times before breaking into a run and powering straight for the Balrog-Slayer. At the last moment he leapt in the air, hands locked together, aiming at Glorfindel’s shoulder to drop down on him with all his weight, but he had overcommitted and found only empty space where he had expected to meet muscle; Glorfindel ducked under and away and launched himself at Esgaron in turn to push him down into the dust of the arena and sit across his lower back while the commander hissed and struggled and ate sand.

‘It’s not a throw, Glorfindel, he’s not on his back,’ Rawon warned.

‘Oops, sorry, my mistake,’ Glorfindel said. 

He slid his arm under Esgaron’s neck and bent his elbow slightly so that his muscles squeezed either side of the throat lightly but firmly. Gathering himself, he sprang to his feet, pulling Esgaron with him; the commander’s hands flailed but he made no sound of complaint. Rawon came over, stared intently at the hold but saw nothing to criticise. 

‘Can stop if you want, Over-captain?’ the Balrog-slayer offered. ‘I can get him another way if you prefer?’

‘He’s breathing freely, conscious, not protesting the hold... I’ve no reason to intervene, but... get on with it, or I may change my mind...’

Gently, Glorfindel walked backwards until Esgaron’s heels were pulling trails in the dust. He shifted his hold slightly to fold his fingers over the pressure points of collar bone and shoulder once more, releasing his neck lock. The blood supply restored to his brain in a rush of dizzying, giddy pressure, the commander began to stir, but before he could coordinate himself he lost the ability to move and found he was being laid gently down on his back on the sand.

‘For it to count properly, Glorfindel, you have to make contact somewhere on your opponent’s body to hold his back onto the ground for the count,’ Rawon said.

‘Really? I would have thought it obvious, but if you wish...’ Glorfindel got onto his knees and touched one finger to the tip of Esgaron’s nose. ‘Will that do?’

‘Yes, it will do...’

Idly wondering where all the cheering was coming from and wasn’t there something he was supposed to be doing, as well as curious as to what was tickling his nose, Esgaron lay still for a moment while a face he recognised as belonging to Over-captain Rawon looked down into his and counted to five.

Esgaron smiled and decided to stay where he was for a while; whatever it was he’d been doing, surely someone would say if it was important?

‘Glorfindel of Gondolin wins against Commander Esgaron by a clear... ah... nose hold and back press... Glorfindel, you can release your devastating hold now...’

The Balrog-slayer grinned and got to his feet.

‘Come, take your accolades,’ Rawon said. ‘And tell me what do I do with Esgaron back there?’

‘He’ll be fine. Sprinkle a little water in his face, that should do the trick... or just whisper to him that Healer Hanben appears to be coming to check him over...’

Triwathon was on his feet, cheering and applauding. Everyone else in the royal enclosure clapped, and the king himself came down from his seat to congratulate the Balrog-Slayer.

‘An entertaining bout, Glorfindel. Well fought.’

‘Thank you, sire.’

‘What was that last move...?’

‘Ah. Something I was taught in Valinor,’ he said. ‘Quite harmless, it just incapacitates.’

A yell from the fighting arena and Glorfindel saw Esgaron spluttering under the onslaught of, not a sprinkle, but the contents of a bucket of cold water and struggling to his feet.

‘You see?’ Glorfindel said with a grin. ‘He’s fine.’

‘Indeed. Well done. It is your other contest tonight, is it not?’

‘Yes, your majesty.’

‘Good. Whatever you need, Arveldir will see to it.’

‘I am most grateful, sire. Esgaron is meant to participate, but he seemed reluctant... if someone could remind he must...?’

‘It will be done. Present Arveldir with your contestant list. And, Glorfindel?’

‘Yes, sire?’

‘Do not entirely ruin my practice chamber, will you?’

‘Will try not to, sire.’


	255. 'That Girl Flora...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion talks to his Naneth...

Thranduil, attended by Legolas and Govon, Arveldir and Erestor, made a regal departure from the royal enclosure, leaving the remainder of his guests to follow or disperse as they wished.

Triwathon remained until most had gone before leaving the enclosure to go to where Glorfindel was waiting. The Balrog-slayer’s paint was smudged and smeared and none of the words so carefully written on his arms were still legible except for one: Beloved.

‘I’m so proud of you, hir-nin!’ Triwathon said. ‘You managed to make it look easy, while still being magnificently impressive! What was that hold you used? Before the Nose Grip of Doom that is?’

‘Oh, that.’ Glorfindel shrugged a shoulder and put a smeary arm around Triwathon’s shoulders. ‘Something Námo taught me for use on the battlefield... sometimes, you find someone so badly hurt you know you can’t save them. But this hold does something to the body so the pain signals are interrupted and you just feel warm and comfortable and safe... well, that’s how it felt when he used it on me. And yet, if by some chance someone can mend their wounds, it’s easily unwritten again, as you saw...’

‘He tried it on you?’

Glorfindel ducked his head.

‘Balrog, remember?’

‘Oh, sorry, I...’

‘No, it’s in the past now. But if you should feel the need to take me home and drive away the nasty memories...?’

‘Yes, I need to get my warrior home, and comforted against unpleasant recollections, and then we must get you out of your paint and properly rested for your contest tonight... about which I still know nothing, not even whether you are participating, or what weapons you need...’

Glorfindel grinned.

‘Oh, don’t you worry about that! Just get me home... my place? Bathing pool?’

‘Your place, bathing pool. Big bed, lots of space. Window.’

‘Yes, it’d be lovely if it was yours. As it is, it needs a bit of personality adding to it...’

‘But there wouldn’t be enough room for both the room’s personality and your own, would there?’ Triwathon smiled and led off. ‘And, before I get too distracted to remember, Lord Arveldir said to say there’s to be a formal feast tomorrow night for presentations and awards and such. He said it would have been tonight, but for your contest, as the king wants to be able to announce the result of that at the same time as today’s.’

‘Now, that is going to be interesting! Well, come on. You know, I’m sure my skin’s sensitive to something in these paints, I do itch...’

‘Well, let’s get you into the pool and washed off. And then, if you still have an itch, we could scratch it together, perhaps.’

‘Sounds like a plan.’

*

Thiriston and Canadion were about to leave when Flora waved at them from the entrance of her pavilion.

‘Was not it exciting?’ she called in the common speech. ‘And Belegornor slept through it all in his cradle! So now I must wait here while he finishes sleeping, or disturb him by lifting him out. But it is no matter; I am comfortable here.’

‘Well, what if I carried him, cradle and all, back to your room?’ Thiriston asked, Canadion translating.

‘That would be kind.’ Nestoril stepped forward. ‘Although I am sure he would not be too much disturbed if Flora were to lift him out; you need to mind your hand, Thiriston!’

‘Can tuck the cradle under one arm, not a problem.’ Thiriston glanced back and grimaced, hastily rearranging his face. ‘Penneth, looks like your Naneth is on her way across. Enjoy your chat... I’ll hurry back, I promise...’

‘Oh, I am sure it will be fine...’

Thiriston gently hoisted the cradle, and baby, under one arm and set off, Flora at his side struggling to keep up with his pace. Nestoril smiled and shook her head.

‘Ah, well, I’m sure Flora will catch him up eventually! But if he is so eager to hurry back, he could just have waited...’

‘I think it is to give me private time with my Naneth.

‘Understood. I will be in the pavilion.’

‘Oh, no, I did not mean... it is that Naneth... Thiriston... is not what she hoped for me, I think...’

‘That is a shame! No doubt, when Cullasbes sees how good you are together...’

‘I hope so. But... well, perhaps, now we have a definite date for our avowing...’

‘You do? When did you decide?’

Canadion smiled.

‘Just today. And I am so excited, so happy, and I want everyone to be happy, too...’ He deflated a little. ‘But, Naneth... I am not the child she hoped for...’

Nestoril laid a fleeting hand on his arm.

‘Canadion, if ever I were to have a child, I would be delighted in one such as you. Now, I will be in the pavilion, if you need me.’

She retreated into the shadows, a curious observer of what passed as Canadion’s Naneth came to a halt a few feet away from him.

‘Ion-nin, you shot well earlier. You won your match.’

‘I did indeed, Naneth! I was so pleased, for there were some good archers there! I thought I might struggle, for there were one or two excellent warriors there today, and...’

‘You were holding a gwinig, too,’ Cullasbes said. ‘And talking to a female... was she a human?’

‘Oh.’ Canadion tried not to mind the swift change of subject. ‘Yes, the girl is Flora, a friend, the baby...’

‘A friend of yours?’

‘Ours. Mine and Thiriston’s. The baby is a boy, he is called Belegornor.’

‘She seems to like you, this girl Flora. If she lets you hold her gwinig. Does she have a husband?’

‘Not at present,’ Canadion said warily. ‘I do not think she is seeking one, however.’

‘But if she has no husband, she must want to get married... and I am sure, if she gives you the baby to hold, it means more than just liking... do you not think you could...?’

‘I do not think human girls use their babies to flirt with, Naneth.’

‘Well, she must have meant something by it; it is a human thing, to disapprove of girls who do not get married...’

‘I do not know about that. But I am glad you are here, and that the topic is mentioned, because Thiriston and I have decided when we are getting married ourselves – that is, taking vows, of course. It will be at the next solstice...’

‘That is only three weeks away!’

‘We only settled it today; it was our king’s notion, he has said we may use the Sacred Grove.’

‘I am busy that day, and... did you say, the king?’

‘Yes, indeed. He said... because I was almost family...’

‘Well, that is most kind of his majesty, to take an interest, to remember his lady’s ties to my sisters...’

‘I thought it was through my aunts your honour-sisters that we were connected...’

‘It is nevertheless good of him to... Oh. Here is your... well, I must not linger, I...’

Thiriston arrived.

‘Lady Cullasbes,’ he said, inclining his head in greeting and putting a protective arm around Canadion. ‘Has my melleth told you about our avowing?’

‘Yes, he has. I am pleased the king has remembered his duty to my sisters...’

‘Oh? It sounded to me more that he was remembering all Canadion’s service. Your son cared for Prince Tharmeduil, you know, when he was taken ill in the forest away from help. And he escorted a dangerous interloper out of the encampment. And the very caul silk that helped healed our king’s face was one Canadion himself harvested at great risk... Yes, our king has good reason to honour your son, my lady.’ Thiriston smiled down at Canadion. ‘I hope for my fëa-mate’s sake that you can be at the ceremony.’

‘I will try; it is rather inconvenient... but we will see. Will that girl Flora be there?

‘I have asked her, but she will be gone home by then, and may find it difficult to return.’ Thiriston said.

‘I see. That is a pity. Good day to you, then.’

‘Good day indeed, Lady Cullasbes.’

‘Did you?’ Canadion said. ‘Ask Flora, that is?’

‘At the Healers’ Hall, Healer Gaelbes translated. She was delighted – Flora – but said as I report, she might not be able to get back. Gaelbes was delighted, too, so I asked her... and she told Maereth... and, well, all the healers who can be spared will be there.'

Nestoril came out of the pavilion, her usual smile on her face.

‘Congratulations, then,’ she said. ‘Oh, poor Canadion, your Naneth really doesn’t understand, does she? Well, do not worry. I am sure you and Thiriston will be very happy together.’

‘Nestoril? We would love to have you attend, too...?’ Canadion said, but Ness shook her head.

‘I am going with the princes; I will be at least ten days on my way, by then. But I am sure it will be wonderful.’


	256. Contest Behind Locked Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the mystery of Glorfindel's Gondolinion Contest is finally revealed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With apologies to anyone of delicate sensibilities who may be put off by the nature of this contest. I would like to say I wrote it in response to a dare, (and I was dared, by a friend who is also a Very Bad Influence who shall remain nameless...) but really, I wrote it because it sounded like an interesting challenge.
> 
> I doubt I will be writing a contest of this ilk again, however.

Glorfindel glanced upwards to where he understood there was an observation chamber and waved, just in case Triwathon was there yet and then turned his attention back to the practice room.

A large table to one side was covered in an assortment of glasses, bottles and flagons. Two beer barrels squatted on their rests, waiting for pitchers of ale to be drawn. A nod towards soaking up all this alcohol – a small table with lembas and bread and cheese – stood off against the wall near the sword rack, and a couple of small tables with stools ready waited for guests; it looked, to all intents and purposes, as if Glorfindel had quite a party planned.

The only notes that jarred with this idea were a selection of clear glass jugs lined up in a row, and a strange arrangement in the middle of the fighting circle, where a tall, clear vessel was placed directly in the centre of a much larger, shallower vessel resembling nothing so much as a perfectly round, very wide bowl. Around this, a good two paces back, a line had been drawn in the sand all the way around the containers. In an alcove, several capacious and empty buckets sat discreetly in the shadows.

From outside could be heard a steady hum of voices... good. He’d wondered if he’d be ready in time, with nobody else in on the secret and therefore no-one to help... Triwathon would have volunteered, of course, but Glorfindel hadn’t wanted anyone to have prior knowledge of the contest rules and, indeed, Glorfindel had asked him very nicely not to participate.

‘Even if Commander Govon asks you to, please? I’d feel much happier if you were just watching from the balcony... wherever that is... I’m not competing either, just... demonstrating.’

‘Demonstrating what?’ Triwathon had asked. ‘And should I worry about you going out in your blue kilt?’

‘Not at all,’ Glorfindel had said. ‘Everyone will be kilted; it’s in the rules.’

Well, he was ready, the room was ready... with a last glance at where he hoped Triwathon was watching, Glorfindel went to welcome his guests.

*

Triwathon looked down from his vantage point, admiring the swagger and presence of his Glorfindel, how golden his hair looked, how blue his eyes, echoed by the rich dyes of the kilt. The room looked like a practice area, still, apart from the odd arrangement in the middle and the tables of beer and wine... so it was just a drinking contest, then, disguised in mystery and no doubt with some ancient twist that required the wearing of a kilt... or a pretended ancient rule, so Glorfindel had an excuse to dress up... Triwathon smiled.

Sudden low voices outside and he turned to look to the door. He knew some people were coming; he’d been told to expect Legolas and Canadion – but the arrival with them of Healer Nestoril was a surprise. She had changed out of her healer’s habit into leggings and a tunic, and her rich, dark hair was free of its head-rail for once.

‘Hello,’ she said, taking a seat next to him with a smile. ‘Do you know what this is about yet?’

‘No; Glorfindel has been very secretive. But it looks like just another drinking contest!’

‘Do you think so?’ Legolas asked, sitting on Nestoril’s other side. ‘I expected something different...’

‘As did I,’ Triwathon said. ‘It is unlike Glorfindel to be conventional...’

‘Sometimes he pretends to be, for the sake of the peace of Imladris,’ Erestor said from the doorway, following Arveldir in and sitting with him and Canadion on the row behind. ‘But it takes much effort on his part.’

A gust of air as the door opened again to admit a last observer. As more than one person drew in a sharp breath at seeing who the latecomer was, Thranduil turned his head slightly and with a nearly imperceptible smile, sat on the raised seat at the back, reclining elegantly against it and arranging his robes across the armrests.

‘Good evening,’ he said. ‘Welcome to my private observation chamber... do make yourselves at home... Did someone remember to bring the wine?’

*

Glorfindel opened the doors.

‘Welcome... make yourselves at home...’ He closed the door and locked it, taking care not to be noticed hiding the key somewhere about his person. ‘So... we all know each other... Commanders Bregon, Esgaron and Govon, with Thiriston and Tinuon... Calithilon and Fonor... Rhonir and Rimon... not sure we’ve met, but I’ve seen you fight, Rhonir...’

‘Rimon’s been one of my lieutenants for some time, Glorfindel,’ Bregon said. ‘Rhonir’s newer to my service...’

Glorfindel grinned and moved away to one of the barrels, drawing off a pitcher of ale. 

‘Everyone here has been specifically chosen, either by me, or by you commanders,’ he said. ‘I know Celeguel was your first choice, Bregon, but – for reasons that will become obvious – although an excellent warrior, she really isn’t suited for this kind of event. Can I get anyone a drink?’

‘Celeguel is as well able to hold her drink as the next warrior,’ Bregon said. ‘I am not sure she would choose to take part in a drinking contest, but...’

‘But this isn’t a drinking contest,’ Glorfindel said. ‘What can I get you, ale or wine?’

‘Then what...?’

Glorfindel handed Bregon a glass and poured ale into it, clapping his hand on the commander’s shoulder in affable manner and leading him away out of earshot.

‘It’s how we used to settle things in the old days when fighting wouldn’t do. You know how things are between Govon and Esgaron?’

‘Of course, all the barracks knows, but...’

‘I was asked to put something together to sort it out. Nothing life-threatening, somewhere safe for them to air their differences, so to speak. Make their mark, as it were. Everyone else, with respect, they’re just here so that it doesn’t look like Govon and Esgaron have been singled out. But this is really all about them. So, please, drink up, relax, join in and help me settle this in good Gondolinion fashion.’

‘All right. But... kilts?’

‘I like wearing kilts.’ Glorfindel grinned. ‘This one was a present from my friend Triwathon. Come on. Help me get them in the right mood.’

Thiriston settled himself at a table with a bottle of wine and a determined air. Govon joined him.

‘Don’t suppose you know what this is about yet, Commander?’

‘I have not an inkling. Word from the king seems to be, it’s Glorfindel, humour him... but there is somewhere I’d rather be tonight and someone I’d rather be with...’

‘That goes for me as well. And probably for our Hero of the First Age, too.’

‘Yes.’ Govon accepted wine from Thiriston. ‘I’m also wondering why he told me you would prefer it if Canadion wasn’t part of this tonight... I can see why he’s kept Triwathon out of it, with Esgaron here.’

‘Evening, Commander.’ Tinuon slid into a seat at the table. ‘This is fun, isn’t it?’

‘Not quite yet,’ Govon said. ‘But it looks as if Glorfindel is doing his best to make it entertaining.’

Over at the beer barrels, the Balrog-slayer was drawing off more ale.

‘Anyone know any good drinking songs?’ he said. ‘Just to get the party started?’

*

‘I took the liberty of acquiring a bottle of Dorwinion – not the aged vintage, one of the more robust pressings, sire,’ Arveldir told the king. ‘But it will not go very far, I think...’

‘I did bring a good vintage,’ Thranduil said. ‘But no glasses...’

‘I brought glasses,’ Nestoril said. ‘But perhaps not quite enough.’

‘I can slip out and fetch more,’ Legolas said.

‘Good idea. Take Canadion with you, ion-nin. To help with the carrying. It looks as if it will be a long evening...’ Thranduil paused as from below, someone tried the door of the chamber, found it locked, and began to knock for admittance. The loudness of the ensuing discussion ensured it could be heard above.

‘Open up!’

‘I can’t do that, I’m afraid!’ Glorfindel strolled over and told the door. ‘It’s a private party.’

‘This is Over-captain Rawon and no part of this is private to me...’

‘King’s orders; locked door policy...’

Up in the observation chamber, Thranduil stirred.

‘I did not quite put it like that! Legolas, invite Rawon to join us, here. He can help with the carrying.’

*

An hour later, and the initial awkwardness of the party-cum-mystery-contest were beginning to melt and unravel as the alcohol consumed began to work its magic. Tinuon was first to feel the effects and ask the inevitable question.

‘Latrine break, Glorfindel?’

‘It’s the locked door thing...’ Glorfindel nodded to the line of glassware. ‘Grab a jug.’

‘A jug.’ 

Tinuon shrugged. It was not in elvish nature to be overly modest about such matters, and he was soon audibly making himself more comfortable.

‘Excuse me, Govon,’ Thiriston said, rising from the table. ‘Need a comfort break myself now.’

Selecting his own jug, he set it on the ground not an arm’s width away from Tinuon. He cleared his throat as if to get the shorter elf’s attention and, once underway, stepped back from the receptacle, so that he was relieving himself at some distance.

Tinuon grinned.

‘Ah, but that’s not fair! You have more height than I!’

From beside the beer barrels, Glorfindel watched delightedly; he’d been wondering how to get his contest started, and it looked as if half the work had been done for him.

Rimon, too was watching. He gave a laugh and went to get a jug for himself.

‘Ah, just like the old days...’

Bregon shook his head and snorted, idling over to sit with Govon.

‘You know, I’d almost forgotten... long night marches, at the end of it, some of the warriors would let of steam... well, not so much steam... like this...’

‘Did you ever get the urge to join in yourself, Commander?’ Glorfindel arrived with a pitcher of beer and glasses. ‘Or were you obliged to be above it all?’

Ignoring the fact that Govon had already a glass of wine in his hand, the Balrog-slayer served them all with beer.

‘Me? Sometimes I would join in, have to show who’s in charge, don’t you?’ Bregon drank deep and tipped his glass towards Thiriston. ‘Not that yon was ever beaten. Still, could project a stream four arrows’ lengths away...’

Glorfindel refilled glasses and then cast companionable arms around both their shoulders.

‘And how were you for accuracy over distance?’ he asked, nodding at the arrangement of containers in the fighting circle.

‘What?’

‘You’ll see. Almost time... well, maybe we all need another drink or two first...’

*  
Legolas and Canadion returned to the observation chamber, bringing several bottles of wine, more glasses, and a perplexed Over-captain Rawon.

‘Just what is going on down there? My king, forgive me, I didn’t realise...’

‘Take a seat, Rawon, and have a drink.’ 

‘But they are... all they’re doing is drinking!’ Rawon said, accepting wine from Canadion and finding space to sit down. 

‘And making use of the jugs,’ Nestoril pointed out, accepting a refill of good Dorwinion. ‘I’m glad I have been able to see one of these warrior evenings before I leave; you males are so insular about your practices, it is a fine game for ellyn and I have heard many tales... and had to assist after some have gone wrong... but yet you keep it private from we ellyth...’

‘Naturally,’ Rawon said. ‘You are ladies, you are refined and delicate creatures...’

‘Or so you like to think,’ Ness put in with a smile.

‘And besides, you lack the relevant equipment,’ Canadion chimed in.

‘True.’

‘What do you mean, when it has gone wrong?’ Legolas asked, casting a wary eye at Govon, who as yet had not seemed to require use of a jug. ‘Ought I to worry?’

‘Oh, mostly hangovers... occasional pulled muscles... nothing that would get in the way of conjugal practices...’

‘That was not what I meant...’

‘Oh, look! Glorfindel is calling for attention!’

Below, Glorfindel had replenished glasses again and announced his competition would be dedicated to his old and dear friend from the First Age, Lord Ecthelion, Lord of the Fountains...

Nestoril let out a swift giggle.

‘Oh, he cannot mean... and there was me thinking all these millennia that Ecthelion had been responsible for all the decorative water features of Gondolin...’

‘And what would that make Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, may I ask?’ Thranduil enquired ‘Head gardener?’

He leaned forward for a better view as Glorfindel began to speak in a good carrying voice, gesturing occasionally towards the arranged vessels.

‘Gather round... Good. Now we’re all feeling a little more relaxed, I’ll tell you the rules... judged on accuracy and distance, you’re aiming for the inner pot. Whatever goes into the outer pot is measured and subtracted from the quantity in the target vessel. If anything more than a couple of starting or finishing drops goes onto the sand, it’s a disqualification as it will impact the proportions of liquids collected... you do your own collecting, with me as an impartial recorder of volume, there are buckets and measuring pots...’

*

‘What are we supposed to be measuring?’ Esgaron asked, and Govon, quietly, began to laugh.

Bregon , stood at his shoulder, grinned as Glorfindel took a swig of beer and bowed towards the fighting circle.

‘Allow me to demonstrate,’ he said, taking the proper stance at the outer line. He steadied himself and released a jet of urine towards the central container. Falling fractionally short at first, he adjusted slightly, found the mark, and continued his micturition until the steadiness of the stream began to slow and the Balrog-Slayer finished with a last spurt, gave a satisfied sigh, and reorganised matters beneath his kilt. ‘Ah, that feels better...! So,’ he went on, going to collect the relevant measuring jugs to demonstrate the proper recording of the collected urine, ‘there’s a selection of stands and low stools so that you can adjust for height differentials... and that’s all there is to it. When you’re done, everything into the buckets over there and we’re ready for the next contestant... Any questions?’

‘What about washing of the hands?’

‘We are elves, it will not hurt us; it is only beer and wine, after the fun has been had from it. Who wants to go first?’

‘Well, I, for one, have no time for such adolescent games!’ Esgaron announced. ‘I decline!’

‘Commander Esgaron, if you want to present yourself to his majesty tomorrow and explain why you, alone of all these gathered, refused to take part in the contest to which you had a personally-delivered invitation from the Office of the King, then that’s your business,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Of course, if the other two commanders also decline, we can have just a warrior competition...’

‘Not a chance of it!’ Bregon said. ‘In fact, I’ll be first up; having not made use of the jugs yet, I have a fair store on board... What about you, Govon? Today you outfought me, your warriors out-shot mine... you will give me the chance to redeem the honour of the Honour Guard, I hope?’

The laughing question hung in the air for what seemed like an age as Govon considered. On the one hand, although he liked a laugh and a joke as much as the next elf, this wasn’t really his kind of playtime. But opposed to that was Esgaron’s out-and-out refusal... Bregon had spoken so highly of Thiriston’s prowess... and it was a great opportunity to take on Esgaron where no real damage could be done except to the commander’s pride...

‘Agreed, Bregon! Glorfindel, do we get a practice shot first?’

‘Get yourself a jug and see how you get on. Don’t forget you’ll have to reload, though...’

‘But this is ridiculous!’ Esgaron protested. ‘You cannot compel me to participate!’

‘True enough,’ Glorfindel said. ‘But the king...’

‘And who is going to tell the king...?’

Glorfindel jammed his fists on his hips and grinned, eyes sweeping the room; everyone, barring Fonor, Calithilon, and Govon, had raised their hands. Bregon was near enough to give Fonor a nudge, and he, too lifted his hand into the air.

‘Loyal to your former commander, Govon, in spite of all?’ Thiriston asked.

‘It is more that our king has a way of knowing everything that goes on in the palace, whether he is told or not,’ Govon said. ‘Besides, my hands were busy with the jug...’

‘All right, plenty of drink left, get yourselves topped up...’ Glorfindel gestured to the beer barrels. ‘And whenever you’re ready...’

‘Just the one pass is it, Glorfindel?’ Tinuon asked.

‘We can go one, or two, or three. We can even go just for pure distance as well... we have the whole night ahead of us...!’

*

Unseen in the chamber above, Thranduil passed a hand across his eyes, shaking his head. All night? There were matters he needed to attend to on the morrow... his open audience session, a meeting with Esgaron... yet he needed to stay and know he had witnessed all that passed in the contest.  
‘This could take a little while, then,’ Legolas said with a soft sigh. ‘If Glorfindel is still working out the rules...’

‘Have another drink,’ Nestoril said, topping up his glass. ‘Over-captain? Is that an empty glass in your hand?’

It took rather more than an hour for all the warriors to compete what Glorfindel, made more complicated by the emptying and measuring after each attempt. Glorfindel made notes of all on the board normally kept for keeping track of the practice knife-throws. Rimon was disqualified early on for too much loss outside the two target areas; he was laughing so much at something Calithilon had said that he couldn’t quite aim straight, he claimed, and certainly the mood in the chamber was rapidly moving beyond relaxed and heading towards silly. Glorfindel felt his face starting to ache from grinning. He’d known these Silvans would know how to party! Unlike Imladris, where everything had to be seen to be very proper and formal as Elrond tried to out-Noldo the Noldor in an attempt to show his human blood was no impediment to proper elvish behaviour... thing was, along the way, Elrond had tried to forget there was such a thing as improper elvish behaviour and simple, down-to-earth fun.

Thiriston lined himself up, judged the distance, and turned to Glorfindel.

‘You’re going to need a bigger jug in the middle, there.’

‘Can you not pause part way...?’

‘What, and lose pressure?’

A bigger container was found of equal neck width to make all fair, and Thiriston prepared again. He found the distance almost at once, testimony to centuries of knife-throwing practice, and, testimony to his capacity for drink, went on, and on, and on for so long as to draw the awed attention of everyone in the room, and the observation chamber above. 

‘By all the Valar, Canadion!’ Nestoril exclaimed. ‘I am sure that is louder than the Falls of Rauros!’

Canadion grinned.

‘Indeed, many is the night when my reverie is disturbed by the sound of a waterfall pervading my dreams...’

The sound of the Falls of Thiriston ceased, and followed a pause for decanting and measuring. Glorfindel noted the amounts and turned back to the company.

‘Very well, who has yet to go...? Esgaron? Do not think you can get away with it, I know you haven’t been to the jugs yet, of course you have a full bladder, you’ve been drinking all evening... and none of your deliberate fouls tonight, or you might end up eating sand again... only this time, wet sand... of somebody else’s wetting!’ 

‘What are the scores?’ Fonor asked. ‘What does our Commander have to beat?’

‘Currently, the noble Captain Thiriston is far, far ahead of the field with a good three quarters of a flagon clear...’

‘Govon has yet to go,’ Tinuon said.

‘And so do you. I am still processing,’ Govon said, lifting his wine glass. ‘Five minutes.’

‘Get up and walk around, that will help...’

Perhaps a little unsteady on his feet, Govon did as suggested while Tinuon took his position. The fact that he was half a head shorter than most of the participants meant he had to stand on a low stool, and he rocked unsteadily before, with a battle cry to curdle milk, he let forth at the target. Sadly, his aim, or a slight unsteadiness of the stool, meant that there was very little to actually count towards his score, but, good natured fellow that he was, he walked away singing and found a nice quiet corner to rest in while he finished his ale.

‘Is there a point to all this?’ Thiriston called from where he was soaking up the alcohol still in his system with the help of some bread and cheese. ‘A prize, that is?’

‘You are competing for the honour of your company,’ Glorfindel announced proudly. ‘And... the overall winner gets to keep the flagon!’

‘No expense spared, I see!’

‘Ah, but think, Thiriston! What a tale to tell your grandchildren... well, not yours, personally... great-nephews and great-nieces...!’

‘Let’s get it done, then!’

Esgaron stalked up to the mark with a determined expression and latent fury in his gaze taking the edge of the humour of the room. Although he had been drinking hard all evening, he had not seemed affected by the alcohol, still sounding and moving as if quite sober. He lined up and released, splashing in the outer vessel before finding the target jar in the middle, urinating in deadly silence as if this were more of a grudge match than even this afternoon’s wrestling bout.

‘Most accomplished, Commander!’ Glorfindel said loudly after Esgaron had finished. ‘Who would have thought it? Well, let’s measure up... Very respectable! Nowhere near our good Thiriston over there, but he’s got a bit more to work with than you... So who else is there to go...? Just Commander Govon. While we’re waiting, I’ll give you a recap... Thiriston is ahead by a good half a bladder, I reckon, with Bregon next and Calithilon close behind... Commander Esgaron, you’re just about fifth place, I think, by a meniscus... So unless you’re hiding quite a big secret under your kilt, Govon, it looks like we’re playing for the placings...’

‘Think ‘m ready here, now,’ Govon said, wavering across to the line.

‘Steady there, Commander!’ Glorfindel laughed, gesturing everybody to get back behind Govon’s position; the commander was a novice, after all, and just a little bit the worse for wear by now. ‘When you’re ready...!’

Up in the observation chamber, Nestoril patted Legolas’ arm.

‘I am not sure if it is appropriate to say, good luck, to you,’ she whispered. ‘But at least we understand now why the kilts.’ 

‘True. To be honest, Ness, the way he’s swaying I’d be surprised if he manages to find the outer vessel... he’s going to have such a hangover in the morning!’

‘I think they all are, mixing ale with wine! It will serve them right, and I will put Hanben on duty specially...’ Nestoril bumped her shoulder against the prince’s. ‘Not for Govon, obviously. I will have them send some of my most effective remedy to your rooms in the morning; that, and copious water, and a little sympathy, and he will be fine by mid-afternoon.’

Govon raised his left hand as if to ask for silence in the chamber while he found his position. Taking careful hold, checking his aim, he took a steadying breath and as he let the breath go, let his bladder go too. His stream wavered, hit the outer vessel, found the inner, moved off it, found it again and he settled... silly contest... not surprised if Thiriston won, and...

Something knocked into him, bumping his shoulder, throwing him off balance and causing an abrupt end to his performance that clenched his muscles into cramp.

‘What...?’

‘Sorry,’ Esgaron said. ‘Seem to have stumbled into you there... must be a bit drunk...’

‘You weren’t drunk a minute ago,’ Glorfindel protested. ‘This is just a game, why are you taking it so seriously?’

‘The only thing round here I’m not taking seriously is Govon,’ Esgaron said. ‘Out of my way!’

He shoved at Govon and Govon, forgetting all his resolve to stay calm and rise above Esgaron’s taunting, shoved back. Esgaron threw a punch. Govon blocked it, and threw one of his own, and suddenly they were really fighting, proper roundhouse style, no elegant, stylised sword strokes, no ancient, traditional wrestling holds, just knees and fists and feet and heads, the two of them a blur as they closed and began to purge themselves of all their built-up dislike and anger.

‘Thiriston!’ Glorfindel yelled, hurrying into action. ‘You take Govon; I’ll see to Esgaron...’

They reached their respective targets at the same moment, Thiriston muttering calming words as he dropped his arms around to encircle his commander’s shoulders and pull him back while Glorfindel’s fingers found the pressure points on Esgaron’s neck.

‘Thiriston! Let me go, I haven’t done yet...!’

‘Yes, you have, Commander. Come on, what will you say to your prince if you go home with your knuckles bruised? Besides, I think you won, anyway.’  
Gently supported by Glorfindel, Esgaron slowly slid to the floor, succumbing for the second time that day to a nerve pinch.

‘You know, I’m getting to like this,’ Glorfindel said. ‘I think I’ll call it a Námo Special.’

*

‘Govon!’ Legolas surged to his feet as the fight broke out below. ‘Let me past, I must go...’

‘Be calm, ion-nin. The main door is locked; you cannot reach him that way. Besides, by the time you get to the doors, it will be over... there... See? It is done. We will all go down.’

‘He looks fine,’ Nestoril said reassuringly. ‘Just a bit of a fist fight, bruises and scrapes... nothing to worry about. I’ll come down with you, look him over at the doors, if you like?’

‘Ness, thank you.’

‘This way; it is faster.’

Thranduil led them out of the observation chamber and down the stair that led to his throne room. Through another corridor, a bolted door at the end led in to the sparring chamber.

Commander Bregon saw the newcomers first.

‘My king!’ he exclaimed, and dropped to one knee.

‘Rise, there is no need... before you fall over, Tinuon either stand up or sit down... Glorfindel, what have you been doing to my practice room?’

‘Apologies, sire... it was perfectly fine until Esgaron here stumbled...’

‘Perfectly fine, indeed! I have been watching... we all have... Nestoril, attend my honour-son... Esgaron, again?’

‘Just a splash of something cold will have him awake, sire...’

‘Perhaps have him carried to his quarters first; one would not wish for the wrong jug to be used to revive him. Arveldir, you have keys to the door? Good, use them. A most entertaining evening, Glorfindel. Was there a result, at all?’

‘Thiriston, my lord king. A clear winner, so to speak, for the honour of the Court Guard.’

‘I am pleased to hear it.’ Thranduil glanced around at the chaos of his normally-well-ordered practice room. ‘I wonder how long it will be before the servants cease to talk about what they had to clean up from the king’s private practice chamber...’

‘If you don’t mind me saying, sire, it really wasn’t a mess until Esgaron knocked Govon off balance...’

‘Hmm... I will take your word for it. That way, I can insist Esgaron oversee matters. And I suppose you want some kind of reward for your part in all this?’

‘That would be very kind of you, but not necessary... in fact, the only thing I want is permission for Triwathon to be excused his duties when I ride Arwen to her ship; I’d like to be able to take him with me...’

Thranduil’s face closed down and he took a step back.

‘No,’ he said. ‘Triwathon will have other duties.’

‘But, your majesty, Commander Govon said...’

‘Commander Govon has overstepped his authority, then. No, Glorfindel.’ Thranduil grew cold of face and voice. ‘Seek another prize, for this one you cannot have.’


	257. Demonstrative

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril gives Legolas a little well-meaning advice...

Legolas hurried over to where Govon had all-but collapsed on one of the benches, Nestoril following, but hanging back to give him a moment’s privacy with his fëa-mate before she bustled in. She noticed, on her way, that Canadion had attached himself to Thiriston and was congratulating him in a very personal manner... Glorfindel had got his arms around Triwathon, hanging on as if scared someone was about to snatch him away. Arveldir, following the king, had his hand entwined with Erestor’s, and Legolas...

Legolas was kneeling at Govon’s side, his eyes worried; the commander’s head was tipped back and he clutched at his nose. Every time Govon moaned, or flinched, the prince made as if to reach out to him, but stayed his hand; it was as if, Ness thought, he wanted to touch him but was somehow afraid of showing any affection. But then Legolas placed his hand gently and lightly on Govon’s arm, and she wondered if she was reading too much into it.

‘My prince, let me through... Govon? Come, let me have a look... oh, dear... there is rather too much blood for me to see properly... Legolas, help me... let’s get him back to your quarters...’

‘Come, friend captain, lean on me...’ Legolas pulled Govon’s arm around his shoulders to support him while Nestoril hastened to his other side.

‘...shouldn’t have hit him,’ Govon began, his voice thick and unsteady. ‘But...’

‘Don’t worry about that now, he deserved it,’ Legolas said between clenched teeth. ‘More, he deserved more...’

‘But... ranking officer...’

‘Hush, now, Commander,’ Nestoril said. ‘I’m sure all will be well; there were plenty of witnesses to see that you didn’t start it.’

‘I didn’t? Feel as if I should... why is the floor wobbling?’

‘Never mind,’ Ness said. ‘Where do you hurt most?’

‘My face, I think... my nose...’

‘I will soon have you feeling more comfortable. You’re almost home.’

Nestoril supported Govon while Legolas opened the door, helping the commander across to the sofa and easing him onto it.

‘A cushion for his head... there... and a basin of water, please, a towel or two...’ 

While she waited, Nestoril gently moved Govon’s hand away from his face. Ignoring the potential damage to his nose for the moment, she spread his fingers, checked his knuckles, made sure there were no broken bones.

‘Well, it looks as if you didn’t hit him quite as hard as you could,’ she said. ‘Your hands are only slightly damaged, just a few skinned knuckles, which is good news... thank you, Legolas. Set it down.’

Legolas deposited the bowl of water on the floor, handing Nestoril the towels and cloths he had brought before sitting at the end of the sofa, shifting Govon’s still-booted feet onto his lap and reaching up to gingerly take his hand.

‘How is he, Ness?’

‘Give me a moment and I will tell you.’ The healer dabbed gently at the blood on Govon’s face, clearing it carefully away, to reveal a cut over one eyebrow close to the bridge of his nose; the origin of the oozing blood. ‘It seems as if your nose has escaped, Govon, mostly... it also appears that Esgaron was wearing a ring when he hit you... there, steady...’

Govon winced, tried not to, failed, as Ness continued working, murmuring reassurances. He clutched at Legolas’ hand in his.

‘Oh, yes, I can see, now. Your nose will be fine,’ Nestoril said. ‘But you will have a bit of a black eye tomorrow. And a headache.’

‘Already have the headache,’ Govon muttered.

‘I have something for that in my belt pouch... here we are... Legolas, drop a pinch of this in a glass of water and stir it up. It is a mix of powdered herbs with pain relieving properties.’ She set a little bag down on the arm of the sofa. ‘Also, here is some caul silk... press a small pad over any bruises or cuts; I expect Govon will feel better after a proper hot bath, dress the injuries then. Hot water for the herbs, if you can manage it, before retiring...’ Abruptly making up her mind to speak out, she nodded at Legolas as she rose to her feet. ‘And you can walk me to the end of the corridor, please...’

‘Of course. Thank you, Ness...’ Legolas eased out from under Govon’s legs. ‘I won’t be long, friend captain.’

‘Goodnight, Govon. I am sure you will be much better by tomorrow.’

*

‘Did you want to say something privately, Ness?’ Legolas asked, walking down towards the main way to the healers’ halls with her. ‘Is there something really wrong?’

‘Govon will be fine,’ she said quickly. ‘I simply wished...’

She came to a halt and turned towards the prince.

‘Please pardon the liberty, but I wish to offer you a little advice. I will not be here for much longer and, while I can...’

‘Go ahead, please.’

‘It is... I know you and Govon care deeply for each other; I was Witness, I saw the love in your eyes at your avowing. But anyone watching would think you merely friends, perhaps, but no more than that. And you are so newly vowed...’

‘We’re fine. Govon’s had a lot to put up with since we got back; Flora, the uncertainty about his future... we do talk, Ness, if that’s what you’re worried about. Govon broods, I know that now, so I try not to let things build up with him... sometimes it’s hard to get him to start talking, but he’s getting better at opening up, I’m getting better at helping him to. But we love each other, and we know it...’

‘I heard you call him ‘friend captain’. As endearments go, it’s very restrained.’

‘On the flet, when he was ill and couldn’t see clearly, it was, ‘hey, fair elf’, and ‘yes, friend captain?’... I know it’s not like Glorfindel calling Triwathon his Beautiful Fëa’d Friend, but it’s personal. Just between us.’

‘That’s rather sweet, then. Of course, it’s also difficult since you are a prince...’

‘He didn’t know that, though, when we found each other. And...’

‘And that’s what makes it difficult. Because now you’re no longer just the youngest of three royal brothers, you’ll be Crown Prince soon. There have been a lot of changes for you both. Although Govon’s future is uncertain, so is your own; you could be king one day...’

‘My father’s going to live forever, Ness! I won’t let anything happen to Adar...’

‘Good. Because I will not be here to help shore him up when he realises he has lost two sons. It will fall on you, Legolas. And I worry that you may be so busy caring for your father that poor Govon will not get the attention – the devotion – he deserves. Oh, I am sure he would step back, and even support you while you try in turn to support your father, and try not to mind... but who will support him?’

‘I love him, Ness; I would never neglect him...’ Legolas sighed. ‘I can see how you think it might happen. But just because we don’t maul each other in public like... like Canadion and Thiriston doesn’t mean we’re not affectionate in private...’

‘True. Sometimes those two forget where they are... but, Legolas, even Arveldir and Erestor show more public affection than you do to Govon!’

‘Don’t you see, I can’t? Not in front of Father...’

‘Your father approves of Govon. Oropher did not approve of your mother, not at first. But I remember, I saw... your father did not let that stop him from holding her hand, touching her arm, smiling at her, putting his arm around her in public...’

‘Ness...’ Legolas ran a hand through his hair, bewildered, worried, guilty, suddenly. ‘Adar is not my grandfather, I am not my father, and Govon is not my mother... and neither are you!’

Nestoril found her way through this speech and smiled.

‘No, I am not your mother. But when she knew she was dying, she asked me to look after you and your brothers, to support you as she would have supported you.’ It was a low blow, Nestoril knew, mentioning Legolas’ mother, but suddenly it was important to press her point however she could. ‘I am sure she would have delighted in Govon... if your mother is out of the Halls of Mandos when I arrive in the Undying Lands, if I see her, Legolas, I want to be able to tell her you are well and happy and to feel I have done all I could to help.’

‘It’s difficult, with all the unpleasantness from Esgaron, all his sly remarks about Govon being a prince’s plaything... I’ve not wanted to make things worse for Govon, that’s all...’

‘I suppose I can understand that. But, oh, Legolas! You are so newly vowed, and it is the way of things that as lovers grow used to each other, to demonstrate less and feel more! I know you love Govon, he knows it... but does anyone else? Can they see the value you have for him? Or does Esgaron sneer at your ‘plaything’ because he doesn’t see the real affection between you? Just... it is much easier to get into bad habits than into good habits... and showing your attachment in public is a much better habit than being restrained and formal. Especially if it is simply because you are worried about what one very unimportant commander thinks, when what your own commander thinks, and feels, should be so much more important to you...’

Legolas sighed and dropped his head.

‘Ness...’

‘I am sorry if I have said too much; I hope, if so, that you can pardon me...’

‘No, no... I want to be angry with you, but only because I’m annoyed at myself... I didn’t realise... how can it be that I didn’t see it?’

She smiled.

‘Because you are very much like your father. But have courage; you are also quite like your mother, and she was not afraid to show her feelings, even if at times it seemed your father did not know how. Well, I can manage from here. Go back to your beloved, and nurture him. He needs you tonight.’

*

Govon’s head throbbed. No, his face throbbed; his head ached. His nose stung and his hands felt heavy and stiff; he should never have allowed himself to be talked into that wretched contest, and to lose his restraint and hit his former commanding officer... if Rawon got to hear of it, would Govon ever work in the guard again?

A soft click as the door opened, closed. He tried to open his eyes and saw Legolas coming towards him.

‘Hey, friend captain...’ Legolas sat on the floor and rested against the edge of the sofa, looking across his folded arms to Govon’s face. ‘You look like you’ve been fighting.’

Govon tried to smile, stopped as it hurt.

‘Hot bath, like Ness said, how does that sound?’ 

Legolas sat up, began carefully opening the ties on Govon’s shirt, unclipping the buckles of his kilt, pulling off Govon’s boots. He shrugged off his own clothes and freed Govon from his shirt, taking care not to snag the fabric on any of his injuries.

‘I just really want to sleep,’ Govon muttered.

‘Soon, my love. Come, let me take care of you.’

The prince gathered his fëa-mate into his arms and carried him through to the bathing room. A lone lantern stood on a shelf, and the surface of the pool glinted in the dimness, refracting the light, making all seem calm and peaceful as Legolas descended into the water, still bearing Govon in his arms.

‘There. Let me set you down... how does that feel?’

‘Stings. My hands...’ Govon sighed. ‘Soothing.’

‘Good.’ Legolas found soap, began to work it over Govon’s body with tender care. ‘I love you.’

‘My fair elf...’

‘When Esgaron hit you, I... I should have leapt over the balcony to help you. I should have dragged him off you by the hair, I should have...’

‘You’d only have landed in the target area or something... and I’m quite capable of fighting my own battles...’

‘Your battles are my battles. That which hurts you, hurts me. Govon, this thing with Esgaron...’

‘I think I was going to win, Thiriston said I had, but then he dragged me off...’

‘You did, melleth-nin. You won. Or you would have; you had him.’ 

Govon relaxed in the water, leaning back against Legolas’ body for support and allowed the soap to smooth over him.

‘Oh, look... there is some paint here I must have missed when I washed you after your sword display,’ Legolas said, and Govon heard a smile in his fëa-mate’s voice. ‘The scar on your hip... let me make sure the area is clean...’

‘That’s not my hip, Legolas.’

‘I know. It’s nice, though.’ 

The prince’s hands where everywhere, suddenly, gentle and tender and sliding with soap. He kissed Govon’s shoulder, neck, grazing his way up to Govon’s ear to press his lips against the lobe, allow his tongue to make soft circles as Govon shuddered and grew larger in Legolas’ busy hands.

‘You are beautiful, Govon,’ the prince whispered. ‘Your body is exquisite, so strong and hard... you wear your battle scars with such pride and dignity and beauty, and I am so proud to belong to you, to be yours... I love you, and anything you need, I will do, anything you want, I will provide, anything.'

‘Anything?’

‘Anything, if it is in my power, if I can get it, if I can do it...’

Govon turned in Legolas’ arms to press against him, his erection hard against Legolas’ groin. He took his fair elf’s face between his hands and pulled his mouth down to kiss him, his invading tongue hard and hot and eager. Legolas tasted of wine and worry, and Govon lifted him easily in the water, pulling at his love’s thighs. Legolas locked his legs around Govon’s waist, angling himself so that his friend captain could slide into him, the water lapping and splashing around his hips.

‘I want you, my fair elf, I need you, and that is all I want and all I need and if the rest of the world fell away, as long as there was you, and there was me, I would not care.’

He pushed forward so that Legolas’ back was supported against the smooth edge of the pool as Legolas fell hungrily on his mouth, clasping him with locked legs and arms and moaning his love and desire while the pain fell away from Govon’s hands and face as everything focussed on the hot, tight pull of Legolas’ body, the pleasure and delight of being so deeply grasped within, to feel so much held and loved and wanted and needed as he thrust and gasped and clutched with his damaged hands at Legolas’ hair and shoulders and back until his fëa-mate threw his head back and cried out as he climaxed hotly between their bodies, tightening around Govon in his bliss so that he found his own orgasm hurtling towards him. He plunged and shuddered, the splash and stir of water adding another layer of sensation as he was overwhelmed by emotion and sobbed with relief as his body released and gently, slowly, he came down from his ecstasy with a shudder to find his face was still hurting, his hands still stinging, but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered except Legolas reaching up to stroke a strand of hair behind his ear, Legolas unlocking his legs and sliding down into the water.

‘Don’t let me neglect you, Govon, not ever. I want... I have wanted to take your hand as we walk in to the feasting hall, to put my arm round you as we wander through the corridors, and I haven’t. I’ve been too... shy, perhaps. It’s wrong of me, when I love you so much.’

‘I understand, though. I know it’s... we’re only a few centuries away from being pitied, not much longer away from being called afflicted...’

‘Well, it isn’t right. Other couples are braver. I will be, too; I don’t want to hide how I love you... so, if it is all right with you, I would like to hold hands with you when we go about.’

Govon smiled, the movement reminding him his face was still sore.

‘I think that is very all right with me.’

‘Good. Now let me dry you, and get you that herbal drink, and tend to your wounds. Then we will go to bed and I will hold you, and if you need anything, you will tell me. Agreed?’

Govon sighed happily as Legolas helped him out of the bathing pool and wrapped him in thick towels.

‘Agreed,’ he said.


	258. King's Audience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Glorfindel is upset, and Govon tries to help...

There was a hammering on the outer doors at what was Far Too Early, Legolas thought groggily, stirring and shaking his head. Govon was a warm, soft collection of sighs and soft skin and breaths in his arms, and the prince disentangled himself, hoping to get to the door and silence the racket before it woke his fëa-mate. 

‘What is it, what’s the matter?’ he hissed through the door.

‘It’s me, Glorfindel. Legolas, you have to help, I need Govon to talk to your father, you must...’

Hastily unfastening the door, Legolas opened it a fraction and looked out through the crack.

‘Sweet Eru, Glorfindel, what’s happened? You look terrible!’

‘That’ll be the hangover. Or the not sleeping. Or the heartbreak... Let me in, will you?’

‘All right. But be quiet; Govon’s still sleeping.’

‘No, he’s not,’ came Govon’s voice from the sleeping room. ‘He’d like to be, though.’

Legolas heaved a sigh and shook his head.

‘Come in, sit down, wait in here. I need to dress.’

‘Don’t mind me,’ Glorfindel said, entering the room and taking a seat on the sofa. A regulation-issue warrior kilt and a discarded shirt were on the seat next to him, a blood-stained towel on the floor. 

Legolas, now clad in leggings and with a shirt in his hands, came to the doorway.

‘Sorry about the mess...’

‘No, it’s just like home...’ Glorfindel said. ‘Mind you, I’d have kept it tidier if I’d been sharing...’

‘Well, it was a late night and I just wanted to get Govon comfortable. I wasn’t expecting visitors this early in the day...’

The prince gathered up the discarded items and took them away, retreating to the inner room. Glorfindel heard him speaking softly to Govon for a few moments before he returned, now properly attired but still wearing his sleeping braids.

‘Govon will need a few minutes, Glorfindel; he’s really not feeling very well this morning...’

‘Neither am I...’

‘I can offer you water or wine, or I’ve herbs for tea, but I’ll need to light the fire first... or I can send to the kitchens...’

‘No, I don’t want anything. Well, I do; I want Triwathon...’

Legolas seated himself in a chair near to the Balrog-slayer.

‘Has something happened? Is Triwathon all right?’

‘He’s fine... he doesn’t know yet... I’m leaving with Arwen, ten days, two weeks, something like that – he knows I have to go, I mean... Govon said Triwathon could come with me, if he wants...’

‘He did say that, yes.’

‘Thranduil said no.’

‘What?’

‘Last night. Asked me what I wanted, I said, Triwathon. He won’t let him go. That’s what I haven’t told him yet.’

‘I didn’t realise Adar had refused...’

‘No, well, Govon needed you and you were busy... but I’ve been lying awake all night worrying and wanting to tell Triwathon because he knew there was something wrong, and not telling him in case he got upset and... and it’s just not fair...’

‘My father is always just,’ Legolas said. ‘But that isn’t the same thing as fair... there must be a reason?’

‘Because he said so, as far as I can make out. Triwathon will have other duties.’

Govon appeared in the doorway wrapped in a towel. A large bruise was spreading across his ribs where a punch from Esgaron had left its mark, and his right eye was purpled, the cut on his eyebrow scabbed with black blood. He scowled at the brightness of the early morning and lifted a hand to his head.

‘I need to bathe, Glorfindel... is it a short matter? Or can you wait ten minutes, and I can spare you all the time you need?’

‘I suppose it’s a short matter. Just my complaining makes it longer...’

‘And I can help, you think?’

‘Can you speak to the king, tell him you don’t need Triwathon about the palace? He won’t let him go with me and... well, I’d set my heart on it, showing him round a little on the way back...’

‘I hope you know it isn’t my doing?’ Govon said. ‘Had I objections, I’d have made them to your face; I don’t need the king to do it for me...’

‘No, I know that. Thranduil said you overstepped your authority when you granted your permission...’

‘Adar said that?’ Legolas demanded, his eyes narrowing. ‘I’ll speak to him myself!’

‘No, that’s not... let’s keep it official, formal, shall we? I don’t want you speaking to your father, I want Triwathon’s commander to clarify matters with the king... otherwise it’s not right, do you see?’

‘Yes, I see,’ Govon said. ‘I’ll do what I can; the king holds open audience this morning, I can go to him then.’

‘Please, do what you can. I don’t know how I’m going to tell Triwathon; I can’t bear it...’

‘Well, let me see what the king says, first,’ Govon said. 

‘Thank you,’ Glorfindel got to his feet. ‘I’m sorry to bother you this early in the day. You will let me know, won’t you?’

‘Of course.’

Legolas showed him out and returned to find Govon had found his way to the bathing pool.

‘Really, Govon, I can talk to Adar... my battles are your battles, remember?’

‘Well, possibly. But Triwathon’s battles are my battles; I’m his commander.’ Govon dipped his head under the water, lifted it out with a shake that made him groan. ‘Any of those painkilling herbs left, melleth?’

‘A few, I’ll make them up for you.’

‘My thanks. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.’

*

‘Those herbs working yet, friend captain? How are you feeling now?’

‘Better, my fair elf, thank you.’

Govon smiled. Legolas’ hand had been linked with his all the way through the corridors towards the Hall of Audience; now in the last passage before the waiting area, Legolas was making anxious enquiries.

‘And you are sure you don’t want me to speak to him?’

‘No, it’s fine. I’m here on Court Guard business, after all.’

‘Shall I wait for you?’

‘In our rooms, perhaps? You go back now, get the kitchens to find me a warrior’s breakfast.’

‘All right.’ Legolas stopped, kissed Govon’s cheek lightly; a passing servant stared, looked disapproval. ‘Hope it goes well. You look very smart, I do love that formal uniform on you.’

‘Thank you, my fair elf.’

Bolstered by Legolas’ affectionate compliment, Govon retained his smile all the way to the doors. Several other persons were waiting for audience, Arveldir doing his best to dissuade them from the necessity.

‘But his majesty has already spoken on that subject, and notices have been posted... you can get the information you need from the boards outside the feasting hall, or inside the main doors... and it will save you time, also... Ah. Commander Govon. What brings you here?’

‘I seek audience with our king on Court Guard business; it will not wait,’ Govon went on, aware of all Arveldir’s tricks, ‘and it is not a matter for Over-captain Rawon. I would not disturb his majesty unless it was important...’

‘Very well, Commander, take a seat... there is one more person before you, and there will be scant time for his majesty to see you before his arranged meetings begin... he has an appointment with Commander Esgaron...’

‘It should not be a lengthy matter. But it is important. If I am not done before Esgaron arrives, he will have to wait.’

The previous supplicant, alarmed by this exchange, became suddenly nervous when his turn to see the king came, and only seemed to be in there for a few minutes.

‘Is all satisfactory?’ Arveldir asked.

‘Yes, thank you... quite... our king is most... good day to you...’

Arveldir went to the doors and announced Commander Govon, standing aside to let him pass and, curious, himself taking up a station inside near the doors.  
Govon made the proper obeisance until signalled to rise and approach.

‘Commander Govon, what can I do for you today?’

‘My lord king, I wanted to clarify something... and enquire... when Lord Glorfindel leaves to escort Arwen to her ship, he has said he would like Triwathon to be permitted to accompany him. Given the manner of friendship between them, I agreed that, if he were still in my command, I would allow it – as long as it was what Triwathon himself wanted, and as long as Glorfindel takes due care of him...’

‘Yes, I am aware of the situation.’

‘Good. Then, my king, you can see why I was a little taken aback when Glorfindel said he had been told Triwathon would not be available for the trip...’

‘Did it make you look to have decided against your former acquiescence? But this matter is out of your hands. The contests of yesterday marked the final day of the Court Guard; it is true that the formal feast in honour or the occasion is not until this evening, but that is because there was Glorfindel’s evening event to accommodate... As of midnight last night, you are a Commander without a command... a temporary situation, of course, but it means Triwathon is no longer yours to order; I do hope you suffered no loss of face, Commander Govon?’

‘My king, loss of face is less important, in this case, than Lord Glorfindel’s disappointment, having had my assurances and then to hear his request has been refused...’

‘It is no longer your concern.’

‘But, sire, Triwathon is my concern. He has had a difficult year – I know, he is not the only one – but he is just now starting to find his confidence and to recover from the grief of his friend’s death. He is a fine warrior, and could be a better one... but if he has a set-back now...’

‘Govon, for the sake of your relationship with my son I allow you a certain degree of leeway,’ Thranduil said, his voice rising in volume. ‘But on this matter, do not press me! Be assured I have very good reasons for this. Triwathon is needed here for his next assignment and if you are not careful I will decide that a change of Commander might do him good... especially given your participation in a recent dubious contest of Gondolinion origin?’

‘Which, sire, I was told to compete in, by order of the Office of the King. Can it be that Arveldir has been taking it upon himself to organise matters without your knowing? Since, of course, your disapproval suggests the contest to have been wrong and, of course, our king is never wrong...’

Thranduil was down from his raised throne almost before Govon had time to realise what had happened. The king’s face inches from his, the voice an icy, almost inaudible hiss.

‘The king is never wrong, no, he cannot afford error, if he were wrong the kingdom would lose faith in his leadership and would falter... and in a very short time, Govon, you will realise why I have withheld my permission from Triwathon, and then you will wish to apologise... ahead of that moment, I accept your apology... and now go, and note well that Commander Esgaron is outside and will have heard every word of our exchange except for this last so if you have pride, Commander, you will bear that in mind and react as if I have not just explained to you that if Triwathon were to have permission to go, and then found a very good reason not to, how miserable would it make him? Were he to decline, how rejected would it make Glorfindel feel? How much more miserable would he be if he went, and found the journey intolerable? Do not judge my judgement, Govon, until you know all of my mind. Now leave. Remember to look annoyed... yes, very good, that will do...’

Thranduil stepped back, returning to his throne and continuing the conversation in louder tones as if he had not left his seat to whisper into Govon’s face.

‘I am glad you realise the infallibility of kings, Govon. Let it be a comfort to you that so far this king believes you worthy of his son’s regard... and now, really, go away.’

Govon made his bow with Thranduil’s veiled threat ringing in his ears and his fury mounting, matched only with his fear of what the king had meant. A part of him thought it was intended for Esgaron’s hearing, to somehow discredit him before the Commander, but it was not like Thranduil to do such a thing...

He pushed out of the Hall of Audience and was halfway along the corridor before he realised Esgaron had been staring at him with an amused, superior expression on his face.

Well, whatever the king’s game, Govon decided, he was not going to play it. That Thranduil should be so angry with him and all for simply trying to support one of his warriors – former warriors, and that galled him, to be reminded again of the insecurity of his situation, and that the disbanding of his company had somehow managed to happen with no fanfare, no announcements.

Except Thranduil hadn’t been angry, not really. He had been pretending, using tone of voice and body language to convince Govon, Arveldir, and the watching, ever-present door guards, of his rage, but when Thranduil really lost his temper these days, his face changed, reverted back to the horror of his dragon-wreaked injuries, and that had not happened, had not even seemed likely to happen...

No, Thranduil had used him for some reason, had set the tone of the entire audience to manipulate Govon into challenging him so that the king would have the opportunity to pretend his fury. 

Starting to settled down after the excess of emotion, Govon realised he felt vaguely nauseous and in need of something. No, someone, Legolas, he needed his fëa-mate. He hurried back to their rooms where he hoped his fair elf would be waiting.

*

‘Ah, Esgaron. You have been kept waiting; no doubt you saw Commander Govon leave?’

‘I did, sire; he seemed most discomposed; but then, I have always thought the strain of command would prove too much for him... you may not be aware, my king, but last night I accidentally bumped into him and...’ Esgaron indicated his face where a bruise covered the side of his left jaw and a pad of caul silk on his nose hinted at a break. ‘You can see the result.’

‘Yes. We were, in fact, witness to the incident and our perceptions are somewhat at odds with your account... Moreover, we are aware of your opinion of Commander Govon and that is one reason why we have selected you to lead a very important mission. Tonight at the feast it will be announced that you, Commander Esgaron, will head the troop escorting Princes Iauron and Tharmeduil to join their ship to Valinor.’ Thranduil paused to let this sink in. ‘What is more, you alone of the guard are deemed fit to sail with them as personal bodyguard and protector in their new lives. Congratulations. This is a wonderful opportunity for you to end your career in our kingdom with honour and achievement.’

‘…what?’ Esgaron managed. It was hardly the proper response; it wasn’t even polite, for that matter.

He stared at the once-more flawless face of his king, now showing impatience in the silvered blue eyes.

Thranduil descended from his throne and strode across the floor of the chamber, turning his back as he lifted a glass of ruby wine to his lips, drinking before presenting his implacable regal gaze back to the bewildered commander.

‘I said, we are sending you to lead the escort taking my sons to their ship and you will then dismiss the company and sail with the princes. Congratulations. You have approximately ten days to make your preparations. You will liaise with the King’s Office and the Healers’ Hall for further instructions and to have any questions answered. Over-captain Rawon will have a list of the warriors in your command.’

‘But… sire… surely this is a task for the Court Guard…’

‘The Court Guard? Let me see, a task for that unit brought into being for the sole purpose of giving some credence to the prince’s plaything?’

Esgaron lowered his head. The king went on.

‘That useless collection of misfits who are gathered together to prevent them getting in the way of the real warriors? The ones who have proved only their ability not to dodge injury?’

‘Sire, I…’

‘That so-small, so impotent collective, with so few warrior that its very existence is risible? The company which ought to have been disbanded the moment we arrived home? Led by a warrior you cannot take seriously? That Court Guard?’

‘Forgive me, my king… I…’

‘Obviously, I cannot possibly trust my two sons in such hands, and so, Esgaron, you will escort them. You may, of course, take your elleth with you overseas.’

‘Sire?’

‘Was I not clear? Your elleth may sail with you, if she wishes.’

‘But… we are Silvan, we do not sail.’

‘How odd! I seem to recollect both your parents sailed some... seven decades ago, I think... and you have been heard to comment – loudly – on the superstitious nature of those Silvans who are afraid to take ship. Yet Silvans are able to. There is a place for our subjects in the Undying Lands, it is known to us. Silvans have been seen there.’ Thranduil examined his fingernails, burnished them idly on his robes. ‘Consider it an exciting retirement opportunity.’

‘I do not wish to go…’

‘No, but you will. There is no longer a place here for you, Esgaron. You are outshot by a non-combatant – a healer, no less, you lose – twice – in the wrestling contests to ‘an ancient relic of the First Age’, as I believe you called him... you cannot even participate in a simple pissing contest without cheating! You do not seem to realise that you are actually being offered the chance to retire from our notice, and that of your peers, with your reputation comparatively intact.’

‘My king… I am not sure Araspen would wish to leave with me…’

‘No, I am sure she would not. Not if she were to learn that her betrothed approached a vulnerable, grieving ellon, seduced him and then abandoned him far from home with no-one to console him for either the death of his best friend or the appalling treatment he suffered at your hands. If you stay, you will lose all honour, Esgaron, and be left with nothing, less than nothing. Sail - with or without your elleth, it is all one to me – and you have a chance to live up to your current reputation as an esteemed warrior and a commander. Or you could stay, and struggle with a tarnished reputation you must instead live down.’

Thranduil lifted his eyes briefly to Esgaron’s face, his expression coldly challenging.

‘You choose,’ he said.


	259. Honour Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil makes several annoucements...

Considering it was such an auspicious occasion, Nestoril thought, there were rather a lot of serious faces in the feasting hall tonight. Of course, several of the glum expressions could be put down to discomfort or hangovers... or discomfort and hangovers; both Commander Govon and Commander Esgaron were sporting facial injuries – of the two, Esgaron was the worse for wear – Glorfindel looked sombre, Triwathon concerned. Legolas, she noted with satisfaction, was being particularly attentive to his fëa-mate, leaning closer to him than strictly necessary as they stood behind their chairs, waiting for the king to take his place.

The mood aside, it was in interesting collection of guests at the top table; as well as the court, all the Court Guard were present in their finest formal dress uniform... sadly, no kilts... as well as those who had won or placed highly in the recent contests, including Parvon, third in Short Bow and Celeguel, who had won the knife-throwing. Merlinith was also present, placed near enough to Arwen for conversation. 

Thranduil swept in and took his place, gesturing for the guests to be seated. A nod to Arveldir, and the advisor beckoned servers forward with wine.

Presently Arveldir rose to his feet, spreading his hands for attention.

‘His majesty King Thranduil will address the hall.’

Thranduil inclined his head. He did not rise from his seat, instead contenting himself with sitting more upright and looking out over the heads of the assembled elves.

‘My Silvans,’ he began. ‘We meet tonight to honour the work of the Court Guard during our recent trip to parley with Imladris for the last time. But for their efforts and sacrifices, fewer of us would have returned. Our sons Iauron and Tharmeduil would undoubtedly be dead. One of their number died protecting Iauron, and Thiriston and Canadion kept our other son alive after an attack from spiders. We offer them our sincere thanks and we regret more than ever the necessity of calling for the Court Guard to disband. However, all things have their season, and it is time for the warriors to find new purpose. We will speak later of this, and other matters, but for the moment, we salute them.’ 

He raised his glass and drank deep, waiting for the hall to follow suit, and then gestured Arveldir to call the servers forward.

Two places to his right, Thranduil was aware that Govon was practically thrumming with fury and trying to hide it for the sake of his former command; Thiriston and Canadion were oblivious, certainly. Hador, recovered now from the slice he got during his sword bout, smiling easily, his wife at his side. Tinuon, too, was in good spirits, happily talking to his neighbours. But every glance Glorfindel shot at the king was accusatory, every remark the seneschal was forced to make sounded clipped and terse. Nestoril was looking around the table with wondering eyes, trying to read the undercurrents. Well, she would simply have to wait for the announcements after the meal. At least she had responded politely to her invitation tonight, and had even gone so far as to shed her healer’s garb for a proper formal gown. It was demure, long sleeved, and in a rather dull and unbecoming shade of brown, but she was present, at least.

He turned to his right to address Legolas with a remark about Canadion and Thiriston’s forthcoming avowing but found his son’s focus entirely on Govon. Legolas was being more than usually attentive, Thranduil realised, the prince’s hand straying to Govon’s hair to flick a wayward strand back, to drop to his shoulder. Nothing overt, nothing improper by any stretch of the imagination, just simple attention. Perhaps, after what had passed in the Hall of Audience, Govon needed attention... A flicker of shame threatened to rise in Thranduil’s consciousness, was hastily repressed. It would not do to begin feeling remorseful, not now... Govon would understand soon enough why Thranduil would not release Triwathon to go jaunting across Middle Earth at Glorfindel’s side.

But the glances Triwathon was giving Glorfindel were anxious tonight... Without attempting to listen in, still Thranduil found his attention drawn to the muted conversation taking place between the golden-haired Balrog-slayer and his friend.

'Glorfindel, hir-nin, will you not say what troubles you?'

Glorfindel stared at his plate and shook his head silently.

'Can't talk about it, not in public.'

'But you would not talk about it last night, in private, or today... I do not like to see you so despondent, and it makes me wonder whether it is something I may have done?'

'No, 'tis not you...' Glorfindel sighed.

'Something Commander Govon said, perhaps? You were more distressed after his visit than before it...'

'Sorry, penneth-nin, but... Not now, yes? Later, once we get out of this damned feasting hall...' Glorfindel made an effort and gave himself a little shake. 'Really, I am sorry, this is your night, to celebrate you. Third in long bow, and you were wonderful...'

'It troubles me to see you struggling. We will leave the table as soon as proper; I will have the story from you...'

'Triwathon, what if... What if something happened, and you... and we couldn't ride together to the Havens? Would you mind very much?'

'Is that what this is about? Have you been melancholy since last night about something that may or may not happen?' Triwathon covered Glorfindel's hand with his own in a swift gesture of affection and comfort. 'My dear iphant, let us not borrow trouble!'

'But would you?'

'Probably. But you would come back, you have already said, if you ride, you will return? If that were so, I could bear it better.'

'You know I don't want to leave you. Not yet.'

'Nor do I want to be left! Now, come. Eat your dinner, it is getting cold.'

Thranduil turned his attention back to his own plate, having heard more than he was comfortable with. Instead, he decided Canadion's happy face promised a more pleasant conversation on which to eavesdrop.

'...a pity Arwen is not likely still to be here,' the young ellon was saying. 'But she says almost all the bunting is finished...'

'Bunting?' Thiriston said, his tone mistrustful.

'Yes, she is crocheting heart-shaped bunting in shades of pink and lilac to festoon the fëa trees with; it will look beautiful...'

'And that's what you want?'

'Yes,' Canadion said, but his voice now was uncertain.

'Then lilac and pink bunting it is.'

Thranduil repressed a shudder. Bunting, in the Sacred Grove...? 

A small sound attracted his attention and he turned in time to see Nestoril hiding a smile beneath her hand and looking away; she had heard too, then, and seen his reaction, hidden though it ought to have been from everyone's eyes. But Ness had always been too good at reading him.

The meal progressed easily enough, and soon Thranduil was able to signal Arveldir to call for more wine to go around, the removal of the dishes. Arveldir tapped a glass for attention and bowed towards the king to silence the hall for Thranduil to speak.

'And now it is our pleasure to see those who performed best in the recent contests. Arveldir?'

Arveldir read out the list of names, gesturing each person to their feet to take their applause; knife throwing, short sword, short bow (it was with some satisfaction that Arveldir saw Parvon taking his applause), long bow... Triwathon, Nestoril and Legolas all rising from their seats. Thranduil congratulated them all and commented on how many of their number were Court Guard members.

Arveldir now turned to Thranduil for guidance. They had not actually decided how, if at all, they would reference the rather scurrilous contest of the preceding evening and he was rather fearful that the king would expect him to say something. Much to the advisor’s relief, however, Thranduil smiled softly, languidly, waving Arveldir to sit.

'We wish to note one further contest,’ the king began, ‘a private ritual from the days of Gondolin, held in strict secrecy. We are delighted to announce Thiriston of the Court Guard as its winner, by a considerable margin. A heroic effort, indeed, and it should be noted that once more, despite all their naysayers, the Court Guard has been magnificent. What is more, we are pleased to note that Thiriston and his fëa-mate are shortly taking vows. Thiriston, we have not asked, but do you have your Witness yet?'

Thiriston glanced down at Canadion. Of course, they had intended asking Govon, but as yet had not had chance...

'At present, sire, no.'

'Good. Ask your beloved, then if he would like it were I to preside...'

Canadion squeaked and nodded frantically, causing all who saw to smile.

'Good. Then all arrangements should come through the King's Office from now on. And congratulations.'

'My king, this is a great honour...'

'We acknowledge our indebtedness to you, and Canadion, for the care you gave our son, and we will be pleased to preside, and our office to assist. Please, take your seat again. Enjoy your evening.'

Thranduil waited for the hall to grow quiet again. An elleth whom he was certain was Canadion's mother appeared to be having a fit of the vapours on the second table, and an ellon close to her was beaming satisfaction to where Canadion was hanging on to Thiriston’s arm. He could see Arveldir trying not to look reprovingly at him, too: well, it was unusual for the king to preside as Witness, and, really, he had a double motive for getting Arveldir involved in the organisation; it would stop the dreadful Cullasbes from taking over – and he would be able to insist on more tasteful bunting. He beckoned the advisor to his side.

‘Tomorrow, Arveldir,’ he said softly. ‘We will discuss this tomorrow.’

‘As you wish, sire. What would you like to announce next, may I ask? And do I already know of it, or will it be another surprise?’

‘Be easy, my friend. Send round the wine round again.’

Arveldir bowed respectfully as if he meant it and signalled the servers. At this rate the entire gathered populace would be drunk by the time Thranduil got on to the main announcements of the evening... perhaps that was the king’s intention, who could say?

Thranduil stirred slightly in his chair, gathering all attention towards himself once more.

‘I wish now to speak further of our sons. Shortly they will leave us to make their journey west to find their healing beyond the seas. We are touched by the many expressions of regret and offers to accompany them we have had from both civilian and warrior alike. The full details of the escorting party has yet to be finalised, but for the moment let us say this. Our most esteemed Healer Nestoril will ensure the safety of our sons on their journey to the Undying Lands. It is fair to say, she will be missed.’

Thranduil paused to glance at Ness. She was staring down at the space where her plate had been, and had it been anyone other than Nestoril, the king would have thought her struggling with tears. But as he lifted his glass towards her in salute, so she raised her eyes and a hint of her saucy smile was back as she accepted his acknowledgement.

‘Since the Court Guard has disbanded,’ Thranduil went on, ‘it has been necessary to find another to command the armed escort accompanying my sons. We are pleased to accept Commander Esgaron’s offer of service...’

A stir passed through the company. Triwathon paled and leaned unconsciously nearer to Glorfindel. Govon snapped his head around to stare at the king. Much amused at his honour-son’s reaction, Thranduil expanded his announcement further.

‘In fact, Esgaron will, along with Healer Nestoril, cross the seas where, he will be pleased to serve as personal bodyguard to our sons in their new lives. We thank you, Esgaron.’

All attention was now on the Commander. He swallowed and rose to his feet to bow to the king.

‘This is a wonderful opportunity to end my career with honour and achievement,’ he said, his face a mask almost equal to the king’s own. ‘An exciting retirement opportunity...’

‘Indeed,’ Thranduil said. ‘I am sure you have given the matter such thought. The party will set out in approximately ten days’ time. More information will be passed on nearer to the time...’

Triwathon shivered, in spite of the warmth of the feasting hall, and drew nearer to Glorfindel.

‘There will not be many riding; it will be hard to escape the notice of the commander,’ he said softly. ‘I did not think that he might be part of the escort. Is this why you’ve been so...? Did you know? You said, what if I couldn’t ride with you...’

Glorfindel pushed Triwathon’s goblet towards him.

‘Have a drink, you look pale. No, I didn’t know about Esgaron... wonder if Arwen can manage without me and I can stay here with you instead?’

Triwathon managed a laugh.

‘That would be nice.’

The implication of the king’s announcement took but a moment to sink in with Commander Govon. His jaw dropping as he realised what the king had actually achieved by this simple, if ruthless, manipulation – for he had no doubt Esgaron was not a willing volunteer – he leaned forward to gain Thranduil’s attention.

‘My lord king,’ he began, ‘I...’

‘Accepted, Govon, as I told you this morning. Do continue to enjoy your wine.’ 

Thranduil gave the room a moment to settle. To his alarm, Nestoril was looking a reproach at him....what had he done now? Unless Esgaron was not her idea of a pleasant companion, of course.

Hastily he took a sip of Dorwinion to fortify himself and settled back in his chair in an attempt to signify a change of mood.

‘There is but one further matter to mention tonight, and we have waited it until the last. It concerns our warriors closely. With the departure of Commander Esgaron, now is a good time to review our security arrangements. A new division will be formed. Known as the Dragon Guard, it will have three companies, Grey, Red and Black, acknowledging the defeat of the creatures which attacked us in the Battle of the Three Dragons. Each company will incorporate both those who were involved in that battle and those who have seen service elsewhere. They will form a close, tight-knit band of warriors and will become, it is hoped, an elite fighting force able to respond to specific challenges. For this we need the best, a combination of fresh minds and experienced warriors. The Black Company will be led by Commander Bregon, Captain Pedir will take a promotion to lead the Red Company. This is in recognition of his mighty efforts to contain the massed spider migration and make safe our way to parley with Imladris. The Grey Company will be led by my honour-son, Commander Govon, whose tireless bravery and fresh approach to leadership render him invaluable in this new enterprise...’

The king paused. He had not done, yet, but the stir from the hall made it wise to wait. He took a sideways look to his right, saw Govon’s stunned expression, Legolas’ delight as he slapped his fëa-mate’s shoulder in congratulation. Further along, Bregon was laughing as he was hugged by his wife. Most shocked was Captain Pedir, sitting quietly and all but unnoticed at the end of the table; he had been a deputy commander and captain of the forest hunters for so many decades he had ceased to think of promotion as a possibility.

Govon came back to his senses first. Grinning at Legolas, he tried to compose himself as he turned to the king.

‘Sire...! If it is not too soon to ask, may I enquire if we will be able to choose our own warriors?’

‘No,’ Thranduil said. ‘For it is too soon to ask. I am not yet done, Govon.’

‘Forgive me, sire.’

‘Arveldir?’ Thranduil gestured to his advisor. ‘Settle the room for me, if you please.’

‘Of course.’ Arveldir once more tapped for attention. ‘His majesty has more to say, if you will contain yourselves.’

‘Ahead of the formation of the Dragon Guard, we wish our warriors to become as proficient as possible. And so we will require the former Court Guard to provide instruction in their disciplines until the new postings are announced... we wish the traditional twin sword to be properly studied once more, also. In addition, we understand more officers will be required, and so we are pleased to require our warriors Celeguel, Hador and Triwathon will begin formal training for leadership... Congratulations. You will serve well.’

Glorfindel spared a moment to look at the king with respectful awe before turning to swamp Triwathon in a hug.

‘Well, how does that sound, penneth? A captaincy, at least!’

‘It sounds... if I have leadership qualities...’

‘Of course you do. You’ll be wonderful, Triwathon.’

‘It will mean I cannot ride with... you knew!’

‘Well... only that I couldn’t take you with me. Not why. But with Esgaron along, it wouldn’t have been as much fun, would it?’

‘It might have been difficult... but I would have...’

‘I know, I know you would have.’ Glorfindel sighed, but made himself smile. ‘And you will be busy, and happy, and the time will dance past, and I be back and spilling honey beer all over you again before you know it...’

‘I will miss you.’

‘I know. But I’m not going quite yet. Maybe we should put the time to good use?’

Another tink-tink on the glass as Arveldir called attention once more.

‘Details will be sent round and posted as appropriate... all rise for his majesty our king...’

Thranduil waited for his subjects to come to order, taking in and rather enjoying the various expressions. Legolas’ joy and Govon’s relief, Celeguel’s delight, Triwathon’s bewilderment and Glorfindel’s pride. 

He swept from the hall in all his dignity and buoyed with the satisfaction of a job well done. 

Yes. As honour feasts went, that one had been rather enjoyable.


	260. After the Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril shares a nightcap with the king...

Always observant, in the last few days Nestoril had found herself looking more closely than ever at what passed around her. On one level, she was truly interested in the goings-on of the palace, but on another she knew it was because she was storing up memories for later. 

Now, as the honour feast progressed, it seemed as if she was noticing things she never had before; the way Legolas always glanced down, shy, before he reached out to his fëa-mate... but he was reaching out more often, she saw with pleasure, and in a friendly and genuine manner, allowing his natural tactile manner to find its outlet. So much love she saw between Legolas and Govon, a deep and abiding affection that would last them long, long into their futures.

Standing to take applause for her success in the long bow, she filled her eyes with the happiness around her; Triwathon shyly delighted, Legolas self-consciously taking his bow, belatedly aware that his participation had robbed someone else the chance to be applauded... Nestoril took her seat once more and her eye moved on. There was Esgaron, alone where most of those present had wives or lovers at their side... no empty place, though, so had Araspen been invited and declined...? Was the elleth unwell?

Looking out towards the other tables, however, she saw her, seated with her Naneth and sisters... so Esgaron’s betrothed was present, simply not seated with him...

In her position as Senior Healer, Nestoril of course knew nearly everyone in and around the palace. Although she would not go so far as to say Araspen was a friend, she was, at least, a little acquainted with her, enough to be aware that the elleth’s betrothal to Esgaron had largely been driven by Araspen’s Naneth and that the possibility of becoming herself a Naneth was an incentive...when Nestoril thought back, she realised she hadn’t seen Araspen and Esgaron together for some time, not since the night that Esgaron had publicly questioned why the princes’ sailing had been not made known before... Even Esgaron’s preparation for his wrestling bout with Glorfindel had been undertaken alone; Triwathon had painted the Balrog-slayer’s marks of battle, but, Ness remembered, Esgaron had been unassisted.

Was Araspen having second thoughts?

Curious, Ness allowed her eyes to rest on Esgaron’s intended. The elleth did not seem unhappy to not be seated at the top table; in fact, she did not even look in the Commander’s direction until the king made his announcement concerning the escort for his sons to the Undying lands, whereupon she shot a fierce, swift glare in her betrothed’s direction before finding her attention required by her Naneth. Nestoril found it wise to look away; it seemed as if matters between Araspen and her Naneth were not easy.

But what was going on? Esgaron’s words sounded like an echo, as if he were simply repeating something which had been said to him, and Nestoril realised with a jolt of shock that, unlike herself, the commander was not a willing volunteer. And there was an air of satisfaction to the king that instantly made her sure he alone of all those gathered had been expecting Esgaron to reply in this vein. Other reactions around the table were surprise, relief... fear, poor Triwathon was looking actually frightened... but why...? Oh, yes, Glorfindel had wanted his company on the journey, but Esgaron’s presence would be difficult for him... the Balrog-slayer himself looked... unhappily reassuring, trying hard to comfort his friend.

Another glance at Thranduil showed her an almost smug lift to the corners of his mouth that was somehow outrageous; did the king not realise that this was tantamount to banishment? That to traditional Silvans it would sound almost like a death-sentence? 

Not even the news that Govon would get a much-deserved command in a new company could really cheer her, not after that, although hearing of Celeguel’s advancement was pleasing... no, Esgaron’s punishment still seemed excessively harsh and when Thranduil rose at the end of the feast it took her only a few moments to decide to follow after him.

*

His father gone, Legolas took Govon in his arms.

‘I am so pleased for you, melleth! And you heard? Your ‘tireless bravery’...?’

‘I head him call me his honour-son in public; now, that was brave! So, I think I have a job again... two jobs, no doubt I will be training in twin-sword while the company is established...’

‘We should celebrate!’ Legolas glanced about, saw Erestor momentarily free; Arveldir had gone over to speak with Thiriston. ‘Erestor! Is there any chance you can get us that barracks common room for tomorrow night? And some refreshments fitting to warriors? I think we deserve a party!’

‘I will see what I can do, ernilen. We can discuss it at our breakfast meeting.’

‘Make it a late meeting, then, and bring enough for three; I think Govon will be joining us.’

‘As you wish, my prince. Shall I make it for four, and Arveldir can make up one of the party?’

‘I’m sure you’re joking, but if you like, why not?’

Erestor nodded and smiled his small, tight smile before hastening over to join his friend; from nowhere, it seemed, a tall and elegant elleth with a warrior bearing had seated herself beside Canadion and was issuing orders.

‘We will need music, proper music; I know few in this place can do more than sing, but there must be someone... there needs to be seating for my friends at the front... there will be a dozen or so of us... we will have elegant decoration, none of this silly frivolous bunting...’

‘But, Naneth...’

Erestor inserted himself into the group and bowed. Although privately suspecting that the king would not approve bunting either, he felt compelled to stand up for the notion of a little silly frivolity.

‘The bunting in question has been handmade by the Lady Arwen of Imladris,’ he said. ‘And forgive me, you are...?’

‘Cullasbes, and who are you?’

‘Erestor, personal advisor to the Prince Regent. Are you getting married, Cullasbes?’

‘What? Of course not... it is my son, who is taking vows...’

‘I thought as much. Please make your suggestions in writing to the Office of the King and they will be taken under advisement. Thiriston, if you and your fëa-mate have a spare hour tomorrow, perhaps we can meet?’

‘Glad to,’ Thiriston said. ‘Come, penneth – things to do. Good night, Arveldir, Erestor.’ He turned to nod at Canadion’s Naneth. ‘Cullasbes. Canadion likes bunting, especially when it’s been made by a real lady. If it’s what he wants, he shall have it. Whatever colour it is.’

So saying he took firm hold of Canadion and walked him off, leaving Cullasbes staring and Erestor enjoying her discomfiture.

‘Bunting,’ Arveldir said as Cullasbes extricated herself from the hall with as much dignity as she could. 

‘Lilac and pink, I understand,’ Erestor said with a sigh. ‘Arwen is delighted with it.’

‘I do not know what the king will say. It is not the bunting as such but the Sacred Grove is; well... sacred. And to festoon it with crocheted hearts, whatever their colour...’

‘I am sure we will think of something,’ Erestor said. ‘And now, do you think you have worked long enough today? Tomorrow looks set to be fraught, and I would like to assure myself you are properly rested for the fray.’

‘You go ahead; I must speak to Parvon about something.’

Erestor nodded and Arveldir watched him out of the hall with a smile. Now, where had Parvon managed to get to...?

*

‘My king?’

Thranduil had not reached the end of the first corridor when he heard Nestoril’s voice behind him. Halting and looking over his shoulder, he waited for her to approach. She gave every impression of having been merely sauntering along, but since he himself had been striding out, he knew she must have been hurrying.

‘Nestoril. You look as if you have something to say. Will you join me in my study for a glass of winter-wine to end the evening?’

‘You are most kind, sire.’

He waited for her to join him before setting off once more. A glance sideways showed the healer’s face to be smiling politely, but there was something resolute around her eyes that made him sure this would not simply be a shared drink in friendship to end the day. He remembered the reproachful glance she had shot him earlier, and wondered, indeed, whether he was in for a scold. Ah well; she would not have many more opportunities to take him to task; he could bear a last lecture or two, if he must.

*  
Unused to the dizzying heights of the top table, Parvon had sat through the meal in bewildered enjoyment, taking his bows with pleasure and reminding himself that, as Arveldir’s second assistant, he would need to get used to being in company with the court sooner or later.

Anyone else, he supposed, would have resented the arrival of Master Erestor who had slid into Parvon’s previous position as chief assistant, but not he. Seeing his master’s quiet happiness was enough in itself to allay any possible sense of ill-usage, and the reality was that his own workload had lightened somewhat since Erestor had arrived.

Tonight was a rare evening off; normally at this time Parvon would be arranging notes for the next day’s work rather than feasting in company with the court.

Arveldir was looking towards him, though; he should go over and ask if he needed to attend to anything this evening...

Hurrying to go to his master, he didn’t realise he’d timed his exit from the table with that of Triwathon, the ellon who had come third in the long bow. They collided, something of the ellon’s fell to the floor, and they both bent to pick it up, Parvon apologising all the while.

‘No, think nothing of it,’ Triwathon said good-naturedly. ‘You are Parvon, are you not?’ 

‘Oh... You know who I am?’ 

Parvon lifted his eyes and as he passed the fallen whatever-it-was – he had no idea, a braid clasp, maybe – his fingers brushed Triwathon’s and he felt a jolt of something and looked into the ellon’s friendly gaze and everything changed forever.

‘Of course,’ Triwathon said, oblivious. ‘I have watched your brother Fonor sparring, he is excellent with the single sword... and congratulations for your own success; I have matched bows with both our prince and with Healer Nestoril and lost far too often!’

Triwathon glanced at the item in his hand, a spare braid clasp Glorfindel had given him.

‘Thank you. On loan from my friend, I would hate to have lost it.’

Suddenly not wanting the conversation to end, Parvon said the first thing that came into his mind.

‘You are friends with the Lord from Gondolin? The legendary Glorfindel? What is he like?’

‘Yes, indeed.’ Triwathon laughed. ‘He is everything they say, but much more fun than the myths make him sound. And he is... he is waiting for me. Your pardon, Parvon; thank you once more.’  
Parvon stood watching as Glorfindel lifted an arm to drape around Triwathon’s shoulders.

‘You were coming to speak to me, I think?’ Arveldir said. ‘And were distracted?’

‘Yes; forgive me... I was... do you need me tonight?’

‘No, I do not think so. Are you quite well, Parvon?’

‘Yes, that is... I do not know... he was so kind, so... so very, very pleasant...’

‘Now, do not be thinking yourself in love with Glorfindel of Gondolin!’ Arveldir said quickly, seeing the strange, glowing gleam in Parvon’s intense eyes. ‘He has someone over the seas waiting for him, and I would not like you to be heartsick...’

‘Oh, not Glorfindel!’ Parvon said. ‘Triwathon. He is lovely.’

‘And he is Glorfindel’s very special friend, if you understand me.’

‘I see.’ Parvon thought for a moment. ‘And Glorfindel is leaving soon?’

‘Yes.’

‘So... Triwathon will miss him, and be lonely. He may need a friend.’

‘Parvon...’

‘Do not worry, Master Arveldir. My work will not suffer.’

‘Parvon, I do not necessarily care about your work suffering, just your fëa...’

‘Well, I am grateful for your concern. But do not fear for me.’ Parvon’s eyes lingered on the corridor along which Triwathon had left. ‘I will be fine.’

*

Nestoril accepted a glass of winter-wine and a seat at the fireside in Thranduil’s study. The king set aside his summer berry crown and sat opposite her.

‘What’s on your mind, Nestoril?’

‘Commander Esgaron. He did not sound a willing voyager...’

‘Did he not?’

‘No, indeed, and then, what about his betrothed...?’

‘Both are from families with enough Sindar blood that they do not share the traditionalists’ fear of the wrath of the Valar; Esgaron has permission to take Araspen with him, should she choose.’

‘But what if she does not choose to sail but does not wish to be parted from him? What if...?’

‘Araspen has become entirely disaffected with Esgaron and is quietly glad of the excuse to be rid of him.’

‘And, of course, sire, you know this for a fact.’

‘Indeed I do. Araspen confided in her sister who, in turn, spoke to her friend, who is friends with Merlinith who seems to know everyone... she mentioned it to her brother, who passed it on to my son just as Erestor was arriving for their breakfast meeting one day recently. He, in turn, brought the matter to Arveldir’s notice and so the knowledge comes to me.’

‘Even so, to summarily insist Esgaron take ship; it is akin to a punishment...’

‘Did you not hear? In fact, it is a wonderful retirement opportunity. Come now, Ness! After all the disparaging remarks Esgaron has made about the Court Guard? About Govon? You know as well as I do that had anyone said a quarter as much against my consort, my father Oropher would have had their ears as table decorations, if not their heads on sticks outside the main gates!’

‘But you are not your father, my king. You must see that if Esgaron does not want to sail, it is a great unkindness to insist...’

‘Ah, Nestoril! I had so hoped we would part friends! Do you really intend to berate me for putting my honour-son first, for once?’

‘But...’

Thranduil folded his hands together and the sleeves of his robe slid down over his wrists and Ness fell silent.

His sleeves.

It was only Thranduil’s sleeves that saved him from the full weight of her wrath.

She had always seen it, she realised, but never noticed before, not properly. Every formal robe Thranduil wore, the sleeves were overlong. When he moved, the rich, heavy fabrics slid down, covering his wrists, the backs of his hands, sometimes stopped by the heavy rings he wore, often riding over them to show only the ends of his fingers. For the first time she realised what it reminded her of – an elfling in clothes he was meant to grow into, looking lost in too-long sleeves, vulnerable and exposed. Or as if he felt the cold and needed the length to keep his hands warm.

So she could not bear to be angry with him, king that he was, unconsciously reminding her of the elfling he had once been, and even though she was younger than he, it called up feelings of maternal concern and she could no more reply angrily to him than she could have smacked an elfling.

‘Well, there being so few days remaining in which to rage at you, sire, it is most tempting...’ she said, allowing her wrath to fade. ‘But no, I will not rail at you tonight. Perhaps, if we part as friends, you will miss me more.’

‘I already shall miss you more, Ness,’ Thranduil said softly. ‘And to think I had believed your annoyance to be simply because you will perforce travel with Esgaron...’

‘He has always shown nothing but respect for my office, and has never been unpleasant to me, personally,’ she said. ‘I am sure it will be well. And once we reach Valinor and the princes are restored, there will be no need for Esgaron and I to have anything to do with each other.’

She set down her glass.

‘Thank you for your hospitality, my king, and for permitting me to share my opinion with you.’

‘Is that what it was?’ Thranduil said. ‘It sounded more like a scold, to me.’


	261. Araspen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merlinith has a surprise visitor

The sewing room was all of a bustle today. Merlinith noted, looking around as she set down yesterday’s completed tasks and made neat notes in the workbook: 

'...One fine shirt, embroidered cuffs and collar, silver on grey... two pillow slips, monogrammed and decorated as ordered... four hours’ work...'4

 

Camaemes, the elleth in charge, came over to countersign receipt of the pieces.

‘Oh, they are lovely, Merlinith! Are you seeking plain work, or fine today?’

Merlinith considered. Plain work was easier, of course, but she liked the challenge of more intricate pieces; in fact, much of the fine work was too challenging for the ellyth working out of this particular sewing room and so it was often wiser to allow Camaemes to guide her choice of task.

‘I am happy to do whatever there is more need for,’ she replied. 

‘Oh, that is good, for there is a new order come in... fifty ells of fine satin ribbon to be worked, ivory and ice blue and silver all layered and then with bows added, and ten score bead drops to be strung... for the solstice... the order came in from the King’s Office just now, so we are trying to fit that in around everything else... there are several orders for travelling clothes, too, as well as the fine work for our princes’ small clothes...’

Merlinith shook her head.

‘I do not understand why we need to send our princes off with the finest of linens; it is not as if they will be aware of it...’

‘Mistress Merlinith!’ Camaemes said in shocked tones. ‘We will be aware of it! And who knows who else will see, in the Undying Lands?’

‘I would hope, nobody!’ Merlinith said with a smile. ‘Give me work for five hours, and I will take it to my rooms, if I may.’

‘Of course you may! I think the quality of light you have at home surpasses even our workroom. Five hours... Let me see what is most urgent.’

Merlinith waited while the supervisor consulted the order book. Her comment about sending Iauron and Tharmeduil off with fine undergarments would probably ensure that duty went to another, which was fine by Merlinith. Similarly, the ribbons Camaemes had mentioned required a lot of space, and probably several ellyth would work on the task at once, layering the different coloured ribbons and stitching them neatly together... but the bead stringing sounded fun. Of course, that was so simple a task even the newest apprentice could do it...

‘Mistress Araspen’s travelling cloak,’ Camaemes said, returning with a bundle of fabrics and notions. ‘There is probably work there for much more than five hours, so make note of how long it takes. But it is best all done by the one hand...’

‘Where is Mistress Araspen going?’ Merlinith asked as she folded the fabric and threads carefully into her basket. ‘It was announced last night that Commander Esgaron will sail with our princes; will she accompany him, then?’

‘That is the story; the request came in yesterday afternoon... We were surprised, we expected to be asked for wedding clothes for her first...’

‘Indeed, yes. But perhaps she does not need new clothes for her vows; when my brother took his, he wore simply what his fëa-mate liked him in...’

And busy though she was, Camaemes sat down and encouraged Merlinith to tell all about how Govon and his prince took their vows, and how Merlinith had to help, how it was done in a hurry, but for good reasons, and then Camaemes countered with the tale of how Lady Arwen had put in a request for a trousseau to take with her overseas, but that the King’s Office had countermanded it before the lady had even been measured for her first gown...

Of the many sewing rooms throughout the palace, this was the friendliest, all told, Merlinith thought as she made her way back to her rooms. Although ellyn and ellyth alike both undertook such work, Camaemes’ room currently only employed females. There was always somebody there working, even quite late at night, so if you were alone, you could find company. The seamstresses didn’t only sew, of course; there was often call for knitted garments and blankets and knitting was a pleasant occupation for an evening’s conversation. And there was often a new story to share, or to hear. Merlinith was careful, of course, not to gossip too much about her brother and the prince, lest it seemed as if she was showing off... but not to say anything, ever, would make it seem as if she was above her company.

Back home, she began to lay the work out on her large table. The pattern pieces had already been cut, from a mid-weight wool in dark green with a robust cotton lining in grey... a sensible choice, and it would wear well. It was not, however, particularly fine; a lady such as Araspen could have had a nicer mix of colours in the lining, or more fabric in the hood... this would be a very workaday, very serviceable cloak. There would be a lot of work in it, though, probably nearer to ten hours than five. But it was always nice to see a project through to completion.

Sliding the pieces of cloth to one side, she laid out the construction sheet provided. It was not the first such garment she had made, and she glanced over the instructions, selected the first two pieces of fabric, threaded her needle and began to sew.

She had been working for perhaps an hour when a tapping at her door interrupted. Calling out that she would be but a moment, she set aside her work and went to see. There, looking shy and awkward, was Araspen.

‘Forgive my intrusion... you are Merlinith?’

‘Yes, Mistress Araspen. May I help?’

‘It is about... I have come from the sewing rooms, the supervisor said you were working at home... it is about the travelling cloak...’

‘Would you care to step in, Mistress?’ Merlinith said.

Araspen dipped her head in an abrupt nod, and entered. Her eyes came to rest on the fabric Merlinith had set aside to answer the door.

‘I... oh, you have already started work...’ 

Merlinith gestured to a chair and Araspen sank gracefully down into it.

‘Is there something wrong? I have only just begun the work, but really, I am not sure the colours will suit you; it is too harsh a green for your skin...’

‘The cloak was intended as a gift. But it is no longer required... will it cause difficulty?’

‘I am sure it will not; good cloaks are always wanted... I have only put in an hour so far...’

‘I do not wish to sail!’ Araspen turned her face away and covered her mouth with her hand. ‘It is not that I fear it, for all that is what they will say...’

Merlinith leaned back a little to more closely look at her visitor. She was still now, and silent, her hands together in her lap once more, her eyes downcast and looking entirely unhappy.

‘I have a bottle of blackberry cordial in the larder; it is an excellent pressing, and I think now would be just the time for a little restorative.’

‘Oh, but...’

‘You sit quietly there for a moment and I will fetch us some, and then perhaps you might like to share what is troubling you,’ Merlinith said, heading for her larder to collect the cordial and some glasses. ‘Really, the fabric chosen is a very nice colour, but with your delicate skin tone, it will look hideous! Here we are.’

She set down the glasses and poured the cordial, a rich burgundy liquid that smelled of sweet autumn, and waited for Araspen to take a sip before herself drinking. The cordial left a thick purple residue on the side of the glass and tasted bountiful and juicy, its alcoholic content masked but the rich fruitiness of the flavours.

‘This is delicious,’ Araspen said. ‘It warms.’

‘Indeed, yes. My greater-Naneth’s recipe... she and my mother, they both sailed. I do not quite know how it is, that some of us fear it and some do not. But I would hope I can respect the concern of those who will not leave... you are not afraid, and I am not surprised, for it is known that your family have supplied many warriors to the king’s armies. I should think fear is not something you often know.’

‘What I fear, Mistress Merlinith...’ Araspen shook her head. ‘No, indeed, I must not trouble you with it... simply, then. The cloak was ordered in the expectation that I would sail with the giver of it. But I was not asked, not invited, it was assumed that... that the promise of a new cloak would be enough to secure my agreement. And now I find, when I look back, that other matters, too, have been assumed without consultation... I... sometimes, do you think, the choices we make are really made for us? How can we not realise...?’

‘If an ellon is used to command, perhaps,’ Merlinith began carefully, guessing the heart of Araspen’s distress was Esgaron, ‘he might not realise he needs to ask, and not tell. He might assume his will is your will... my own dear father was a little like that, at times, but my Naneth would not let him be. ‘You are my beloved,’ she would tell him. ‘But you are not my captain.’ And he would stare, and then laugh, and all would be well.’

‘I do not even know how it came about that I was betrothed to Esgaron,’ Araspen said. ‘It was... my naneth said, you like him? Well, I did not dislike him... and did I want elflings, one day? Would it not be something, to be married, with elflings? And a spouse who would be away on patrol might be easier, if it were not a love match, than one who was at home all the time and... I did not miss him while he was gone, as I had expected I should. In truth, I missed his horse more!’

She gave a faint smile which failed to be convincing.

‘So, now I am expected to sail, though Esgaron did not even ask if I would, but told me I had perhaps two weeks to make my arrangements! And then I learned...’

Araspen gulped down the rest of her cordial and Merlinith refilled the glasses. 

‘Sometimes, when warriors are away from home...’ Merlinith suggested, allowing her remark to rest unfinished.

‘Yes, indeed, and he has said, what he does while away need not concern me. But I heard... my sister said... there are tales, hushed whispers... and I cannot ask because I know there were deaths and if I were to find that one of the lost warriors and he... it would be too unpleasant...’

‘It would be more unpleasant, I suppose, if it were one of the living warriors...?’

‘Yes... but I said, how is it fair, when I do nothing but wait while you are away and he said good, if he had learned otherwise... but I felt I knew enough, and so I gave him back our betrothal token and said I would stay here, and be unmarried, and not sail, and now my naneth is furious with me. You see, I do not want a travelling cloak, or anything that might make it seem I will travel.’

‘My dear Araspen, an ellon who cannot even choose a flattering colour for you is not one you wish to spend forever with! No, you do right to follow your heart. I am unmarried – my ellon died – and although we were not fëa-mates, we were fond of each other and his loss pained me. But they say there is someone for everyone, and perhaps you simply have not found your someone yet. Still, I would say, it can be a pleasant life, to be unmarried.’

‘My Naneth cannot think of a greater shame for an elleth, to be unmarried.’

‘Oh, she is that kind of a Naneth? Well, my own was delighted at my betrothal and saddened when he died, but she did not press me, after, to seek again.’ Seeing Araspen had finished her drink, Merlinith refilled the glasses again. ‘She will grow to understand, in time.’

Araspen sighed and picked up her glass.

‘I do not think so,’ she sighed. ‘Naneth has already said, if I do not sail I will need to find somewhere else to live.’

‘Well, that is hardly a problem in these halls, is it? So many empty rooms as there are... it seems to me, Araspen, that your spirits are low and you need a little cheering up. My brother says there is to be a party in the common room off Corridor West Three tonight – I am invited... would you like to go?’

‘That is most kind. But... Esgaron will not be there, will he?’

‘I doubt he would be welcome. He has not been a supporter of my Govon lately...’

‘No, I have heard him speak in unflattering ways about your brother’s command strategies... forgive me for saying so...’

‘My dear, everyone has heard Esgaron speak unkindly of my brother! Govon assures me it is just a warrior thing, to do with how Esgaron was his commander once.’

Araspen drained her glass and made to rise.

‘Oh... goodness, that cordial! It was delicious, but it seems to have made my head swim...’

‘Just what you needed, too!’ Merlinith said, escorting her guest to the door. ‘So, I will wait here for you after the evening meal, and we will go to the party together, yes?’

‘Yes, my thanks, and... Merlinith, about the cloak? I... would guess that the ladies in the sewing room talk, a little...?’

Merlinith considered the many gems of juicy gossip she had picked up around the worktables.

‘On occasion,’ she admitted. ‘But then, you see, it is such a truly dreadful shade and you had not realised what had been chosen; none will doubt that! I will speak to Camaemes, our supervisor, and say you will perhaps come in to select a colour more flattering in a day or so, when you have had time to consider the matter. And that is all anyone need know, so do not worry.’

‘Thank you. Until this evening, then.’


	262. First Parting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Healers' Hall bids farewell to Flora and her gwinig...

‘What is it, now, Arveldir?’

‘Pardon the intrusion, my king, but since we spoke earlier there have been new developments... the barge bearing Flora’s mother will dock in an hour. I have taken the liberty of preparing a conveyance to bring the woman here... that is, she will be taken to the Healers’ Halls to meet her daughter.’

‘I see.’ Thranduil paused for a moment to consider. ‘Does Nestoril know?’

‘She is preparing for the visit, sire.’

‘How interesting! If my son has not yet been informed, he should be told.’

‘It shall be done, sire.’

‘Send word to the Healers’ Hall that I shall be there myself presently. I wish to see my sons.’

‘At once, my king.’

Arveldir bowed his way out leaving Thranduil frowning.

So it began.

First Flora would leave with her child, and he would have to find a way to remain tranquil through this first parting. Then, within two weeks, his sons would go...

And his friend. But that was another matter. 

He chose a coat that was not overly formal and left his study, making his way to the Healers’ hall where Gaelbes was behind the main desk to greet him.

‘My lord king, Healer Nestoril’s apologies, but she cannot make herself available to you presently, and I am to suggest if you wish to go in to your sons...’

‘Thank you. Gaelbes. I quite understand Healer Nestoril’s time is precious. I know the way.’

‘Sire... Flora is there...’

‘I do not mind.’

Flora’s light, sharp voice reached Thranduil long before he reached his sons’ room. She was talking quietly, a little stream of prattle in the common speech, and it was obvious she had the baby with her. Trying to remember how to not be intimidating, the king knocked lightly on the door.

‘May I come in, Flora?’

‘Oh, sir king! Yes, do. I am saying goodbye.’

Thranduil took the seat next to Tharmeduil’s bed and murmured a greeting as he stroked his son’s hand.

‘You will be welcome to return and visit, Flora, with your baby.’

‘But Iauron will not be here, or Nestoril. Although Canadion has said will I come to his wedding...’

‘Indeed? How kind of him!’

‘But I will not know how to get here.’

‘Do not worry about that; if you wish to come, we can arrange a carriage for you.’

‘My mother will be here soon. We will give her lunch, and then go back. I have things I should do, but I wanted to be here for a moment. To say goodbye. I did not know it would be hard. I did not know I would mind, so...’

‘Believe me, Flora, you are thinking far more about Iauron than he would ever think of you; I am sorry to say it, but he has been rather a disappointment to me.’

A knock on the door, and Gaelbes was there.

‘Your pardon, but Flora is wanted for a moment...’

‘Oh, yes...’ Flora rose to her feet, gathering the baby to her. ‘I will... sir king, would you like to hold the baby while I am gone?’

‘Yes, child. Pass him across.’

Thranduil took charge of the infant and settled him easily into the crook of his arm. The gwinig was awake, his eyes bright blue glints between the not-wide eyelids and he was wrapped in an abominable blanket crocheted in green and purple and red.

‘He has his waterproofings on beneath,’ Flora said. 

‘That is good to know.’

Once the girl had gone, Thranduil got to his feet, unwrapping the hideous blanket and casting it aside. 

‘You seem to have your mother’s hair colouring, penneth. Perhaps it will lighten as you grow, but then, perhaps dark hair will see you more at ease amongst your peers. You have the ear tips of elven kind, however. They are charming, and no doubt will cause much stir. Now, I have something to say to you, and I doubt you will remember it, but then, I am sure that you will never truly forget.’

Thranduil supported the baby’s head in one elegant hand and shifted his position to hold the baby in in front of himself so that he and the gwinig were eye to eye. 

‘You are Belegornor Iauronion,’ he said solemnly to the little one in Sindarin. ‘Whatever name you take in the future, whoever you become, that is who you started out as. Wherever your life takes you, your beginning was here, with my son, my line. Your birth was here; you are a child of the forest. You may always return here, your first home.’ He reached into his coat and found a long-discarded hair clasp in a pocket. With adjustment, it was just a good fit around Belegornor’s middle finger. ‘There. A gift for you from your Grandada. Remember who you were, child. It will help when you feel you do not know who you are.’

He smiled suddenly, resettling the child against his body as he turned towards the door where Nestoril was leaning against the frame.

‘Good morning, my king.’

‘Healer, good day to you.’

‘I apologise for not being free when you arrived; I was in the midst of one of Hanben’s demonstrations...’

‘Oh?’

‘Indeed. He has an appalling way with the sick, but he is wonderful at invention and we were testing a device to make the journey easier for your sons. But now, I am free.’

‘I hear Flora has been invited to Canadion’s... how did Flora put it...? his wedding?’

‘Yes, they have struck up quite a friendship. We are having a little farewell lunch for Flora once her mother arrives; would you care to join us? Legolas and Govon will be here, and Thiriston and Canadion, of course... Glorfindel...’

‘Ah, yes... the pretty Glorfindel... My thanks, but I am afraid I am busy today.’

Nestoril came to stand close and lift the gwinig’s tiny hand; Thranduil gave a small, self-conscious shrug.

‘I had hoped I could give more to my first acknowledged grandchild, but Flora does not like the thought of it. Will you help, Ness? Find a way for us to support Flora properly, so that she is not overwhelmed by it?’

‘I will try, but my king perhaps forgets I will not be present for long... still, I will speak to Flora and leave word with Gyril.’

‘My thanks. I fear I will lose sight of this little one and it troubles me more than I had thought it would...’

‘Well, sire, all I can suggest is that you look about you. Once your sons are safely sailed, and your people are used to the idea that there is but one prince, and you have had time to adjust, perhaps you will find another consort.’

‘I doubt it.’ Thranduil passed the baby across to Nestoril abruptly. ‘I cannot stay. Bid Flora well for me. Good day to you.’

Nestoril stared after the king, shaking her head. While she knew Thranduil had been devoted to the princes’ mother, she also knew their vows had not been forever vows.

The words and promised between Thranduil and his beloved had been so shaped as to quite strictly limit the extent of their union to within the boundaries of Middle Earth, to be utterly ended at the moment of death or sailing. Many had wondered why, and blamed Oropher for not approving Thranduil’s choice; after all, a Royal Elk Tamer did not, on the surface, sound exactly a fitting match for royalty. But the lady had gentled Thranduil, and tamed Oropher so that before long, he had been rather fond of his honour-daughter. 

Belegornor whimpered and Nestoril rocked him in her arms to sooth him, sighing as she considered her king’s current position. He had been alone for such a long time now! Perhaps one simply did not get over the death of one’s beloved, no matter how odd the wording of one’s vows. True, there had been no need for Thranduil to seek another consort, not politically, not with three healthy sons, but suddenly all that was changed... oh, there were by-blows, Nestoril knew; at one time it had seemed the forest was full of ellyth willing to enter into unwed motherhood with a prince, especially one as outwardly handsome as Iauron. But Thranduil had chosen not to acknowledge these offspring, partly to discourage others and partly because to do so would set a dangerous precedent. They were out there, somewhere, though; if she recalled aright, the youngest would already be into his thirtieth decade...

But the king was so obviously lonely; it was almost impossible to rule and to have friends amongst one’s subjects; the closest Thranduil got to friendship, she realised with a jolt, was his at-times fraught association with herself. And while she did not doubt the ability of any of her friends in the Healers’ Hall to run the place and to learn how to deal with the king, she did not somehow think any of them would be up to the challenge of befriending him.

Well, Thranduil’s marital situation was not her problem, the succession was not her problem. Her current task was to make sure Flora got home safely and that there were clear channels of communication set up between the Healers’ Hall and the girl’s home. And then she had a journey of her own to prepare for.

‘Come, little one, shall we take you back to your mother?’ she asked the baby softly. ‘You are starting on a big adventure today, and who knows where you will end up? And you are going to meet your Grandnaneth today. I hope she will be properly delighted with you.’

*

Flora’s Naneth arrived in due course, looking determined not to show her nervousness. The elves she had seen about Lake Town had always been remote and otherworldly creatures, different beyond difference, and although Flora’s rescue from ruffians had, of course, made her grateful to the three elves who had saved her, she would much rather have been grateful to the night watch. And then all the scandal of the pregnancy, made somehow respectable by the fact it was an elf and not a man involved, and she did not understand her neighbours sometimes... ‘An elf of the woods, Mistress Alys? Oh, well that’s all right then! They are not like us. How could she not fall?’

And, of course, the elves were beautiful, and fine, even the ones in warrior-garb were elegant, making Alys’ best clothes seem rough and herself uncouth. But the elves on the barge had been friendly, and pleasant, and the ones with the carriage polite and respectful, calling her ‘Mistress’, or ‘Mistress Alys’. It was confusing, though; the males didn’t have anything in the way of beards and the females didn’t seem to have much in the way of bosoms, and both male and female alike seemed to do the same work much of the time.

Still, the ones who had looked after Flora were very caring, and you could at least tell the difference here; the female healers had their hair covered with blue head scarves.

The baby... oh, he was a little jewel, a delight and a joy, and if his name seemed overlong, well, Belegornor would shorten to Bel, or contract to Lorn, and sound well enough. He was well grown and strong, and had a little cuff of some white metal on his finger.

‘It is a gift from his grandada,’ Flora said, having been told by Nestoril that it was the king’s own braid clasp. ‘He does not have to wear it all the time, but today, it is fitting.’

‘Have you heard from his father?’ Alys asked, it being her duty.

‘He is sick,’ Flora said sadly. ‘An illness he will not be well of here. They have to send him away and hope it will help, but he cannot come back. They are all sad about it.’

Alys sniffed, not quite sure if she believed it, but then, her daughter did not need the baby’s father, so it would be well.

There was a lunch party, with lots of people there, all wanting to wish her daughter well, it was touching, how much Flora was liked!

One woman – no, not woman, female elf, Nestoril... what an odd and lovely name – seemed really to hold Flora quite dear. Another elven lady who was dressed in warrior garb, just like the males, there with the one she was marrying, seemed to be specially friends. More flat-chested than most, the elf-girl – Canadion, her name was – had a sweet voice, and her betrothed was one of the least beautiful elves Alys had yet seen! His hair was wayward and rough, his nose was trying to go in several directions at once, and he had a brusque way with him. Still, he obviously adored his girl, and both of them adored Belegornor, so Alys could not help but like them. 

One of the guests was as beautiful as Canadion’s betrothed was not. This elf had long and shining hair, an almost white blond. Beautiful though he was, there was no doubt that he was male, even before he was introduced as ‘one of the princes’, and he was attended through the meal by a warrior who seemed to be some kind of bodyguard. The beautiful prince was welcoming and, more importantly, when he spoke to Flora, his voice was kind.

‘When does the barge leave to go back upriver?’ Alys asked as the meal ended, and was surprised and dismayed at the reply.

‘Two days,’ the bodyguard warrior said. ‘And so, we have arranged for a carriage. It will take you through the forest to the eastern edge, where you may cross the bridge below the Falls. It will then continue up the River Road. There is an inn where you may stay, and an escort with you to make all safe, and then onwards home.’

‘Of course, if you wish to stay here, with Flora, until the barge is ready, you would be most welcome,’ the prince said. ‘But we understand you want to take your new grandson home as quickly as possible?’

‘Yes. And I am not sure a barge would be good for the baby; the motion of the water...’

‘Then as soon as you are ready, and the carriage packed, you may go. You will be attended all the way home... Healer Nestoril has offered one of her assistants, Gyril, to accompany you.’

*

It was mid-afternoon before the party set out. 

Leaving through the main gates, the carriage was waved off by most of the healers and all the lunch guests. Nestoril sighed as the conveyance disappeared over the bridge and turned down one of the wider of the forest trails.

‘We will see Flora again,’ Canadion said reassuringly.

‘You will, perhaps,’ Ness said. ‘But I doubt I will. Well, I have other matters to attend to, so I must get back to my halls.’

She passed through the gates and halted as she saw a figure in the shadows.

‘My king?’

Thranduil stepped forward to the edge of the shadows. Light fell on his silver blond hair, glanced off his fine face. Whatever else, Nestoril thought, here was an achievement for her to take away with her; she had made him beautiful once more. She had restored him.

‘And so she is gone, and the babe with her.’

‘Indeed. Flora’s mother was impressed to have one of the princes attend the farewell lunch.’

‘My presence would have been overmuch.’

‘Well, sire, you are most imposing. Even when you try not to be. It was hard, to watch them go.’

‘Yes. But that is the way of things. Those who leave, depart. Those who remain must needs watch them go.’

Nestoril heard such a wealth of pain in Thranduil’s voice that it almost took her breath away and she sought for a way to alleviate some of his distress.

‘My king ...I find myself unwilling to be alone, just at present. Would you be able to spare the time to walk back with me to my study? I have a very pleasant amber wine, just the thing for an afternoon tonic?’

‘I can certainly spare you some time, Healer. An hour, perhaps.’

‘My king is most generous.’


	263. New Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merlinith and Araspen go to a party...

After returning Araspen’s unwanted cloak to the sewing room, Merlinith had spent rather a fun afternoon at the large worktable, stringing little glass beads onto fine thread and gossiping with the other ellyth gathered to work. Several were curious about the returned cloak, but Merlinith brushed it off.

‘Someone had chosen the colour without benefit of having Mistress Araspen present... it is not a flattering shade for her...’

‘Perhaps the cloak could be made up anyway?’ Camaemes suggested. ‘It has been paid for, and I agree, the colour would be much better on a warmer-toned complexion; I have been thinking, it would be nice to make a gift to Healer Nestoril, a mark of thanks for all her many kindnesses.’

‘What a wonderful idea,’ Merlinith said, keeping to herself the thought that Esgaron might not like to see the garment he had bought for his intended around another’s shoulders.

When Araspen arrived at Merlinith’s rooms that evening, she mentioned Camaemes’ idea and was surprised when Araspen gave what sounded very much like a giggle.

‘Well, the cloak was for sailing to the Undying Lands in, was it not? Let it sail, as long as it sails without me! You look very nice tonight, Merlinith!’

Merlinith smiled. 

‘Thank you. My brother has told me this is the least horrid of my dresses; he knows better than I do what suits me, sometimes. And you, that is a very nice gown... I’m sure we will impress tonight.’ 

Araspen sighed.

‘Although many of the guests will be with their sweethearts.’

‘And most of the rest not interested in ellyth...’

‘Well, at least there will be plenty to drink.’

‘With Lord Glorfindel there? We had best hurry, then.’

The party had barely started when they got there; Legolas and Govon, Glorfindel and Triwathon were there and Govon came forward with a huge smile to wrap Merlinith in a brotherly hug.

‘Hello! I am glad you are here... and Mistress Araspen, welcome... So, tonight we are celebrating new jobs and new opportunities... come, have a seat... Legolas, come and meet Araspen, Merlinith’s friend...’

‘I have some fine Dorwinion here; best sample it before Glorfindel finds out...’

The prince poured wine and sat and chatted while Govon greeted more guests; Canadion and Thiriston, Tinuon, Hador and his wife, others following, and soon the room was filled and lively conversations were striking up all around.

After an hour or so, Merlinith looked at the empty wine bottle with a sigh.

‘I will go and see if I can find another bottle.’

‘Oh, I will come with you! It is only polite, after all, to mingle...’

‘And you do not find it awkward? That is, Esgaron made no secret he did not hold my brother in high esteem...’

‘An error in judgement on his part! And Esgaron is nothing to me now; I made a point of sending word to him before I left. No doubt he will seek me this evening, and find me from home, and my Naneth unable to say where. And I am glad to be done with the pretence of it all!’

‘Well, that is good...’

Araspen laid an impulsive hand on Merlinith’s arm.

‘Thank you so much for inviting me tonight! I feel free for the first time in years!’

‘Good! I would ask my brother to introduce you to some of his handsome warrior friends... but it would be more than he ever did for me...! In fact, the first time Govon brought Legolas home, I thought perhaps it was to meet me...’

‘Well, it was,’ Govon said with a smile, inserting himself into the conversation. ‘Araspen, I wanted my sister’s approval of one who was suddenly more important to me than anything in my entire life up until that point. I had no idea she thought I was bringing her a present!’

‘It is not too late to make amends, my dear brother!’

‘True.’ Govon looked around. ‘Well, you know all my friends here tonight already. And those I do not know, how can I introduce you?’

‘Find us some more of that good Dorwinion instead, and I will forgive you.’

‘Go and sit down, and I will bring you some... or send it over with a good-looking ellon!’

True to his word, within a few minutes of taking their seats again, Merlinith and Araspen were joined by an ellon Araspen thought very good-looking indeed, waving a bottle of good red wine and smiling fit to light the room. 

‘Mistress Merlinith, I know you know me, but your friend maybe not? I am Canadion and I am the happiest ellon here tonight!’

‘You do indeed look joyous, Canadion! This is my friend Araspen.’

‘Mistress Araspen.’ Canadion poured wine for them both. ‘I am glad to meet you. I have seen you, of course...’

‘And I you; you won the Short Bow contest, very well done!’

‘Thank you. But that is not why I am joyous tonight; do you see that very striking ellon there? The one who is looking over? He is my fëa-mate and we are taking vows together soon!’

‘I am very happy for you,’ Araspen said. ‘He looks... as if one would be safe with him.’

‘Yes. That is not why, of course...’ Canadion gave a happy sigh. ‘Mistress Merlinith... I wondered... I know you are one of the finest seamstresses in the palace and your work often adorns the garments of our king...’

Merlinith smiled and sipped at her wine, nodding.

‘Well, can I ask...?’ he went on. ‘It is an impertinence, but I wondered if your sewing room had been given any orders for our ceremony? That is, the King’s Office is arranging all, which is wonderful, but I want to know... has anyone requested anything celebratory in pink and lilac?’

Merlinith laughed.

‘There are many sewing rooms in the palace! And if we were to get such an order, would you not like it to be a nice surprise?’

Canadion’s pretty mouth pouted.

‘I am concerned that Arwen’s bunting might not be included and it is so lovely,’ he said. ‘And since she will not be here for the ceremony, I would like for something of her to be...’

A shadow loomed over Canadion and a large hand squeezed his shoulder affectionately as Thiriston came to join his fëa-mate. 

‘Bunting again, is it, penneth? Is my friend bothering you?’

‘Not at all,’ Araspen said. ‘He brought us some very good wine. Would you like some?’

‘We have drinks over there, but it’s kind of you. Were you pestering Merlinith about her sewing room?’

‘No; well, it came up in conversation and...’

‘Come on. Before Glorfindel thinks we’ve abandoned our drinks and decides to put them to good use. Merlinith, please forgive my sweetheart; he has bunting on the brain...’

‘I have seen Arwen working on the bunting in question and it is, indeed, very fine... if that is where your tastes lie...’ Merlinith added quickly. ‘But I am sorry, Canadion. We have had no orders for anything pink and lilac today. But, as I have said, there are several other sewing rooms.’

‘Well, thank you for your time,’ Canadion said. ‘And I hope you will come to see us vowed? And Mistress Araspen, too.’

‘King’s Office is doing everything,’ Thiriston said. ‘I’ll make sure we tell them to invite you both.’

‘That is very kind! I would love to attend.’

‘Good place to meet new people, avowing ceremonies.’ Thiriston pulled Canadion to his feet and tucked him under his arm. ‘See you there, if not before.’

Left alone with her new friend, Araspen drank another glass or two of the good wine and leaned in.

‘May I ask something?’

‘Of course.’

Araspen waved her almost empty glass around the room. 

‘So, Glorfindel and Triwathon are lover and beloved. Canadion and Thiriston, they too... the advisor from Imladris and our own king’s counsellor... and your brother and the prince.’

‘Yes, indeed. It is no wonder some worry about the birth-rate...’

‘And you said before, when your Govon brought Legolas home, you thought it was to meet you... how did you feel? Did you mind when you realised that your brother and the prince were more than friends only?’

‘I do not know that I thought it was anything I ought to mind about; it was their choice...’ Merlinith thought for a moment. ‘The thing is... you will think me very silly, perhaps, that I did not realise... Govon had been ill, you see, spider bit in the forest, and he came out of the healers’ hall talking about the lovely creature who had tended him... I assumed he meant Gyril or Gaelbes perhaps, not one who had cared for him on the guard flet... well, I was surprised when I did find out, I had thought them friends only. Sometimes after spending the evening with us, rather than wake up the royal wing going home, the prince would stay in the spare bed in Govon’s room... but until the day Govon said he was taking vows and needed help making a token, I had never dreamed...’

Araspen found there was still some wine left in the bottle, and conscientiously shared it between their two glasses. Merlinith smiled and swept her glass towards her brother. Legolas had an arm around his shoulders, and the two were looking deeply into each other’s eyes and singing. Had it been a love ballad rather than a slightly ribald drinking song it would have been sweeter, but still it made a pretty picture.

‘But to see him so happy, so loving and loved... why should I mind, who could mind?’

‘You do not think it... wrong, then?’

‘They say the fëa wants what the fëa wants; I just hope they will always be so happy. How could such tenderness be wrong, even if it is between males?’

‘And what do you think about tenderness between females?’ Araspen asked softly.

‘I do not know that I have ever thought about that sort of tenderness between females.’

‘Perhaps you should,’ Araspen said, and leaned in to place a swift, scared kiss on Merlinith’s lips.

Merlinith drew a shocked breath and leaned away to look at her new friend with wondering eyes.

‘Yes, perhaps I should,’ she said, and kissed her back.


	264. Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the party, Merlinith is a little confused...

Merlinith woke with a misty sigh. It must have been quite a party, for although she had only the vaguest of recollections at present, she actually felt rather fine. More relaxed and at ease, in fact, than she had for quite some considerable time.

Opening slow eyes, she stretched, elongating her whole body right down to her toes.

Except...

Oh, that couldn't be right! Her foot was outside of the covers, and while Merlinith had felt the stretch in her feet, this foot hadn't moved.

She tried again, once more aware of the sensation but with no corresponding movement.

'Oh, no!' she exclaimed in dismay. 'Whatever is wrong with my toes?'

'Why, not a thing, dearest,' a light and somewhat groggy voice said. 'You have beautiful toes.'

'But they do not move...'

A sigh. Then:

'That is because those are my toes, 'Linnith.'

'Oh. Then that s all right, then.'

Except...

The last of Merlinith's Dorwinion-induced fog finally evaporated in the harsh brightness of returning memory and she gasped and sat up in bed, clutching the sheets in shock and shyness.

'A...araspen!'

'Yes, indeed. Or, as you called me last night, sweet ArasPenneth...'

'I am not quite sure that was appropriate of me...'

'No indeed, we are almost of an age.'

‘That was not quite what I meant... I... Oh, I am very sorry, but I am terribly confused...! Do forgive me, and I mean no offence, for you are very pretty...’ 

Merlinith twisted her upper body to look at her companion. Araspen was lying on her side, her head propped up in one hand and waves of satin-silk hair in deep, rich browns cascading down across the creamy whiteness of her luminous skin. Sleepy brown eyes with green glints smiled, gently compassionate.

‘...very pretty indeed!’ Merlinith continued with a gasp and a shiver.

‘Thank you, my dearest. I love your hair, the colour is so very beautiful... like pale honey in autumn, if that makes sense.’

‘You are most kind, but... oh, Araspen! None of this makes sense!’

‘Hush, hush!’ Araspen pushed herself up and moved closer to put a consoling arm around her friend. ‘Do not be distressed! You spoke last evening of not having thought about tenderness between ellyth; so, now you know a little more, and if it is not for you...’

Araspen held her breath for two heartbeats, for three. Merlinith had allowed the comforting arm, her head now against Araspen’s neck. She swallowed before she could continue.

‘...if such tenderness – affection – is not for you, Merlinith, then, all anyone knows is that I was worried about going home lest Esgaron and my mother be waiting for me with a scold, and you so kindly offered me sanctuary. You have a spare room... that we did not use it need concern no-one else...’

‘But... that is not... I cannot... it is not that it is not for me, it is only that I did not know I was... that sort of an elleth... in fact, I do not know what sort of an elleth that sort of elleth may be and... oh, dear...!’

Araspen gave Merlinith a gentle and consoling squeeze.

‘Well, I think you might feel better after some tea... do you have a servant on this corridor to send to the kitchens?’

‘N... no. We look after ourselves. The servant attends only the shared and public areas in this wing.’

There was a quiet self-sufficiency to the statement that made Araspen raise an eyebrow. On her wing of the palace, there was a servant for every three homes, there to bring meals from the kitchens and do the cleaning and remove and return the laundry; it was easy to forget that others were not so pampered.

‘Where are the tea things, then?’ she asked, determined not to seem spoilt.

‘Oh, no, let me; you are my guest!’

‘Is that what I am?’ Araspen said wryly as Merlinith extricated herself from the bed and into a dressing robe with the minimum of flesh showing.

Merlinith looked back at her as she tied the wrap around her body. Araspen was obviously more used to these difficult situations than Merlinith, for she seemed unconcerned that the bedding was not doing its job of keeping her warm. Or properly covered.

‘Yes, you are my guest,’ she said slowly, making sure she looked Araspen in the eyes. ‘But you are also my awakener, my... my friend, I hope, although I must seem terribly...’

A shake of Araspen’s head made her fall silent.

‘I hope we may still be friends,’ Araspen said. 

‘It is all just such a surprise. Shock, really...’ Merlinith padded out of the bedroom to encourage the embers of the fire to life and swing her little kettle over the flames. ‘Perhaps... perhaps we could talk some more. Over tea.’

‘That sounds like a very good idea.’

*

‘You have two sisters, I think?’ Merlinith asked as she poured soothing herbal tea into fine cups. It was an easier topic than the surprising wealth of affection possible between consenting ellyth, and she seized on it for a moment’s respite from new, troubling, exciting concepts. ‘Both married and from home?’

‘Yes, indeed, but their rooms are near my mother’s. I also have a married brother, living in one of the outlying settlements. My father lives there too, he has... retired from palace life. He says he enjoys the simplicity of life in a talan. My mother shudders when he says that.’ Araspen tilted her head, helped herself to toast from the stack Merlinith had made, and took a dainty bite before continuing. ‘She is like us.’

‘Us?’

‘Well, like me,’ Araspen conceded with a twitch of the lips. ‘And potentially like you, when your fëa has made up its mind.’

Merlinith settled down again. The notion that this unexpected yearning towards Araspen was the fault of her fëa was somehow rather comforting. After all, did they not say, the fëa wants what the fëa wants?

‘What I meant was, it is difficult. I do not doubt that males love their offspring dearly, and yearn to become parents, but it seems to me that females yearn more; it is our bodies which are made for childbirth, it is a blessing of Eru Ilúvatar that here is something just for us. But without a male, we are left barren. My mother married so that she could have elflings, and a nice suite of rooms near her friends. I do not know if she ever indulged in her true yearnings; she did not say so much to me. But she advised marriage as a good thing; at least there would be children, and it was what she had done.’

‘How very sad!’ Merlinith said, her eyes wide.

‘My other siblings are... I will not say, normal, because that would make me not normal, and yet I there is nothing wrong with me, I am as Eru intended... but they all married for love. Perhaps that is why my Naneth so wanted my marriage to Esgaron, because it was what she had done. I do not know whether she will be pleased that I am brave enough to reject marriage now, or angry that I have the courage she did not... but it is certain, I cannot marry Esgaron, or any male. Not now.’

‘But one never hears of female pairings...’

‘Around the palace, no, one does not. But until recently, who had heard of male pairings? Oh, Thiriston and Canadion, yes, but they were always looked on as an oddity. And suddenly, they are everywhere!’

Merlinith laughed.

‘And why do I feel it is my brother’s fault? He and his prince!’

‘Well, it is surely only good, if it helps people feel more free.’

‘Do you feel free, Araspen?’

‘Not before last night, no. Those few affairs I have had quickly faltered as my friends were persuaded into marriage. But to finally feel there might be the chance to live out the rest of my life with one special person, and that one be of my fëa’s choosing... that is freedom, perhaps.’

Araspen drank the last of her tea and sighed. That was two huge hints she had dropped, and Merlinith had not seemed to notice. But then, perhaps it was simply that all this was new, and no doubt just a little bit scary. At least Merlinith was talking, and listening, and had not suggested she leave...

‘Well, my Naneth will be livid with me for rejecting Esgaron and furious with me for staying out all night. I had better go and placate her, if I can.’

‘Oh.’ Merlinith looked down at her plate, not daring to lift her eyes. ‘I had wondered if you might like to spend the day with me. Just to see if... if we could get on together. I remember you told me your Naneth had said, if you do not go with Esgaron you would need another home and, as is known, now Govon has moved out, I have a spare chamber...’

‘Merlinith, that is so sweet of you!’

‘And...’ Merlinith went on, hesitant. ‘As you said before, about the spare bedroom... none need know...’ Her voice fell to a whisper, ‘if you do not use it...’

Araspen reached out to grasp Merlinith’s hand.

‘And brave. After so recently discovering...’

‘Suspecting,’ Merlinith corrected, causing Araspen to laugh.

‘Suspecting, then. To make such an offer, it is kind, and sweet, and brave, and I would very much like to spend the day with you. But I must speak with my mother... is it too much to ask...? You are known for being sensible and kind and if you were to come with me...?’

‘Sensible! That is hardly an accolade!’

‘And kind,’ Araspen said. ‘They neglect to mention your lovely hair and how your laugh lifts the heart.’

‘Well, I will gladly come with you,’ Merlinith said. ‘But then I must seek out my brother... I seem to remember some things happening at the party which I need to explain to him...’

‘I remember those things too,’ Araspen said with a grin. ‘You may not have noticed – you seemed a little overwhelmed... but Lord Glorfindel sprayed honey beer all down his front and his friend had to take him home.’

‘Oh no! If Glorfindel saw us kissing, it will be all over the palace by now... or, at least, by noon, him not being an early riser!’ Merlinith shrugged with determined dignity. ‘I suppose the only thing left to do is to make it known that I do not mind what stories are told,’ she said. 

‘Of course,’ Araspen said. ‘Very sensible!’


	265. Later in the Morning AFter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merlinith is still confused, and Triwathon loses some towels...

As Araspen had noted, Glorfindel had, indeed, sprayed himself with beer at the unexpected sight of Merlinith finding consolation after centuries of disappointment in the male population.

After a grin and a silent cheer he had presented his wet front to Triwathon's notice.

'Bit of spillage here, my lovely! Care to take me home and sponge me down?'

Triwathon laughed.

'Now, there’s an enticing offer, indeed! I hope you did not waste too much?'

'We can always pickup another bottle on the way out... I just hope our good Commander won’t be too shocked...’

‘At us leaving early? You can always pretend to be drunk again...’

‘No, my lovely... with Merlinith’s... situation.’ Ignoring his wet and sticky front for the moment, Glorfindel made his way over towards Legolas and his fëa-mate. ‘Oh, Govon? Hey, New Commander there! Did you know about your sister and her guest?’

‘That she was bringing Araspen? No, I did not... although I do not think Araspen knows there is any reason why it is awkward for Tri...’

Legolas grinned and put his hands on Govon’s shoulders, turning him towards the corner of the room where Merlinith and Araspen were  
becoming better acquainted.

‘Sweet Eru! What is my sister doing?’

‘Do you really need telling?’

‘No, I mean...’ Govon shook his head. ‘I had no idea...’

‘From the look of her, I think it has come as quite a shock to Merlinith, also.’

‘And after all those lectures to us about the birth rate!’ Govon shook his head. ‘Well, this will make an interesting topic of conversation when she next comes to supper, will it not?’

The Balrog-slayer laughed.

‘You won’t be too hard on her, I hope?’

‘I? Of course not! I will have to tease her, just a little, of course; she might think I mind, otherwise... but why should I mind?’

‘Some might,’ Glorfindel shrugged. ‘I have a feeling Esgaron might not be best pleased...’

‘Well, he is sailing,’ Legolas put in. ‘It is an exciting retirement opportunity...’

‘Oh, do not!’ Glorfindel said, laughing. ‘His face as he said it! It serves him right, of course, all the unpleasantness he caused...’

‘But do you not see?’ Triwathon put in. ‘Commander, you kept saying, it was not just unpleasantness; Esgaron has really been damaged by the losses of his warriors. It is not something he can be healed of here, perhaps – it is not really a sickness – but in the Undying Lands, maybe he will be... rebalanced.’

Glorfindel stared at his friend, gaping. 

‘Are you trying to tell me that after going to the trouble of setting all this up, Thranduil isn’t doing it to punish Esgaron but to help him?’

‘Our king is not vindictive. It solves many problems if Esgaron sails; it shows Thranduil’s support for Govon, indicates one cannot behave so badly with impunity, reiterates his absolute power over all of us and yet could lead to Esgaron’s restoration. Esgaron would never seek help or ask for it, or, indeed, admit anything was wrong. Our king is truly inspired, truly...’

‘Manipulative?’

‘Magnificent,’ Triwathon corrected. ‘Come. Let me get you out of those wet things, they are starting to make you talk politics and that will never do.’ 

‘Ooh, lovely!’ Glorfindel murmured. ‘If that’s what talking politics will get me, what do you think of the current situation between the inhabitants of Eriador and...?’

‘Enough!’ Triwathon laughed. ‘Goodnight, Legolas, Govon. My respects to your sister... I won’t interrupt her to make our farewells. Are you ready, iphant-nin?’

Glorfindel waggled a fresh bottle of honey beer and grinned.

‘For anything,’ he said.

*

And everything.

Glorfindel grinned as he came awake, remembering exactly to what use that honey beer had been put. Oh, Triwathon...!

The grin faded somewhat as an unpleasant reality began to filter back in... a couple of weeks, no more than that, remained until Glorfindel left, and Triwathon would be staying behind. But leadership training... well-deserved, and the thought that Triwathon would get a promotion off the back of it was some comfort; he would be kept busy while Glorfindel was away, the time would rush past...

He was going to come back. He was. Even if Arwen changed her mind at the last minute, he was going no further than the ship and, if he could get away with it, only as far as Lothlórien; Arwen had kin there, after all; let Grandma Galadriel take charge, why not? It would make his journey back quicker.

He could hear Triwathon moving around the room and trying to be quiet, but seemingly getting more and more frustrated about something, the sounds of drawers being opened and closed, soft muttering...

‘Awake over here, penneth-nin! What is the matter?’

The bed dipped as Triwathon lowered himself onto it. Glorfindel kept his eyes closed and moistened his lips, hoping for a kiss. But although a hand sought his, there was no meeting of lips, just a sigh.

‘Something up, Triwathon?’

‘A small thing only. I was sure I had brought a towel from my rooms last time I joined you here, and now it is gone...’

‘Wretched laundresses!’

‘No, for I put it away in the drawer you set aside for me. Now it is gone.’

Glorfindel opened lazy eyes and used his free hand to brush Triwathon’s hair over his shoulders. His friend was naked, of course, ready for his bath, his skin delightfully soft, his lean body enticing, always.

‘So beautiful...’ he murmured. ‘Well, use one of mine. Give me five minutes and I’ll join you. Or give me a kiss and you can join me...’

Triwathon smiled and slid into the bed.

‘It is not that I lack the means of drying myself so much as... that is the third towel of mine to go missing! And the quality is much poorer than that of the guest linens, so why do not they go missing also?’

‘Talk about it later,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Kiss now.’

Allowing himself to be distracted, Triwathon bestowed the requested kiss, and soon was too busy with delightful sensations to worry about such mundane things as towels.

But an hour later, as he finally dragged a now glowing and sticky Balrog-slayer to the bathing pool and transformed him into a clean and wet and glowing Balrog-slayer, the thought returned again when Glorfindel wrapped him up in one of the large and soft towels provided to the room.

‘...it is not that I mind,’ Triwathon said. ‘But that I wonder what I have done with the towels I brought here... have I misplaced them, why can I not remember? If I cannot remember, then is that a bad sign? Am I forgetful? Careless? If so, then will that mean I am not officer-material after all? How can I keep track of even two warriors if I cannot keep track of a simple towel?’

Glorfindel sighed and grabbed hold of the towel in which Triwathon was wrapped, dragging him out of the bathing room and into the bedroom where he pointed at his saddlebags, lurking under the chest of drawers.

‘Sorry, I’d no idea it would matter so much... you’re not forgetful or careless, not at all, it’s me... I... I’ve been stealing your towels...’

‘What?’

Glorfindel shrugged and dragged the saddlebags out, opening one to show an edge of tatty towelling.

‘To take with me. So I had something of you with me, something... well, a towel is less obviously a sentimental item than a stolen braid clasp... and I can wrap it around me without anyone smirking... and none of your clothes would fit me, anyway...’

Triwathon shook his head, hunkering down into a crouch to verify those were, indeed, his towels.

‘You’re getting sentimental over me?’

‘What can I say? I’m very tender-hearted and you are very beautiful...’

The younger warrior laughed suddenly.

‘By all means, take my scruffy towels with you; I hope they will bring you comfort. But I want something of yours in return, Laurefindil-nin; a shirt would be nice. It will be too big for me, but in the day I will be busy; it is at night I will miss you most and something of yours then, yes...’

‘Gladly... and I will come back.’

‘Yes, you will.’ Triwathon said it with utter certainty. ‘Now, come. We need to dress, to eat, and then I must head for the practice grounds.’

‘But I may only be here for another ten days; we should not waste any time...’

‘Come with me, then, and cheer me on from the sidelines. The sooner I get my practice over with, the sooner I am yours, again.’

*

‘What plans have you for today, melleth?’ Legolas asked Govon.

‘Well, now your morning meeting is over, I had better take a walk across to the barracks, and see if Rawon has any more news for me. Perhaps take an hour on the practice field; if you father is serious about bringing twin-blades back, I might find someone to work with, Bregon or Tinuon... unless you want to learn?’

Legolas shook his head swiftly.

‘Oh, no, that was always Adar’s speciality! None of us brothers ever dared ask to learn... I like my twin knives best if I need both hands full of blades. I’ll walk across with you and then call in at the Healers’ Halls to see how my brothers are.’

‘W...’ Govon shook his head. ‘I was about to say, will you look in on Flora? I cannot quite believe she has left.’

‘No, I understand. It is strange; I am glad she has gone; better for her, better for the gwinig, better for us... but it will be strange without her. Adar might mind more than he admits, too.’

‘It will be hard for him, just the first of many partings. Not that you are not parting with Iauron and Tharmeduil too, of course...’

‘It is different; and before you worry that I will feel it, that he will miss my brothers while I am still here, I will not mind. However many of us there might be, he would still feel the loss of two, it does not mean he does not value the one son he will have left... but yes, it will be harder for him than me.’

‘Lunch on the greensward, after practice? Let’s put a nice memory back in that place, shall we?’

‘A good thought. Are you ready?’

Govon nodded, and together they left their rooms, walking easily hand in hand through the palace, laughing and talking lightly, and those who saw them pass smiled to see their prince happy.

*

Merlinith was not usually given to fretting, but the morning had been difficult. After she and Araspen had talked for a little more, her guest had risen to her feet.

‘I must go and speak to my mother; she will wonder where I stayed last night. Do not fear, I will not tell her all the details,’ Araspen murmured. ‘It is not her business.’

Privately, Merlinith let out a relieved breath.

‘I could come with you?’ she suggested, half-hoping her offer would be rejected.

‘Perhaps not. The subject of Esgaron is bound to arise, and my mother will not show to her best advantage. I would hope that when you do meet, you will be able to like her.’

‘Do not worry,’ Merlinith said. ‘I am predisposed to like everybody until given cause to think otherwise.’

And so she had been alone with her thoughts and her sewing for the best part of an hour. Time to think, of course, to reflect... was it really possible that she had lived all these years and not realised that the reason none of the males she had met had ever impressed her was, simply, because she was not predisposed to be impressed by them?

She cast her mind back briefly to the ellon she had been betrothed to... she had liked him, she supposed, but had been happy to wait until after he returned from battle before making any formal declarations... and though sorry for his death, that he had not returned, she had been relieved not to have to contemplate marriage. 

Looking after Govon had always been enough for her and, indeed, she had never been as fond of any ellon as she was of her brother... but even then, had been glad to see him out from under her feet on his flet duty, and had waved him off to his new living arrangements quite happily.

Oh, it was all so confusing! Could two females live together like two males could? Merlinith tried, but she could not think of any such couples... 

Of course, there were plenty of ellyn who shared homes, just for practical reasons... her friend Gwilwilithil had lately set up home with another elleth, to be nearer to the kitchens where she worked, although it was not so much nearer... other instances came to mind... well, when one had a spare bedroom, it made sense to combine living expenses, and if one lived alone, company was probably welcome. A compatible companion, a spare room...

Spare room.

The very explanation Araspen has suggested giving her mother as to why she had stayed at Merlinith’s...

Was it possible? Could it be that those other ellyn who shared homes...?

Even Gwilwilithil?

But... Gwil had not looked like that sort of a person... except, Merlinith reasoned, neither did she... perhaps people just looked like people... Oh dear. There was so much to get used to, so many thoughts she had previously considered fair and appropriate now seemed to her to be harsh and judgemental... it was never easy to throw off prejudices, especially when you didn’t realise you had them, but Merlinith had always wanted to be, well, nice to everyone.

A tapping at her door interrupted her self-recriminations, and she set aside her work, glad to see Araspen there.

Well, she thought she was glad. No, she knew she was glad but she was glad that she was glad, but... She was still a little bewildered by the suddenness of this, and was relieved that Araspen came in without expecting to be hugged and kissed.

‘How was your mother?’ Merlinith asked, showing with words that she cared, even if the gestures seemed awkward. ‘Would you care for some tea?’

‘Thank you... Ai... how was my mother? Unhappy, unkind, unreasonable... she does not see, if you please, why I will not bond with Esgaron and then let him sail and simply stay here without him. I pointed out that it would make it impossible for me to bond with anyone else unless we said ‘until we sailed or death parted us’, but as he’s on the point of sailing, that would be ridiculous! I think it is just because she claims it was her plan to bring us together, and so cannot bear to let go of the idea...I was spared Esgaron himself, at least, Mother said he had been there last evening and again early this morning – she was at pains to tell me where he could be found, so at least I know where to avoid today...’

Merlinith heard all this while busy with the kettle, but on hearing the distress in Araspen’s voice came back to sit next to her and pat her hand consolingly.

‘There, my dear, do not worry about your Naneth!’ she said. ‘Other naneths are unkind, too! Think about Cullasbes, and Canadion... I know it is not quite the same, but he and his Thiriston have been together a decade now, and Cullasbes still is trying to find poor Canadion a wife! Why, she saw him holding the peredhel gwinig one day, and was over like a shot, trying to find out if there was a chance the gwinig’s mother might want to marry him...’

‘You... you know something about the gwinig...?’

‘Indeed I do,’ Merlinith said, finding it the most natural thing in the world to put her arm around Araspen’s shoulders to comfort her and deciding that, since Flora was gone, there would be no harm in a little bit explanation. ‘Although the little mite and its mother are gone home, now...’

*

‘Thank you, my fair elf,’ Govon leaned forward to kiss his fëa-mate lightly. ‘This is a much happier memory than last time we were here.’ 

He sighed and rolled onto his back on the greensward. The sun had warmed the slope, and the sweet smell of crushed grass rose around him. Legolas slid his hands beneath Govon’s head and raised him, moving so that his fëa-mate’s head was now in his lap. He smoothed out Govon’s hair, stroking the strands into place and smiled at the look of contentment in his friend captain’s face. 

Across the expanse of green, Legolas could see Glorfindel and Triwathon approaching, the Balrog-slayer swinging a basket.

‘It looks as if, once more, other people have decided this is a good place for lunch, friend captain.’

‘Hmm?’ Govon opened his eyes and wriggled his shoulders comfortable against Legolas’ supporting thigh. ‘Let them come. I am content.’

‘Guess what?’ Glorfindel began, setting down the basket at his feet. ‘Triwathon’s going to be teaching Long Bow for a few weeks. Until his leadership training starts, at least. Keep him out of mischief until I get back.’

‘Had a meeting with Rawon this morning,’ Govon said lazily. ‘Our king’s announcement took him by surprise, too. He is, of course, delighted at the idea of reforming almost all his companies just to absorb Esgaron’s command, and now there’s requests for new uniform designs for the Dragon Guards, but nobody knows who is to be in which company and all the king will say is there will be a meeting shortly to discuss it... so everyone is rushing to practice because they all want to be in the Dragon Guards...’

‘Yes; there are already twice as many signed up for Long Bow tuition than is usual for a group... and teaching another how...’ Triwathon shook his head. ‘I hardly know where to begin!’

‘Well, you taught me some new things,’ Glorfindel said with a grin, draping his arm around Triwathon’s neck.

‘But I am not sure you would want me showing those techniques to a dozen warriors all at once, would you, iphant-nin?’

Legolas smiled at Glorfindel’s grin. 

‘Were you intending to join us?’ he said.

‘Would love to,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Really, really would... mostly because the surprising Merlinith is headed this way and it’s going to be interesting talking to her today... but for the same reason, we had better make ourselves scarce. There’s a nice spot over there where we can sit down and not encroach too much...’

By the time Merlinith arrived, Govon had sat himself up, and greeted his sister with a smile and an offer of wine.

‘It’s not the best Dorwinion,’ he said. ‘But it’s a pleasant vintage for a lunchtime drink.’

‘Oh, do not talk to me about the Dorwinion,’ Merlinith said with wary eyes. ‘It is the most misleading drink... now, Govon, I wanted to ask you, do you still have that set of keys to our rooms?’

‘I do... I’ve been meaning to offer them back to you...’ Govon felt about his person and found a small bunch of keys with the family quarters’ tag on it. ‘Here. I think I’ve cleared all my stuff out now?’

‘You have indeed...’ Merlinith took the keys, and the wine, and seated herself near her brother. ‘You will be wondering why I need them...’

‘Not at all,’ Govon said kindly.

‘Well, you see, I cannot help but think my scolding Commander Esgaron drew the king’s attention to his appalling behaviour, and that has led to him being offered the chance to sail, and now his betrothed...’

‘Araspen,’ Govon supplied helpfully.

‘Yes, she... does not want to sail and so they are unbetrothed only her Naneth blames her and so, since she has nowhere to go and I... now your old room is free...’

‘You do not have to explain anything,’ Govon said. ‘I do not care what you do with my old room, but if you take my advice, you will keep it for your sewing and move Araspen in with you...’

He broke off as Legolas seemed to choke on his wine and Merlinith flushed.

‘Govon, you are my dear brother and I... That is, you are...’

‘Merlinith, I do not care what you do or with whom you do it,’ Govon said, his eyes solemn. ‘As long as you are happy, that is all that matters. But there is one thing I feel I should say to you, as your loving and caring brother...’

‘All right,’ Merlinith whispered. ‘What?’

‘My dearest sister... whatever are we going to do about the birth rate?’


	266. Too Many People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the day of departure rapidly approaches...

As the days advanced towards her departure, the only way Nestoril could cope with all that lay before her had been to consider herself as several different persons.

So there was Senior Healer Nestoril, who had been organising her assistant and junior healers, putting a new heirarchy into place so that everyone knew who to go to for what kind of guidance... it was only as she was doing this, explaining Gaelbes would be the new formal Senior Healer, and so be the new public face of the Healers Hall , but that Gyril and Maereth were equal to her in rank and could be consulted on the same topics by all the juniors and assistants, that she realised just how much work she had actually done. Now splitting responsibilities between three healers, she wondered whether it had actually been necessary for her to be the royal liaison, the chief apothecary, the lead herbalist and still take her turn on the duty desk. She considered whether she could have left the discussions with the palace laundries to Maereth sooner, or if she ought to have made more use of Gyril’s organisational skills to put her in charge of correspondence. She saw too late that she had borne many burdens which could have been shared out a little more, had she taken a moment to consider it.

As well as Senior Healer Nestoril, and all the various roles that in itself entailed, she was also Travelling Healer Nestoril, sitting in on numerous meetings with various persons to discuss different aspects of the journey.

She was on her way to one of those meetings now, taking her out of her comfortable calm halls and into the brisk and lively atmosphere of the training grounds and the leather-and-metal smell of Over-Captain Rawon’s office.

‘Good day to you, Healer,’ Rawon said politely. ‘Please be seated; we are only waiting for Esgaron.’

‘Thank you.’ She found a chair between Arwen and Healer Hanben and settled herself. ‘Healer Feril’s apologies, but she is overseeing visits to the princes this morning; I will pass on any information necessary to her.’

Rawon nodded and began shuffling papers, a sign he did not intend to start up a conversation, and Nestoril found herself obliged to listen to Arwen instead, full of chatter about the things she was making as parting gifts for her various friends... Parting gifts! Nodding as Arwen spoke brightly of how well pink and lilac looked at weddings, Ness wondered that she could talk so lightly of leaving Middle Earth, as if she had merely been a guest for a weekend and was thanking her host with crocheted cushion covers... well, maybe it was because Arwen didn’t have anyone here to whom she was especially close; she was not saying farewell to someone she loved...

And there was that other Nestoril clamouring for attention, Say-farewell-graciously-Ness, the one who had to find a way through all the partings without seeming sad about it.

A rapping on the door and the bright and smiling face of Lord Glorfindel, dressed in his bright blue kilt lifted her mood considerably.

‘Over-captain, Lord Arveldir suggested that I might benefit from sitting in, if that’s all right with you? I see my charge has already arrived...’

‘Yes, indeed, Glorfindel. In fact, as you are here, I see no need for Lady Arwen to waste her time...’

‘Oh, but I find these things so interesting!’ Arwen said, breaking off in a discussion of how bright colours always made one feel cheerful. ‘And besides, I’m company for Nestoril!’

Glorfindel found a seat at the back and sat, a looming, golden presence enlivening the sombre air of the barracks office; certainly the exuberant hue of his kilt had made Ness feel more cheerful, she admitted to herself.

Esgaron arrived and flung himself onto a chair, and the meeting began. 

Mostly, it was things Ness didn’t need to know; supply chain, support from guards in talain along the route of the river, boats and outriders, the possibility of using the horses to tow the boats when the current was strong, estimated journey times...

‘One question,’ Rawon said, moving two papers to the fore and examining them both. ‘It’s obvious to me there are two princes, so I can understand the need for two healers... but three?’

‘Healer Hanben intends only coming with us part of the way,’ Nestoril said. ‘Since his invention has made it possible to convert the boats to land use and then back again.’

‘My plan is to see the conveyances across the portage between the Forest River and installed and functioning on the Langflood. Then I will return,’ Hanben said with a shrug.

‘But if you didn’t go at all, then it would save many days’ supplies...’

‘Oh, come, a backpack full of lembas and a sleeping roll!’ Hanben protested. ‘Which I can carry for myself anyway!’

‘And your horse? And will you return alone from the river or would you need an escort of your own?’ Rawon asked. 

‘But Healer Nestoril is relying upon my expertise! She said so!’

Caught in crossfire, with both Rawon and Hanben looking to her for comment, she considered swiftly. The fact was that once the portage was accomplished, it did not matter if Hanben’s paddling wheel assembly worked; the current would be with them and constant all the way down to the Silverlode...

But now she must be Diplomat Nestoril, too...

‘It is true, Healer Hanben is an undoubted genius with invention,’ she said. ‘And if something were to go wrong with the device, he would find a solution where none other could. But the fact is, dear friend Hanben, that your recent innovations have so improved your device as to make it easy enough for the weakest of body and least clever of mind to correct any problems; your current models are so reliable that I am certain we will encounter no difficulties,’ she said. ‘Besides, I have had word that the King’s Office is interested in some of your other inventions, and if you were from home, it would be months, perhaps, before you could...’

‘The King’s Office?’ Hanben demanded, not waiting for her to finish. ‘Which ideas? When were you going to tell me? Is it the new writing system? Or the cornering wheels device? Or...?’

‘I had the message just this morning,’ Nestoril said. ‘And I did seek you, but you had already left to come here. I do not know exactly what has caught the attention of the King’s Office, but I understand several of your concepts are of interest and a new project. Does this change things?’

‘It does, it does indeed... you know I am not one to disport myself abroad, Healer... but the paddling assembly...’

‘Perhaps you could show one of the escort how it works? Or Lord Glorfindel, he likes new ideas?’

‘Well... I could... possibly... see you set off, ride with you for the first half day... if things will go awry, it will either be immediately or once you leave the Forest River... and as long as the boats are sound...’

‘I take it my healer has a few days to think about it?’ Nestoril asked.

‘Let me know by tomorrow,’ Rawon said. ‘According to the timetable I have here, we are setting out in four days.’

Four days!

Although Nestoril nodded and smiled and Rawon continued on with his report, secretly she was shocked at how swiftly the days had run past her... it seemed but a moment since she had been remonstrating with the king about Esgaron’s enforced sailing... in reality, it had been a week ago, and in the interim she had been in a whirl of decisions and arrangments and then there was the surprising visit from Merlinith who had some very unexpected questions.... it had shown, however, that Merlinith really was a sensible soul, for of course the healers were well-versed with elves suddenly finding they were not what they had thought they were, and to come and have a calm conversation with one who knew all about the varieties of elven attractions from a detached perspective had seemed to be of great consolation.

But even that had been... two days ago now.

‘By tomorrow, then,’ Nestoril agreed, coming back to the present.

Four days?

‘As to your escort, there will be two guards with you under the leadership of Commander Esgaron; Erthor and Calithilon. There is no need for more, not with support from the riverside talain and, of course, the presence of Glorfindel of Gondolin...’

‘Oh, Erthor and Calithilon and I are old friends!’ Nestoril said. ‘And Commander Esgaron, I know we will be able to rely on you.’

‘Good. I suggest we meet again in three days for a full briefing of all parties, the princes excepted, of course. Let me know, Healer Hanben, what you decide, but in my opinion you would be best served staying here and assisting the King’s Office.’

‘I will consider it,’ Hanben said.

‘Very well. Dismissed.’

Dismissed? Nestoril smiled to herself as she left. That was Rawon for you, always the Over-captain and unless you were the king, he would treat you in one of two ways; like one of his warriors, or like one of his enemies.

As everyone got up to leave and Rawon shuffled his papers into order, she heard overheard an exchange between the Balrog-slayer and Commander Esgaron that they really should have kept for outside...

‘So our dear mutual friend is not coming, too,’ Esgaron was saying. ‘It is probably as well; you would not like to find yourself abandoned on the way...’

‘Well, if you mean my lover and your former victim, I don’t see what it has to do with you,’ Glorfindel said with a shrug. ‘But I doubt he would treat me like you did him! Besides, I’m coming back for him.’

‘No doubt you will find he will not miss you; there is already someone else sniffing around... he attracts easily enough, but then soon becomes tiresome. Perhaps it will all be over by the time you get back...’

‘We are two individuals who are together for mutual friendship,’ Glorfindel said. ‘What Triwathon does while I am away will be up to him to decide. But if he should take up with another, well, at least he is not so disappointed in me that he has already sought consolation elsewhere...’

‘I do not know what you mean!’

‘Ai, the fair Araspen has finally realised just why she did not like any of her previous suitors...’

Oh, no! Another prompt from Esgaron, and Glorfindel would no doubt reveal the identity of Araspen’s new friend... and that could be most distressing for Merlinith, still struggling with confusion... Nestoril hastened forward to grasp the Balrog-slayer’s arm, but before she could think up an excuse, Rawon had intervened.

‘If there is going to be trouble between you two on the way, say so now,’ the over-captain said. ‘Your concern must be your charges; Esgaron, you are in overall command of the company. Glorfindel, keep to your task. Or else I will order the king to forbid you to go.’

Glorfindel grinned.

‘Promise?’ he said.

Making a mental note to catch hold of the Balrog-slayer later and give him a lecture on what constituted Other People’s Business, Ness shook her head and set off back towards her halls.

‘Nestoril!’ Arwen hurried up. ‘I am glad to have chance to chat! Do you know, I have not spoken to Merlinith for ages? And I cannot work out why, but our morning needlework sessions have stopped...’

‘I suspect she has assumed you will be busy packing. And then, does she not work in one of the sewing rooms?’

‘That may be it. Of course, she has taken in a lodger, so maybe that is why... it seems a pity, since we have become close, and I will miss her.’

‘So will I,’ Nestoril said. ‘Of course, you can still choose not to sail, Arwen...’

‘So can you.’

‘Well, no; a healer must sail with the princes. And I have already promised their father I would see them safe. Besides, I am older than you; I have had much longer in this world, I have accomplished many things. I saw Iauron and Tharmeduil born... but for you, Arwen, it is a much bigger risk. I know you may expect to find your mother there, but... but what if she does not like Iauron? What if his long illness has changed him?’

‘I want to go,’ Arwen said quietly. ‘I have made up my mind.’

‘Then I am sure of a friend on the voyage,’ Nestoril said with a swift smile before Arwen could get that stubborn look in her eye. ‘And, if you will excuse me, I have business in my halls. Good day to you!’

She hurried away, unable quite to work out why suddenly she felt low and despondent when she had so much to do and so little time left in which to do it... she had been trying to pack for weeks now, but beyond a list of what she might need, really all she had done was gather together things for the princes; well, Tharmeduil mostly; his books and papers, and making sure there was a complete set of pigment sticks for him. 

Determined to spend at least half an hour on the task, she let the duty healer know she was back and went to her rooms, throwing open her wardrobe doors and lifting the lid of her coffer.

Glorfindel had said you could get almost anything you needed in the Undying Lands, so she focussed her attention on what she would need on the way to the ship. Two sets of practical riding wear, a good cloak, a healer’s habit and head-rail and shoes for the ship. A few other assorted items; nightwear, small clothes, a towel or two... 

And that was it.

Apart from her weapons and her healing supplies, that was all she needed to take with her.

She looked at the remainder of her garments, still hanging on their rails or folded neatly in her coffer. Never having considered herself one for clothes, she was startled at how many she seemed to be leaving. Granted, there were only two formal gowns, the rest was simple enough daywear, but what to do with it all? Oh, her uniform habits and head-rails could be reused, but the rest?

After a moment’s consideration she came to the conclusion that everything was so well-used that there was no point offering it to anyone else, so she would leave instructions for it to be disposed of however was best. It could burn on the fires and provide warmth, at least.

And with a gasp and a sudden filling of her heart and her eyes, Nestoril realised there was one more person in her being. As well as Senior Healer Nestoril, and Travelling Healer Nestoril, Say-farewell-graciously Ness and Diplomat Nestoril, she was Do-not-want-to-go Ness...

This would never do! She had promised, committed, decided... it was just the reality of looking at her clothes and imagining them burning because they were of no use now she was gone... she had to get the better of this mood, now, at once, for in four days she would be on her way. She was too many people already, and Do-not-want-to-go Ness had better disappear very quickly or else she was going to be really in trouble...

Snatching up her bow and quiver, she almost ran out of the healers’ hall, not bothering to let anyone know she had gone, and headed out into the forest.


	267. '...what we want.'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril says goodbye to the Sacred Grove...

It was probably fortunate that spider activity in the region of the palace complex was minimal – for the spiders, that is – for Nestoril did not like being prey to her emotions and her annoyance at what she perceived as her own weakness would have translated very swiftly to a deadly response at any multi-legged creatures scuttling even innocently around in the canopy. As it was, she reached her destination uninterrupted and the arachnid population stayed, for the moment, constant.

Gathering her fraught nerves as she halted outside two sentinel holly trees, she dipped into a reverential curtsey before entering the Sacred Grove.

In such a whirl was she that it took a moment or two for the sedate green calm of the space to seep into her fractured emotions and start to pull and tug and unravel her distress, but presently the tranquil emerald hues of late summer began to enfold her in a gentle ambient hug. 

She sighed as she felt the tension begin to loosen in her shoulders, the dull ache at her temples recede. It was only that she was too many people right now, that was all! In a few days she would be on her way, and then many of these distressing thoughts would be obsolete; it was not that she didn’t want to go, it was that simply that there was so much involved just getting to the point of leaving, and the stress had translated into that strange moment when she had thought, just briefly, how much simpler it would be to stay here.

To settle her mood further, Nestoril decided to make a circuit of the fëa-trees, beginning with the golden rowan that represented the spirit of Legolas. 

Outwardly it looked little different from the last time she had been here, but it held itself straighter, she thought, and several of its lighter branches were reaching out to tangle with the foliage of the hazel next to it. If anything, perhaps it was further away from the wild cherry tree and the younger of the grove’s silver birches than previously. 

The concept of moving trees must seem odd to non-Silvans, she thought, wondering how Legolas’ grandparents had felt when they had arrived to take over the care of the kingdom. Invited, wanted Sindar, they had not so much ruled as led; it was only with outsiders that the royal family seemed uncooperative and insular; to the Silvans, they had always been much-loved and revered carers.

And for all his outward impassivity, Thranduil did care, Nestoril knew. He had taken over the kingship at the worst possible moment, in the worst possible circumstances, on the battlefield, and had led his people home and had done his utmost to keep them safe ever since.

So surely it wasn’t too much to ask, that she keep his two oldest sons safe, was it?

Legolas would be fine; his fëa-tree was strong and with the fine hazel at its side, she knew he and Govon would support each other. She moved on to the cherry tree, its promise frozen, its fruit withered before its time. Still there was life there; Iauron was weakening, but slowly, and she was certain he would hold on until the ship reached the Undying Lands. The silver birch, his brother’s tree; ah, it was broken and stunted on one side, but the life ran strong through it although only a few leaves on one side stirred. Awareness was there, and she felt a surge of gratitude to her friend Feril who spent so many unstinting hours at Tharmeduil’s side, keeping him company and talking to him when Nestoril herself was busy with the running of the healers’ halls. 

The taller, older of the two silver birches had not changed, would not now ever change, for that tree belong to the princes’ mother, and she was long departed. A friend, perhaps, waiting on the far side of the sea? An ally, at least; they would be able to sit together and discuss whether Iauron’s wildness was a response to his mother’s death, or whether it was due to Thranduil’s unique parenting style...

No. Whatever happened in the Undying Lands, whomever she spoke to, she would not lower herself to gossip about her king.

Her king.

She went next across to the regal willow that governed the grove, sheltering under its dropping leaves and looking up into its strong branches.

Ai, how she loved this tree! She had watched it for centuries, millennia, following its steady, stately growth, using her Silvan rituals to nurture it when the heartwood was shadowed, sitting in its shade when she needed an hour to feel she belonged somewhere.

Pressing her cheek against the crenelated bark, she sighed. How many times had she done that, bolstered the heart of the tree and in so doing, supported the king without his knowledge? How could she ever offer that secret support again when she was far from the Grove of the Fëa-Trees?

Suddenly overwhelmed by the realisation that this sacred place was yet another thing she would not see again, Ness sank down amongst the roots of the willow and felt tears leave her eyes to track down her cheeks in silent sorrow.

*

After the exchange with Esgaron, Glorfindel had found his way to the practice ranges and found himself a place to watch the Long Bow session. It was full, all the targets in use, and the tutors busy with orders and suggestions. He smiled to see Triwathon at work, assisting the lead tutor in demonstrating idea stance and good technique. Perfect technique that ellon had, and not just with a bow... Glorfindel found himself smiling.

Presently he realised he wasn’t the only one watching; a little way from where he stood there were benches set up for just that purpose and so, lest he be considered in the way lurking at the edges, he made his way across and took a seat, the elves already on the bench moving up for him.

From here he could begin to recognise some of the participants; there was Fonor, and Erthor and Calithilon, too... good to see them brushing up, for all they seemed to be fairly skilled already. Others there, too, seemed to know exactly what they were doing, and the Balrog-slayer wondered whether the opportunity to have Triwathon cup their elbow to raise it, or brace their shoulders to the right stance had anything to do with the surge of popularity of the class.

He found himself addressed by an elf on the bench behind.

‘My lord, are you signing up, too?’

‘Signing up? No, just watching my friend there. Are we not all spectators?’

‘Parvon on the front row, there, he is; I understand he had wanted to know if the class was open to civilians, but has stayed to watch his brother. This current session is the refresher group; we are all new to formal long bow work.’

‘It needs more strength than a regular bow,’ Glorfindel replied. ‘Of course, I can see that a shorter draw is perhaps more suited to the woodland than to open country.’

‘Oh, I have used a long bow, at least... a friend in the former Court Guard let me try his; he said the bow had been a gift from the Lady Arwen of Imladris.’

‘She did, she did indeed present the Court Guard with some decent bows,’ the Balrog-slayer confirmed, remembering the dismay at discovering six of their best bows gone. ‘But it’s good to see them put to such good use.’

Presently the tutor called an end to the session, and Triwathon, seeing Glorfindel, waved to him. it was all the encouragement he needed to leave his place and go over to meet his friend a little distance from the targets.

‘You’re looking very smiley today,’ Glorfindel said.

‘Well, you’re looking quite resplendent! Is there a special occasion for which I should thank the Valar that you decided on your kilt today?’

‘Travel meeting with Rawon. Thought it would annoy Esgaron.’

‘And did it?’

‘Well, something did! Only took him a couple of minutes before he started saying...’ 

‘Saying what, Laurefindil?’

Glorfindel shook his head. ‘Doesn’t matter. But he wasn’t a happy chap.’

‘If it doesn’t matter, then you can tell me.’ Triwathon smiled and shrugged. ‘And if you don’t want to tell me, then that means it does matter. I’ve finished here for today; I get to help with novices tomorrow. So come away, and tell me about it.’

‘Parvon’s looking at you.’

‘Who?’ Triwathon glanced across. ‘Oh, I see who you mean... I thought he was looking at you, in fact.’

‘No, definitely you.’

‘Well, if I was looking at us, it’d be you I looked at. Especially in that kilt. Come on. If we’re going to talk about who is looking at whom, it’s probably best done in private.’

Once back in the privacy of Triwathon’s room, Triwathon shut the door and leaned against it, his arms folded across his chest.

‘There is something bothering you and if it is to do with elves looking at me, well, I am not interested in looking back, and as long as they only look, I will not have to hurt their feelings by telling them I am not interested. But if it is something Esgaron said, then I will worry about it once you are gone, knowing you will have to ride together all the way to the harbour without attacking each other.’

‘It is something stupid, and I know he’s doing it to annoy, and I know it’s wrong, and I know I have no right anyway but... can I start by saying, I know there are no promises between us, and if, while I was gone, you... you met someone... I wouldn’t mind, I...’

‘No?’

‘Well, yes, really, I would mind. Very much. But I know I have no right to mind because all I have to offer is you is the moment and if you were alone – and Esgaron says someone’s already sniffing around and I don’t believe a word of what he said about you not being faithful and... Ai, Glorfindel, shut your foolish mouth...’

Triwathon was silent, trying to take all this in and make out what had been said and what had not and what the relevance was. He shook his head. 

‘Seeing you like this is almost as if the sun has gone in,’ he said softly, coming to sit next to Glorfindel on the narrow bed. ‘I do not like to see your face so clouded. I am glad you would mind. Hir-nin, you have said you are coming back to me. So I will wait for you; it is only for a few months, why should I not wait, even if there can be no promises beyond the now? And, surely, it is of no matter who might be interested in me, iphant-nin, because I am only interested in you.’

‘You see, I know he was only making trouble, but...’

‘You worried me, you know.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘When you said, no promises between us and if, while you were gone... you could have been reminding me so that you felt you had permission to stray yourself...’

‘What...?’

‘Of course, I know Erthor and Calithilon have their own sweethearts, so that would mean either that you would jump to the other side of the fence and, since our Healers are to professional, have a last fling with Arwen before she sails...’

‘No! Sweet Eru, Triwathon... Ick!’

‘Or else you’re looking to cosy up to Esgaron. Which is, quite simply, ridiculous. As is this conversation. As is the idea that anything Esgaron says can be taken seriously... and you do not seem to realise that I am teasing, because the whole idea of me finding someone else is as silly as imagining you flirting with Arwen! So come, set this aside, with your clothing, and let me give you one of those cuddles you seem to like so well.’

Glorfindel sighed, looked into Triwathon’s face and saw only kindness and affection there. He allowed himself to push Esgaron’s words away and smiled back, and to Triwathon it looked as if the sun had come out again.

‘Complete with the nipping of the ear tip? It’s not a Triwathon cuddle without the nipping of the ear tip!’

‘Since you ask so nicely, very well. Just for you.’

‘Oh, all right, then,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Give me a help with my buckles?’

*

Thranduil was part way through a meeting with Arveldir and Erestor when he noticed them staring at him. Or rather, Erestor was trying not to stare and Arveldir was looking anxiously at his face and glancing away again.

‘So the decorations for the grove are in order and will be in shades of silver, ivory and blue to reflect the colours of Thiriston’s late parents’ shield, and their starlight gemstones are to be set on a stand next to the Witness’ lectern where all can see...’

‘The orders have gone out, sire, and the smiths asked to design and make a suitable stand.’

‘Good. How many persons are expected to want to attend?’

‘A surprising number; the lists supplied by Canadion and Thiriston are modest, if somewhat unusual, but Mistress Cullasbes has also put names forward and we are in the process of checking with Canadion if he wants all these random persons present... Forgive me, sire, but are you quite well?’

‘Of course I am well!’ Thranduil replied sharply, suddenly aware of a huge looming grief shadowing him with no warning, no explanation. ‘What makes you think otherwise?’

‘Your eyes, my king... appear to be running, or seeping, or... perhaps it is to do with your injury?’

‘No, I am fine...’ But when Thranduil touched his cheek, it was wet. ‘How strange!’ he said. ‘I am not aware of any pain or any... We had perhaps better continue our discussion another time, this is most disconcerting...’

‘Shall I summon a healer, sire?’ Arveldir suggested.

‘No, there is no need to have someone dashing through the corridors thinking I am ill; I will go myself to the healers’ hall. Thank you for all your hard work, mellyn-nin. Just keep the doughty Cullasbes and the bunting at bay and I am sure it will be a ceremony to remember.’

Once his two advisors had left, Thranduil found a cloth to dab his face with. How very odd! There was no emotion connected with this release of tears, but they were simply unstoppable... and yet there was that sense of distant sorrow... 

It took him a moment to realise that it truly was not in himself, the sadness, but outside, and once he grasped that fact, it took but a heartbeat to realise it was coming from his other self, from the forest. And as soon as he accepted that, he felt the pull and tug of the Greenwood, and set off to see what it wanted.

* 

Eventually, Nestoril ran out of tears. Never one to have believed what naneths told their little ones, that you always felt better after a good cry, nevertheless, somehow, she did. Perhaps her tears had been her last act of protest, for it was as if all the reluctance had gone from her and she knew that she would do what she was meant to do; this was her path, and she had to follow it wherever it led.

She wiped her face and was about to get up when she heard someone approaching.

‘Who is there?’ she called out.

‘Nestoril?’ 

Oh, goodness, it was the king! Hastily she scrambled to her feet and pushed away from the willow, glad she was on the side away from the entrance to the grove and so had not been caught leaning against the king’s fëa-tree.

‘I was saying goodbye to the grove,’ she said, moving out into the open.

‘I see. Nestoril, I am very grateful that you will give up so much for my sons...’

‘It is not so much... and I like to see new places...’

Her voice sounded forlorn, even to herself. She made a huge effort.

‘Valinor! All the stories, all the legends... I will get to see for myself if there really are jewelled strands, and perhaps I may learn more of my craft, once the princes are well... and I will not be lonely; I will have friends there. Those whose last moments were spent in my halls. Those who sailed. And, of course, my charges... it is nothing, a small act of service to my king and his sons which will benefit me just as much...’

‘Nestoril, do not seek to diminish your offer of service...’

But did he not see? If she could convince herself she was not giving much up, she would mind it less.

‘Oh, rest assured I shall be constantly plaguing your sons with what I have done for them...! Especially Tharmeduil, I will tease him endlessly...’

‘Ness...’

‘...You may remember, Tharmeduil and I were becoming very good friends. Quite... quite close. I was... I am... very fond of him...’

Ness was busy brushing leaves and twigs off her habit and so did not see the king swallow at this last announcement, see a darkness cloud his face for a moment; he had forgotten, until now, just how close, but suddenly every occasion came back to him; Nestoril’s gentle care of his second son, how her hand would linger on his, how Tharmeduil would smile for just an instant too long... the hours she had tirelessly spent at his side, helping with his drawings and notes, more than simply that required by duty, the smile he had found in her eyes when she looked up from his son to greet him...

It would be good to think she need not be alone. Really. 

‘If... I would not object, you know,’ he said. ‘Once he wakes and is restored, if you are still so close and... Well. I am sure they have rituals for such things and... I would never have minded.’

Silence grew until it became difficult to know how to break it. Finally, Nestoril found the way.

‘Well, I should be going back to my halls. Healer Hanben is on duty...’

‘That would be why I was called to the grove,’ Thranduil said as if to himself.

‘My king?’

‘In my rooms, a strange thing; my eye... Arveldir wished to summon a healer, but I said I would go to the halls... as soon as I was ready, I realised I needed to come here instead. Obviously the Sacred Grove did not want me to be at the mercy of Healer Hanben and so directed me here, where it sensed your presence...

‘Do you have a problem with your sight, sire? Come, sit for me, let me see... was it just the fire-damaged eye?’

Suddenly required to act as the healer again, Nestoril felt better, comforted by the fact that here was something she could do as she gestured towards a tree trunk, set there for seating.

‘I did not think so. Both, which surprised me.’

‘And exactly what happened, can you say? Was there pain?’

‘No, I felt nothing... in fact, it was Arveldir noticed my eyes were running – as when one is in a draught, or stung by the wind... but with no reason...’ 

‘Let me see, then.’

Standing behind the king, she made him tilt back his head, cupping his chin to hold him still as she looked into his eyes, checking the nictitating membranes were in good condition, that there were no obvious problems.

‘All seems well, sire,’ she said, releasing him. ‘If it happens again, come to us at once. Healer Maereth is best at traditional remedies, and is good with eyes, once I am gone.’

‘It must seem very soon now.’

‘Indeed.’ She found a smile and sat beside him. ‘I will miss Canadion and Thiriston’s vowing. Of course, the penneth does not call it that, he is full of his ‘wedding’, if you please... I wish I could stay... until after.’

There; it was out, she had said it, even if she had qualified it. The admission made, she would not weaken again, she could not...

‘...Arwen told me all about the bunting she has been working on,’ she hastened onwards. ‘I can only say it is very kind of her...’

‘Between ourselves, Healer, Captain Thiriston has other ideas for Arwen’s bunting.’

‘Oh, I hope Canadion will not be disappointed! He has his heart set on it!’

‘Well, we cannot always have what we want,’ Thranduil said quietly.


	268. Interlude After a Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erestor wakes suddenly...

Erestor came out of reverie with a shudder of indrawn breath to find he was sat bold upright in the bed he shared with Arveldir. His heart was battering against the wall of his chest, frantically fast, and he tried to steady himself as the dread of his dream began to silde away, leaving him only with latent memories, a racing pulse and a great tide of loss.

At least he had not disturbed Arveldir from his reverie.

He glanced down at his beloved friend, soothed and calmed by the peace he saw in the dark, dreaming eyes and felt a smile begin somewhere deep in his soul. A strand of dark hair had drifted across Arveldir’s face – he was not one for sleeping braids – and now caressed one high cheek bone in its journey across the silk-soft skin to drape across the fine, elegant nose. The Silvan’s lips were slightly parted, giving him a sensual expression that made Erestor almost wish his friend had awoken. 

His eyes took in the flow of hair across Arveldir’s neck, caressing his shoulders, his powerful archer’s upper chest, the promise in the sleek and undulating contours of his body. Who would have thought an advisor to the king would have so much understated strength?

Perhaps only another advisor would suspect such a thing; Erestor was no stranger to the need to keep battle-ready.

Ai, how he loved Arveldir’s physical self! The union of strength of mind and strength of body, the sense that every time Erestor held him, he had hold of an armful of wild and dangerous wood-elf, and he remembered how scared he had been when he had first entered Mirkwood, how safe he had felt when Arveldir had guided him up into the canopy.

Safe. Oh, he had so often in his life wished to feel really, truly safe! But here, in this bed, was more of a sanctuary than Rivendell ever had been.

Arveldir sighed, his chest and belly rising and falling in a look of utter relaxation.

So peaceful, so beautiful, so feral, even at rest! Not a being to be constrained by archaic Noldor rules, but to live in step with a different tradition, to the rituals of the forest, the Silvan way.

Sometimes, Erestor acknowledged, those Noldor rules had given him security, a semblance of structure as they governed his behaviour. But on occasion his life had felt too constrained, too constricted...

In Rivendell, for example, he always wore sleeping braids, and sleeping clothes too, for that matter. But not here. Not since he started sharing Arveldir’s bed; it would have meant he could not feel that glorious skin against his own, had he worn a nightshirt. And how would Arveldir have lifted Erestor’s hair and combed it through with his fingers, if it had been braided?

He would not go back to wearing sleeping garments when he went ho... when he returned to Rivendell. If he returned to Rivendell, for he still was not sure he ever was likely to wish to.

Arveldir’s beautiful mouth lifted at the corners and he reached out a hand, unerringly finding Erestor’s to clasp it strongly.

‘I woke to feel your eyes on me, mellon-nin. But your fëa is troubled; what is the matter?’

‘A dream, nothing more.’

‘Of Imladris? My friend, you have never spoken of whether you miss your former life...’ 

Arveldir tugged lightly at their joined hands, pulling Erestor against his chest where he sighed and curled in gratefully.

‘No, I dreamed of Eregion. I lived there, once, before the dark days... I was fortunate to escape with my life. It was after its destruction that I found myself in Imladris; Elrond is a distant kinsman, you know. I revisited of one of the wonderful days before our fall... and then came the darkness. The contrast between the two...’

He shivered and huddled in, and Arveldir held him close, stroked his fingers through the fine obsidian hair.

‘You are safe. I will not tell you, all this in the past, for I have seen how easy it is to live in dark memories. Instead, I would say, you are in the present, and you are not alone. I know I have not endured so much as you, my beloved. I have lost friends, but not my home. But now you are here, chasing away all the shadows from my heart. And I am so grateful to you, my dear one, for trusting me with your safety.’

‘It has been quite, quite wonderful... since following you home, I cannot remember when I have been more content. But I am worried; has the king spoken concerning my continuing presence in his halls?’ 

‘Only in the most complimentary of terms; he has noted that Legolas is grasping the fundamentals of his new duties swiftly, which is a compliment to your tutelage...’

‘He has not said, then, that he thinks I ought to leave?’ Erestor’s words tumbled out of him and Arveldir held him close. ‘He does not expect me to depart with the rest of the party? I may stay?’

‘The king has said nothing to suggest he either wishes or expects you to go. And were he to do so, I would argue the case most strongly that you should stay. Once our friends leave for the Havens, the king will no doubt require additional support, as will Legolas while the king adapts; I do not know how I would manage without you, particularly now, when we have this avowing to organise. ’

Erestor sighed and Arveldir hastened to soothe him with gentle hands and continued to speak honest, consoling words.

‘My friend, my dear Erestor, I want you at my side for as long as you are content. But I know Imladris was your home, Elrond was your friend. That you felt disappointed in his actions is entirely understandable. I am guessing, but I wonder whether your dream has reminded you that you had cause to be grateful to him, once? And so now you feel perhaps a little guilty for staying away. We have talked of many things, but not, I seem to think, whether you would hope to return to your previous existence at some point, or if you want to stay here for the rest of your days in Middle Earth. But, my dear friend, know this; where you are is where I am most content.’

‘You comfort me, Arveldir. Yes, you are right; I do feel guilty, now. But although I left because I could not stay, I came here to be with you...’

‘Then you should stay, for as long as you wish. Now rest.’ Arveldir pressed his lips against Erestor’s forehead. ‘We will have a busy day tomorrow.’

Erestor stretched and settled himself more closely against Arveldir’s body.

‘I am not sure I can rest,’ he said after a moment. ‘Nor am I certain you can either, at present.’

‘Well, perhaps we can think of a way to pass the time pleasantly.’

‘Two such minds as ours...’

‘I am sure we will come up with something...’ Arveldir smiled as Erestor smoothed the wayward strand of hair behind his ear. ‘We generally do.’


	269. The Dangers of Looking Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the princes' journey to their ship commences...

And suddenly the last meeting with Rawon had been held, the last night had passed, and it was the morning of departure.

Arwen fluttered around, making sure everyone knew she was going, leaving random crocheted gifts in a pile on the bedcover of her room with lists of which was for whom, excited and alarmed and exuberant in turns, pretending not to have given a thought to her father or her brothers, determined to look ahead to her future and secretly frightened of what she might find if she dared look back to the days when she and her brothers would roam the gardens of Imladris in easy sibling friendship. Too emotionally young yet to able to properly consider all the different aspects of her motives, she was determined that sailing with Iauron was the only happy choice for her future. 

*

Triwathon was awake before dawn, trying to convince Glorfindel that there was plenty of time to cuddle, if he would just stir himself to wake so he could enjoy it properly. There were still several hours before the party was due to set off, but the Balrog-slayer was reluctant to face the fact that he was going and open his eyes to the reality of the day ahead.

Finally, the Silvan sighed.

‘I am going to stop cuddling now,’ he said. ‘And go to the bathing pool. Where I will use one of the last of my towels, wipe it all across my body, kiss the top-left corner for you – where there is a small tear, so you will know where I placed the kiss, and then fold it nicely and put it in your saddlebags. So...'

He found himself cut off as he was swathed in masses of golden hair, his face covered with swift, small kisses and Glorfindel grumbling and growling he wasn’t going anywhere, not yet...

Triwathon smiled and pretended to sigh as Glorfindel made sure theirs was an encounter that would make Triwathon glad that he, at least, did not have to travel on horseback that day...

*

Nestoril had snatched ten minutes with some chamomile tea and some dry toast in her study, going over the arrangements for the final time. Iauron and Tharmeduil would be moved to their conveyances within the hour and the party would set off shortly after for the hythe where they would be bid farewell and sent on their way.

Before that, Legolas and Govon would be coming to say goodbye to the princes... and their father, no doubt, would require time with them too... meanwhile, Hanben had decided to ride only far enough to see the conveyances set up in the water, so now she had a carefully-worded document to deliver to Arveldir, suggesting Hanben be allowed to devote all his energies to his inventing and be moved, perhaps, away from the Healers’ Halls so that he was not interrupted...

A knock on the door distracted her, a peremptory rap and before she could ask who or invite anyone in, the door opened and the king entered.

‘Nestoril. I was not sure whether I would have chance to speak with you before the formal leave-taking.’

‘My king... I did not expect... Please, come in. How may I serve?’

‘As if leaving off your life’s work to support my sons is not service enough?’ Thranduil allowed himself the luxury of a smile as Nestoril gestured him to a seat. ‘I brought you this, and, yes, I do have one more request to make of you.’

‘A notebook? For Tharmeduil?’

‘No, Healer – for you. I would have you document your journey. It need only be a few words at the end of each day, but an account of events – notes of my sons’ last days in Middle Earth – will be a valuable addition to our archives. Glorfindel claims he will return; I shall make this journal his responsibility, so that he must do so... it would not do to have Triwathon disappointed again.’

‘No, it would not; a good thought, sire. I will do as you request, your majesty.’

‘You will have much to occupy yourself; I will take my leave and bid farewell to my sons on the way out. Be well, Healer Nestoril and... my best wishes for your future happiness in Valinor.’

And before she could do so much as thank him, he was gone in a swish of cloth-of-gold and the last thing she saw was how the sleeve of his robe tumbled over his wrists to cover his fingers as if he was wearing garments two sizes too long.

*

Legolas and Govon entered the healers’ hall hand in hand. Gyril, on duty, greeted them politely with the news that the princes had been readied for the journey and were sitting in the gardens before she led the way to the outer doors where the brothers could be seen resting in reclined seats. To Legolas, it looked as if Tharmeduil was smiling, enjoying the stir of the early breeze in his face.

They made their way over and stood looking at the two for a moment. Legolas broke the silence first.

‘You begin, Govon.’

‘If you like, my fair elf...’ Govon released Legolas’ hand and stepped forward to bow to Iauron. ‘My prince, I know you can neither hear nor see me, but one day, perhaps someone will tell you the tale of how I bid you farewell. I owe you my life, your highness, for it was your swift actions that saved me from your fate or worse. Be well, my brother-in-honour, and be happy.’

‘I hadn’t realised,’ Legolas said. ‘That is, of course I did, I knew, Iauron saved you, but, really...Iauron doing something that heroic? It’s a good thought, though, that the last thing he did before he fell ill was something selfless. Farewell, brother. Don’t annoy Naneth too much, will you? Try to be nice to Arwen.’

In the adjacent chair, Tharmeduil’s face still smiled and in his darkness, he laughed. Hearing everything, remembering all, storing it away for the day when he woke to his new life. There was still much to happen before then, but it started now, with Legolas’ whispered farewells, Govon’s military address. His inner happiness grew as he contemplated his secret knowledge of the couple’s future life. He almost wished he could be there to see it, to watch their lives unfold, but he already knew he was going to be too busy enjoying himself in Valinor to worry about his little brother.

*

Finding herself requested to deliver a letter to Lord Arveldir, Healer Feril took a moment to dash off a small and swiftly scribbled note, and hurried through the palace in search of the advisor. Handing over the letter to Arveldir in the doorway, she asked shyly if she might have a moments’ speech with Lord Erestor.

‘He is busy,’ Arveldir said in clipped, no-nonsense tones, fearing lest Feril wished to ask his friend to join her on the journey, and then accompany her back to Imladris. ‘He has much to occupy him; he is part of King Thranduil’s staff, now.’

‘Yes, of course, I realise it is a very busy day... but I wished only a brief word, a favour... but if you would not mind, I am sure I could entrust you...’

Erestor’s voice from within suggested he would be pleased to spare a moment for Healer Feril, and so Arveldir stood aside to admit her.

‘Feril, you seem distressed.’ Erestor came forward to take her hands briefly. ‘Is all well, child?’

‘Master Erestor, I am anxious concerning Lady Arwen; her father does not know what she intends and I cannot help feel it is wrong...’

‘I understand. But Arwen having specifically required our word we would not inform Lord Elrond, it puts us in an awkward situation...’

‘I know. But I have writ a note for Elladan and Elrohir, and it could go by messenger hawk once we have departed...’

Erestor exchanged an amused glance with Arveldir, who tipped his head towards the healer.

‘In fact, we have already despatched a hawk to Lady Galadriel, in accordance with the wishes of the healers’ hall, requesting her hospitality... and additionally happening to let fall that her granddaughter will be one of the party...’

‘So set your mind at ease,’ Erestor said gently. ‘We have broken no confidences by saying only that... however, as the Lady of the Golden Wood is of an enquiring turn of mind, she no doubt will uncover all. We can leave the onwards communication of Arwen’s plans to her, I am sure.’

Feril’s shoulders relaxed and her eyes were grateful.

‘My lords, you ease my mind greatly. Well, I shall bid you both farewell, and be well, and my lord Erestor, forgive the liberty...it has been a joy to witness your happiness. Do not hurry back to Imladris, it will not be conducive to your future contentment!’

‘Why, thank you for your advice, penneth. Be well yourself. We will come to wave you off at the hythe.’

One Feril had gone, Erestor turned to Arveldir.

‘A thoughtful soul, Feril. One of the least-accounted of the Healers in Rivendell, perhaps because she is quite young, but here she has come into her own. I wonder where she will go, after she sees her charge safe.’

‘I assume she will return to Imladris. Erestor... since she has gone to the trouble of writing a note, we should, perhaps, see it sent, do you think?’

‘Why not, indeed? If it is but a word or two to Elladan and Elrohir, then I am sure there is nothing untoward in so doing.’

*

Healer Hanben had an anxious moment as his conveyances were lowered into the water. But the wheel/paddle assemblies had coped wonderfully with the uneven ground between their store and the river, and now, prepared to receive their cargoes, he was sure all would go well. 

Of course, it had been a hard choice not to ride through the forest with his handiwork, but a discussion with one of the advisor’s in the King’s Office had indicated some of his ideas could be incorporated in a major renovation of one of the accommodation corridors, and it was too good an opportunity to pass up...

His thoughts drifted as the princes were carefully arranged in their boats, luggage (and the Lady Arwen) being stowed in the third. To begin, the boats would be towed by lines attached to the saddles of the horses, and he was a little disappointed his magnificent engineering would not be properly seen by those watching the departure. But it was perhaps best to save the paddling wheels for when most needed.

‘Well, I do not see you need me with you at all,’ he said to Commander Esgaron, who had ridden up with his two warriors. ‘Be well, and if you have a chance, could one make notes concerning the performance of the assembly and have someone bring them back to me?’

Glorfindel, late arriving and wearing his bright blue kilt in honour of the occasion, grinned down from horseback.

‘Indeed, Healer Hanben, I will do so myself, since his majesty your king has charged me to return.’

‘Good. If there are any difficulties, I would like to know the depth of the water, if on the river, or the terrain, how long...’

A horn blast silenced Hanben and Esgaron called the party to order as the royal party approached. The former Court Guard led the way. All wore ceremonial kilts and were bare-chested, their scars left unpainted, but each with a band around their left arms bearing the names of the princes to honour them. They marched into position, standing aside to flank their king and their prince and their advisors.

There were no speeches. Thranduil nodded to Arveldir, he looked across at Over-Captain Rawon, who in turn signalled Esgaron to give the order to move out. Ropes slung between saddles and boats now grew taut as the slack was taken up, the painters cast off, and the party began their journey along the river path through the forest.

Esgaron kept his head high, determined to leave with dignity, remembering an ugly scene with his former betrothed a few days before in which Araspen seemed to know far more about him than he was comfortable with...

As they turned the last corner before the forest river swept them out of sight, Esgaron could not help looking back for one last time at his former life.  
Moving his gaze past the distracting sight of Glorfindel blowing kisses to a grinning Triwathon, his eyes lingered on his former betrothed. She was not standing with her mother, which was odd, but instead was at the side of Merlinith, sister of Govon whom Esgaron had once championed but who had become so sharp a thorn in his side.

Well, at least it looked as if Araspen needed consoling, for the other elleth had an arm around her shoulders. The thought comforted him.

Or it would have done, had he not then seen Araspen turn in to Merlinith and bestow upon her a kiss of far more passion and affection that he had ever received from her.

He snapped his head forwards and looked to the track ahead. 

Sometimes, it was a mistake to look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We must now leave the expedition to its own devices; the story of the expedition's journey will be written and told, in a separate story which will be written and posted presently.
> 
> But for the moment the ongoing focus of this story is on those left behind.


	270. Of Keeping Busy... And Bunting...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil gives orders and Erestor is manipulative...

The king watched in silence as his two oldest sons drifted away out of sight down the river towards their only hope of healing. Around him all were silent, respecting the solemnity of the moment.

Legolas stood ready to support his father with kind words. Arveldir prepared to ask his king if he wished to return to the palace, holding the words in his mouth until the silence had been just long enough to require interrupting.

But Thranduil collected himself before anyone expected him to.

‘Areveldir, I want to see you and Erestor in my study in twenty minutes. My compliments to the former Court Guard for the honour you gave my sons today; once you have escorted us back to the palace you may stand down and continue your day’s duties. Whenever you are ready, Commander Govon?’

‘Of course, my king.’ Govon bowed to Thranduil and then turned back to his kilted warriors. ‘Triwathon, Hador, lead off.’

Legolas took his place at his Adar’s side, glancing across in surprise. He had expected his father to be silent and morose at the loss of Iauron and Tharmeduil, not to mention Nestoril, but this crisp, decisive mood was a surprise. Good that Adar wasn’t brooding, of course... but would it last?

*

‘There is much to do,’ Thranduil told the two advisors. ‘The populace will out-of-sorts from saying farewell to their princes; can someone try to explain to the more traditional elves that for those of Silvan blood who sail with them it is not a death sentence? Can we reassure them that there is a welcome for all elvenkind in Valinor?’

‘We can try, sire, but the line between reassuring the traditionalists and making it seem we disparage their beliefs is a very fine one,’ Arveldir said. ‘We might remind them that both Healer Nestoril and Commander Esgaron have Sindar blood, at least in part, and note that Esgaron is from a sailing family. But I think that to say more could be seen as insensitive.’

Erestor glanced at his friend, wondering about Arveldir’s beliefs. He was a wood-elf, heart, body, spirit, and in spite of the formal advisor’s robes, there was always a sense, with Arveldir, of that wildness underneath. Would he, one day, sail? Or would he cling to his woodland heritage until the end of accounted time...?

‘Very well,’ Thranduil was saying, drawing Erestor’s attention back to the moment. ‘We must let it be seen that we do not see the parting as a loss, so there must be no sense of halting or pausing to mark the occasion any more than we have. I will address the populace in the feasting hall tonight. Meanwhile, all must continue on and we must, if anything, appear more busy than usual.’

‘In what way, sire?’ Arveldir enquired politely.

Thranduil folded his hands together and ordered his thoughts.

‘Post notices concerning current projects. The plan to find more suitable accommodation for our same gender warrior pairs has not yet been made public knowledge; now could be a good time. Work should begin as soon as possible, commencing with an investigation of Healer Hanben’s inventive prowess. I suggest the first chambers readied should be for Thiriston and Canadion and that it must be ready in time for their avowing; it will get them out of the guest quarters, finally, and be seen as a gift, thus making rooms in that corridor desirable, aspirational.’

‘May I ask, your majesty, is it quite wise?’ Erestor put in. ‘To draw attention to the nature of the couples in such a way? It is true that an acknowledgment of the need from proper housing is long overdue, but in the course of our enquiries Arveldir and I constantly met with the sentiment that yes, proper rooms would be welcome, but the couples did not want undue publicity, simply to be allowed to cohabit in relative comfort.’

Arveldir, who had balked at phrasing the thought quite so boldly as that, looked at Erestor with approval, nodding his support.

‘We had not quite finished canvassing, sire, and our report is not yet complete; your orders are a welcome surprise, and I apologise that you did not have quite all the information available to you when you needed it...’

‘Might I suggest an alternative, sire?’ Erestor offered. ‘The announcement could read that the creation of the new Dragon Guard is to be accompanied by provision of a dedicated accommodation wing for those who wanted it; there is so much space in your halls, my lord king, that even single warriors could be offered more spacious accommodation and it be seen as a reward for being one of the king’s elite warriors. As I understand it, the chambers in the wing in question were initially intended for married couples or those with small families...’

‘This is true. And it is a good thought, Erestor...’

‘In fact, it was Arveldir’s idea...’

‘...which we refined together...’

‘Both of you, then. Rawon can be told to discreetly prioritise inclusion of those male couples in the guard who fit the entry requirements for the new companies... Eventually there will be three score warriors in total for the Dragon Guard, and a core of specialists in each. Starting numbers will be smaller, each command added to as other warriors demonstrate their worth. The announcements of who serves precisely where will be made before the avowing, and so whichever company Thiriston and Canadion are assigned to will also be assigned chambers in that wing...’

‘Or you could simply tell us, sire, who will have the dubious pleasure of commanding them?’

‘Indeed I could, Arveldir, but that suggests I already know. Which, in turn, would suggest that Over-captain Rawon does not have complete control over the disposition of his troops... and it would never do for that to be known outside of these rooms, of course.’

‘Of course, sire. We quite understand.’

‘Moving on, has anything been done about Canadion and his bunting yet?’

Erestor stifled a sigh and Arveldir attempted not to smile.

‘Canadion wants it. Mistress Cullasbes does not. And, while the lady Arwen’s gift is truly an appalling creation, even for her, the temptation to go against Mistress Cullasbes in considerable...’

‘It is worth adding that Thiriston simply wants all to be as Canadion wishes,’ Erestor added.

‘However, Erestor and I have had an idea which might see the penneth willing to give up the notion, in the Sacred Grove at least.’

‘Excellent, Arveldir. That is my main concern, that our more traditional Silvans would be distressed to see their most sacred place inappropriately festooned. I think that is all for now. I will have a detailed report from one or other of you concerning Thiriston and Canadion’s new accommodation by the end of the day, and a further report on Hanben’s potential upgrades. Very well; thank you for your time, you may both go.’

Both bowed and left the king’s presence. Once certain they were out of earshot – halfway down the corridor that led to the proposed accommodation wing – Arveldir turned to Erestor with a smile.

‘Is not it interesting how the king wishes we all be made to seem busy, and yet it is only you and I who have the additional tasks lain upon us?’

‘Indeed, it was much the same in Imladris. Howerver, there is far more dignity in taking orders from a king than from a mere lord.’

‘I am glad to hear it. So, how shall we proceed? I suggest we both visit the proposed rooms to start with and then share the other tasks.’

‘Agreed; I will bring my skills to bear on Canadion.’

‘Excellent! And I will meet with soon-to-be-former-Healer Hanben.’ Arveldir smiled. ‘Good luck. Although I am sure the penneth will not stand a chance.’

*

Canadion had been a little surprised at the summons to meet with Erestor, more so because the invitation requested him to come alone. But he put his friendliest happy-face as he presented himself at the King’s Office and was admitted to a neat and tidy study adjacent to the larger room Arveldir used.

‘Come and sit down, Canadion,’ Erestor said, allowing himself to smile; it was important that he charm the penneth, lull him into a sense of ease to make him more amenable to the advisor’s suggestions. ‘I wanted to talk to you about your wedding.’

A glad little sigh from Canadion as the youngster settled himself in the chair.

‘It is so nice that you call it that; I know we are supposed to say, avowing, but ‘wedding’ is how it feels in my heart.’

‘Well, in the eyes of Eru Ilúvatar, I am sure it does not matter what we call the acknowledgement of our one forever-love, only that we value it. So, the reason I wish to speak to you...’

‘If it is about the invited guests, Thiriston thinks we should ignore my naneth’s helpful suggestions as we do not know half the people she has mentioned and, besides, they can sit in the public seats if they wish. Because there are only so many places for invited guests, and we have many friends in the guard...’

‘I am glad to have that established, Canadion; indeed, Mistress Cullasbes seems to have more friends than hairs on her head! But, in fact, I wanted to speak on another matter... is there not a tradition, a Silvan custom about the colours used in the decoration?

‘Yes, that’s so; the colours of the family banners are used. But those of us in service of the palace do not have family colours in the same way. Thiriston, his family were independent merchants, trading across the north passes, that’s how... when...’ 

He fell silent suddenly, and Erestor hurried to plant his idea in Canadion’s mind while the ellon was still sadly thinking of how Thiriston had no Naneth to try to take over the wedding preparations.

‘Of course, I understand Thiriston was left an orphan very young... his aunt brought him and his sister up, I think I heard?’

‘Yes, yes she did; his sister had not gone, on account of a broken ankle... it would be nice to honour them with the family colours, Thiriston would like it, if it is not too late...’

‘Ai, that is a lovely thought! The colours are these, I think?’ Erestor spread out a swatch of different fabrics under Canadion’s downturned gaze; ivory, ice blue, silver. ‘I thought we could have banners at either side of the Witness’s lectern, and perhaps swags of ribbon around the grove... Ah, but I was forgetting!’ 

Erestor sat back and clapped a hand to his forehead in overly dramatic fashion.

‘You had said you wanted bunting, which Lady Arwen had given you as a present?’

‘Yes, but...’ Canadion faltered. ‘But I do not think the bunting and Thiriston’s colours will work together... Ai, that is a shame...’

‘Well, perhaps it will not be so bad,’ Erestor said encouragingly. ‘I do not suppose you have a sample with you...?’

‘In fact, yes; it was the first test Arwen made, and she thought it not quite right...’ Canadion began to look in his several pockets until he found, and extracted, a tired little tangle of lilac and pink wool which he proceeded to lay out flat on Erestor’s desk. ‘It is pretty, do you not think?’

Erestor did not answer directly, but had something to add that made Canadion smile.

‘I remember when Arwen first learned this pattern. There was much genteel cursing until she mastered the proper way of fixing her yarn invisibly to the central flower for the shape of the heart behind it... and for a while, everyone in Imladris received gifts made from heart shapes attached together... I do not know which I enjoyed more, the blanket she made for Lord Glorfindel’s saddle cloth, or the dressing gown she made her Adar. Of course, it would have been rude for him not to wear it... yes, we all enjoyed that considerably, probably rather more than we ought to...’

Canadion stifled a giggle and patted the crocheted heart flat again.

‘Ai, it is a pity, she worked so hard, and she asked me what my favourite colours were, too...’

‘And you said, pink and lilac?’

‘Yes, they are so soft together. We see the roses in the Healers’ Hall gardens in these colours and looking so nice.’ Canadion sighed. ‘People forget, I am in the guard, a warrior, yet I like a little softness, here and there. But in the Sacred Grove, they might not look so well. And... and Thiriston has said, whatever I want, but what I want is to show that I love him and honour his thoughtfulness, so we should use his colours in the Grove, and it will show respect to his family... perhaps we could use the bunting elsewhere?’

‘Well, we will see... Canadion, may I perhaps borrow this?’ Erestor tapped the hideous, malformed crocheted heart. ‘So that I know what colours will be in that which Arwen gave you, and see better how it would work in, for example, the feasting hall?’

‘Yes, of course, Master Erestor. And thank you, for so much helping with the arrangements.’

‘It is a joy and a delight, penneth,’ Erestor said, surprised to find he meant it. ‘So just leave it all to us and just make sure you have something fitting and suitable to wear for the occasion.’

‘Oh, that is easy!’ Canadion said as he rose to leave Erestor’s study. ‘I will wear my ceremonial kilt.’

‘W...what? That is to say... have you told your Thiriston yet?’

‘Not yet,’ Canadion said brightly. ‘I want it to be a surprise for him.’


	271. Displacement Activity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arveldir and Erestor are busy, and Thranduil muses

After waving Glorfindel off, Triwathon had hurried to change and assist at the refresher session at the long bow range. With the lead instructor’s encouragement, he had even taught one of the novice sessions. His success and the confidence placed in him had buoyed his sprits for a while, but now it was mid-afternoon, his day’s duty was over, and he had found his way to the guest room where Glorfindel had stayed. Having been told the room would be kept for the Lord of the Golden Flower’s return, he had decided to make sure all was in order so that the servants who dusted and cleaned the rooms had no messy surprises to sort out.

He needn’t have worried; of course, he had been with Glorfindel until called to his honour duty, and even Laurefindil couldn’t make a huge mess in the space of half an hour, and all looked tidy enough. The truth was, perhaps, that he just wanted to be where Glorfindel and he had last been together.  
Triwathon sat down on the bed, still rumpled with memories of their last encounter. His smile was a little forlorn, but he consoled himself with the promise that Glorfindel would come back. 

A sealed and folded paper with his name on caught his eye, and he picked it up from where it rested on the table at the side of the bed.

‘Honey-beer,’ it read. ‘I left a towel for you... did that thing you did, kissed the corner. Didn’t know how to mark it, so I kissed all of them. Both sides. Enjoy your training, you’ll be incredible. Be well.’

Be well.

He was certainly better than he had been when they had first been introduced.

Folding the note into his pocket and collecting the towel, he was about to leave when a knock at the open door startled him.

‘Mater Erestor, forgive me; I’m in your way, perhaps...’

‘In fact, Triwathon, I was seeking you...’ Erestor gave his small smile. ‘May I sit?’

Triwathon nodded and gestured to a chair, resuming his place on the edge of the bed.

‘To begin, I have been instructed to inform you that you are welcome to stay in these chambers.’ 

Triwathon smiled.

‘He did, indeed. Perhaps I will use the rooms, for a night or two. Until I adjust.’ He glanced down at the fabric in his hands and smiled. ‘He left this for me. He stole all my towels, you know.’

‘It certainly sounds like one of his whims; I have known the Lord of the Golden Flower for many centuries. He draws attention like a carcass draws flies, he is the centre of every argument, he is where every eye is drawn. In Rivendell he is pursued by male and female alike, he flirts outrageously in public, but all the time I have known him, I have only ever known him to sleep alone. He is golden and he is flawed and he is Glorfindel and I, who have my own ellon to love, even I shall miss him.’ Erestor tipped his head at Triwathon. ‘But do not doubt that he is genuinely fond of you, penneth, it is many years since I have seen him as content as after he took up with you. Glorfindel will return; the king has charged him to bring reports home. Besides which; he promised to do so. ’

‘He was very kind to me...’ Triwathon gave himself a little shake. ‘But you were seeking me, Lord Erestor? How may I help you?’

‘The King’s Office has been asked to consider how the warriors are housed; I understand you have been in single quarters and I would be interested to hear how well you think these rooms suit modern living arrangements?’

‘I see... I think.’ Triwathon considered his own room, remembered leaving it tidy, the bed made neatly, all in order. ‘Perhaps the easiest way would be to show you my own quarters?’

‘If it would not be an intrusion, that would be most helpful.’

*

At about the same time that Triwathon was demonstrating to Erestor that for a single warrior alone, the rooms were adequate, especially if one was training most of the time or away on flet duty, Arveldir was saying much the same thing to Healer Hanben, although neither of them believed it.

‘As a place to sleep and store one’s uniform and weapons, the rooms have been considered quite adequate,’ he said. ‘The warriors eat at the barracks’ canteen and there is a common room for gathering, and a shared bathing pool for the corridor.’

Healer Hanben looked around the cramped quarters in disbelief.

‘This is it?’

‘Yes, these are standard quarters for single warriors in service of the king,’ Arveldir told him patiently. ‘Perhaps it is because the chamber is unfurnished that you are having difficulty in seeing how the space can be used...’

‘In point of fact,’ Hanben began, ‘these rooms could be repurposed as dungeons. I see none with windows or light-wells, nowhere to prepare meals, the hygiene facilities are very basic... I really do not know what I may do to improve these rooms, other than knock down the wall into the next room so that there is more space... but even then, these rooms are far from ideal!’

‘The reason we are having this discussion is precisely because these rooms are far from ideal and our king wishes to improve the accommodations. But I will show you the chambers we wish to fit up for couples’ quarters, now. This way.’

Arveldir exited the room and set off towards the proposed corridor, Hanben following and complaining all the while about the standard of housing considered sufficient and healthy for single warriors.

On their way the sound of voices came to them; Erestor’s enquiring tones, Triwathon’s considered answers from one of the side passages.

‘Erestor?’ Arveldir called, beckoning Hanben to follow. ‘May we join you?’

Erestor stepped out from the room where he had been talking.

‘Captain Triwathon has been good enough to demonstrate the functionality of his rooms. If you do not mind, Triwathon...?’

‘No, of course not. Come in, Healer, my lord...’

Triwathon retreated to the far corner of his chamber as Hanben and Arveldir entered. Even with Erestor outside in the corridor still, the room was cramped.

‘Again, I ask, how do these warriors manage?’ Hanben muttered.

‘Well, as it was explained to me, bed, for sleeping in, chest, for storing weapons, wardrobe for storing uniforms, table for working at. When you’re out on patrol for weeks on end, or on flet duty for a season, you do not necessarily need a lot of room.’

‘But no natural light? You cannot see the stars with no window!’

‘I often go out late so that I may look at the night sky,’ Triwathon said. ‘But it is not what I would prefer.’

‘Well, if you are free, Triwathon, would you come with us?’ Arveldir asked. ‘Your opinion would be most useful.’

‘I have no further duties today, my lord; I would be pleased to help.’

Arveldir led the way to the proposed wing and swung back the iron gates from one of the corridors.

‘You will know this region for the next corridor along is where the parties for the Court Guard have been held... we felt the rooms along here were rather better, however...’ He opened the first door and a pale light spilled out. ‘These were originally intended for married personnel...’

‘They are still rather small!’ Hanben said, peering in.

‘May I see?’ Triwathon eased into the room. ‘I disagree. There is more than twice the space than in my single quarters; the light well will make it possible to see the stars... I can imagine it would be a pleasant place to spend an evening in summer, turning out the lamps and looking up... and a fireplace!’

‘The rooms on the other side have actual windows,’ Arveldir said. ‘But continue through.’

An arch with fittings for curtains led into another room, almost as large as the first. The hygiene facilities were still poor, but Triwathon shrugged.

‘There is a shared bathing room and other facilities at the end of the corridor, I assume?’

‘Yes... but we are looking to make things better in the individual rooms, Triwathon. What would make things better for you?’

‘It’s true that not to have to trudge along the corridor for comfort breaks or to bathe would be pleasant. And to be able to make meals when you don’t feel like the walk to the feasting hall or the canteen near the training ground... And a little more space. And a window. The current quarters were designed for when there was a need for us to consider ourselves on duty all the time, so the chairs are upright, there is no relaxing, for a relaxed warrior could become a dead warrior very swiftly. No space for a friend to stay overnight; it is not an issue for me, currently, but some of our warriors...’

‘These are to be considered single quarters,’ Arveldir said. ‘And for the lower ranks, so that all have something to aspire to.’

‘Really?’ Triwathon raised an eyebrow. ‘What is the difference, then, between these and the aspirational quarters?’

‘Come and see.’

Arveldir led the way across the corridor. Three chambers, two large and one less so (but still bigger than Triwathon’s single-berth quarters) with windows in all. The stone carved to make shelves, or ledges, and even a separate washroom.

‘It is easier on this side of the corridor to link up to the exterior, which in turn makes hygiene connections easier and natural daylight simpler to access, although in some rooms, the depth of stone and soil that had to be excavated to make the windows means they are, perforce, set a long way back from the interior.’

‘All needs bringing up to standard,’ Erestor said. ‘Improving, if possible.’

‘My lords, rooms such as these you have shown me are already a huge improvement. One could ask, perhaps... why now?’

Arveldir shook his head.

‘We are slow to change, to accept change around us. I suspect it has been easier to allow these rooms to lie fallow, to let the memories of those who used to inhabit them to fade. But the inauguration of the new Dragon Guard is an opportunity to rethink, perhaps, and the new acceptance of same-gender couples, the recognition of attending to their housing...’

‘I thought the king wanted something to keep himself busy,’ Hanben said. ‘Stop him dwelling on the fact that he no longer has three sons to order around, only the one. So he’s finding ways to provide himself with lots of things to think about, excuses, perhaps, to issue commands and to shout at people. Displacement activity, that is all it is.’

‘You may be right,’ Arveldir said, ‘although it is perhaps best not put to his majesty in such fashion. So, we are agreed; these rooms are suitable?’

‘Yes,’ Triwathon said, ‘I would be glad to have even the smallest room here.’

‘There will, of course, be a servant who will be housed at the end of the corridor and who will be responsible for the communal areas and suchlike. So, if all is well... Healer Hanben, consider what you can add to these rooms and let the King’s Office know. Triwathon, thank you for your input; Erestor and I must now confer, and send word of our findings to the king.’

*

Thranduil sat late in his study, reading reports and making decisions. 

It seemed to have been a very full day, busy with meetings and follow-up reports... some things had been unexpected, raising his eyebrow as he read a note saying that of all the sewing rooms in the palace, only two individuals had the necessary skills to make some of the required decorations for the feasting hall after what everyone was now calling ‘the wedding’. With some alarm he read a message from Erestor enquiring if kilts were standard wear for such events, and had hastened to think up a counter-ploy to ensure Canadion did not wear his knees and his torso to the event, however delighted Thiriston might be at the sight... and while it had not taken Thranduil long to decide on the exact course of action, that, in turn, had send the sewing rooms responsible for warriors’ garb manufacture into an uproar and Arveldir had reported back concerning irate seamstresses and leather-workers...  
But he was the king. They would have to find a way to make his will happen, or they would face his wrath.

He sighed. Having had an imperious forehead, threatening eyebrows and dangerous cheekbones bestowed upon him by the Valar, it was difficult to look genial at the best of times and so he knew his people thought him sterner than he really was. Fortunately, they had, in general, been pleased with his treatment of them and had come to believe that such general consideration from one who looked as deadly as a glacier meant he really, really cared for their well-being. And, bizarrely, they loved him the more for it.

Still, though, they were at pains not to anger him, particularly now when an uncontrolled outburst of rage could connect directly to his fëa and expose the memory of his dragon-burned face for all to see...

A line in one of the documents concerning accommodation caught his eye ‘...fit only to be repurposed as dungeons...’

Really? What use would he have for a dungeon?

Well, it was an interesting idea, perhaps...

No. It was time to stop working.

He moved away from his desk and poured himself a glass of Dorwinion, taking it over to the window, looking out into the darkness. Somewhere out in the night, his sons were on their way to Valinor. Somewhere, Nestoril was caring for them.

Tonight, Thranduil felt his solitude like a burden on his shoulders. Never mind that he spent most evenings alone; he rarely had uninvited visitors, one or other of his sons, occasionally, perhaps would drop in... So why was it that all he could focus on was the rare times Iauron had stopped by to explain – never apologise – one or other of his scrapes? Why was his memory so fixated on the one or two nights Nestoril had deigned to sit and drink a glass of wine with him? 

Why was he not thinking, instead, of all the pleasant hours when work was done and he and his glass of Dorwinion could end the day together? It had happened much more often.

A knock at the door made him turn and demand who was there.

‘Me, Adar. I wondered...’

‘Come in, Legolas,’ Thranduil said quickly, before his son could ask if he was all right. ‘What is it, ion-nin?’

Legolas shut the door after himself.

‘I wondered if you could spare me a glass of wine,’ he said.

‘Of course.’ Thranduil filled another goblet, topping up his own while he was at it. ‘Come and sit by the window. The stars are very clear tonight.’

They sat in silence, drinking and looking out. Legolas spoke first.

‘I didn’t think I would miss them, you know,’ he said finally. ‘I thought I had got used to not being annoyed by Iauron, by not laughing with Tharmeduil. All the weeks when they were here, but somehow... not here. I thought it would help.’

‘And it has not. Instead, it is as if you are losing them once more.’

‘Yes. Thinking about it, Iauron was pretty awful, really. When he knew I was... well, instead of being glad he had less competition, he was annoyed. I would give him a bad name, somehow, I do not know how, or why... but in time he got used to the idea. And if I was afraid he might let slip the secret, before I was ready to share it... well, at least he never did that. And Tharmeduil... I suppose I liked him better... I will miss them.’

‘Yes, although there is this to be said for Valinor; it is highly unlikely I will have to smooth over some paternity issue or other for Iauron... and at least I will no longer have to be privy to his misadventures... In some ways I think you knew them better than I did, ion-nin. Well, you are not alone, Legolas. You have Govon.’

‘I know, Adar, and I am truly, truly thankful that he is in my life, but...’ Legolas hesitated. Knowing how much Nestoril valued his father’s friendship, not quite sure how much his father had valued hers, he didn’t wish to stir up regret and pain, but he had to ask... ‘What about you, Adar? Who do you have?’

Thranduil smiled to himself and drank off the last of his Dorwinion before answering.

‘Why, Legolas. I have you, of course.’


	272. Dragon Heart Warriors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arveldir keeps an eye on the king, and Govon gets his new command

‘If I may begin, sire...?’ 

Arveldir arranged his notes, taking a surreptitious glance at the king. Not for the first time he sent grateful thoughts towards Erestor for instigating the tradition of breakfast meetings, for it gave him the chance to properly examine his king at the start of each morning. Now, three days since the princes had left, there was a strain around Thranduil’s eyes and a marked increase in empty wine bottles taken from the royal chambers by the servants each morning.

‘Yes, please do.’ Thranduil’s voice was as decisive as ever, the weary tone of boredom he affected in more public meetings missing from his tone. 

‘Has there been news of the expedition yet?’

‘We can start with that, sire, if you wish... yes, the guards on flet-duty have sent word; as of yesterday morning, all was well, they were even a little ahead of time, Healer Hanben’s contraption has not been overtly-tested, yet, but is holding up well. The healers report your sons are safe, and all is progressing well.’ 

Arveldir noticed the king tilt his head to one side, encouraging further information, and guessed Thranduil was hoping for word of Nestoril. But no specific message had been sent from the healer and so there was no more to tell.

‘We should continue to have word from the flet guards every few days until the company reaches the boundary of the forest, my king. After that we are unlikely to have further contact until they reach Lothlórien, where it is possible there may be a messenger hawk to send.’

‘I see.’ Thranduil lifted his hand. So far, he had eaten nothing, Arveldir noted, instead simply sipping at a water glass. ‘Then you had best continue with other matters.’

‘Thank you, sire. I understand that this is the day Over-captain Rawon will inform the Dragon Commanders who their core warriors will be. This is also an opportunity for them to be measured for their new uniforms...’

‘Will there be enough time?’

‘The armourers and seamstresses and leatherworkers have all protested, but have promised to do their best, although the Senior Leatherworker was muttering as he left.’

‘And the preparations for the avowing ceremony?’

Arveldir hid a smile; the king was the only one who still managed to refrain from talking about ‘the wedding’.

‘Yes, all in hand, although the seamstresses did enquire which they should prioritise. I told them the first order should already have been well in hand and therefore they ought not to need to prioritise... I was not popular, I fear.’

‘And do you court popularity, Arveldir?’

‘If I did, I would not be an advisor to the esteemed king of a realm such as this, sire.’

‘Well, at least you have the satisfaction of knowing that Erestor loves you.’

What had the king just said? Arveldir decided that it would be best to pretend not to have heard the comment about his private life.

‘And I think that is all for the moment, my king. Although I feel obliged to point out that Mistress Cullasbes is being vocal in her protests concerning our truncation of her interpretation of the guest list for the w... the avowing. She may wish to bring these concerns to you during your public audiences, sire.’

‘You had better prepare me; what are the issues concerning her choice of guest?’

‘There are two arguments; the first is that Canadion does not want these persons present and the second is that Cullasbes is trying to impose her will on the King’s Office. That she is also overbearing and prone to attempt to override her son is between them.’

‘I shall look forward to disillusioning her concerning her importance to the King’s Office, then.’

*

Bregon, Pedir and Govon all arrived at Rawon’s office at the same time. On their way they had passed the parade grounds were a group of around a score of elves were waiting and trying not to look anxious.

‘Do we know what this is about?’ Pedir asked nervously.

‘Not officially,’ Bregon said, and Pedir nodded, accepting. As the most senior Commander there, if anyone had known, Bregon would have done.

‘We can guess,’ Govon suggested. ‘It may be time that we learn more about our new companies. When we are likely to pass from being a theoretical to an official role, maybe.’

‘Or it may be that today is when you break the news to those warriors out there who they’re taking orders from in future,’ Rawon’s voice said, taking them by surprise as he entered from outside. ‘They do not know yet why they, and they alone, have been summoned to the parade ground.’

‘Our apologies,’ Bregon said. ‘Over-captain? Who do we get?’

‘You get day barracks for your companies and two dozen warriors each, in time. To begin, these are your core warriors, the heart of your command. Just a half-dozen, and you will find many are currently engaged with other commitments; working as instructors or else taking instruction themselves. Lists, Commanders. You get to choose your own seconds. And your first set of orders to be delivered immediately. Barracks assignments; Govon, you’re in West One, Bregon, East Three, Pedir, North Two.’

‘But, with respect,’ Bregon began, running his eyes over the paper he had been given, ‘these are not the warriors I was expecting...’

‘Consider this an exciting opportunity, then, to make new friends,’ Rawon said with a wry smile. ‘I expect the other commanders have similar comments?’

‘After seven decades in charge of a troop of hunters, I’m just glad of any promotion!’ Pedir said with a laugh.

‘Govon, do you have anything to say on the matter?’

Govon scanned the list and looked up with a tentative smile.

‘Mostly, thank you, sir.’

‘Well, the three of you, let’s get to it!’

On the parade ground, the waiting warriors came to attention at Rawon’s command.

‘Today you will be assigned to your new companies. On hearing your name, join your new commander. Commander Govon, Grey Company, name your warriors.’

Govon came to stand at Rawon’s side and consulted his list. Some of the names were new to him, but most were familiar.

‘Hador,’ he announced, delighted his former flet-lieutenant was serving with him once more, delighted that Hador seemed equally glad as he marched up and took his place. 

‘Thiriston.’ Yes, he was surprisingly relieved the big warrior was on his list. And equally relieved at the next name down. ‘Canadion.’  
He saw Thiriston relax as he heard the name and waited for them to settle.

‘Celeguel.’ Good, he liked Celeguel, approved her skills with a bow. And she had a huge smile on her face as she hurried to her place.

‘Fonor.’ The warrior looked startled, glancing around to make sure he’d heard correctly, and then came forward. He exchanged nods with Hador... good, the two looked as if they would be happy to work together in spite of the incident of the accidental wounding...

‘And Amathel.’ A very un-warrior-like squeal, hastily suppressed, and the elleth came forward to stand proudly with the others.

‘And this concludes the first selection for the Grey Dragon Company. You will be the heart of Govon’s command. Serve him well. Commander Govon, proceed with your orders.’

‘Welcome to the Grey Dragons, mellyn-nin. To the West Barracks, fall in and Thiriston, lead off.’

It was only a short march, but it gave Govon a little thinking time. He had three of the warriors he wanted... he’d hoped to keep Tinuon but the real loss, to his mind, was Triwathon... but then, Bregon had petitioned strongly to get not only Triwathon, but Canadion and Thiriston back, too... Still, half his company were his previous command, and half were new, and that was a good balance for one of his comparative inexperience.

He halted them outside the building.

‘This will be our day quarters while we’re on duty, my Grey Heart warriors. First order of business, I need a second. That will be you, Thiriston; you’ve served in that position for Commander Bregon and you know what you’re doing. Along with our new name and duties, we’re getting new uniforms and inside our barracks are several lovely people who are going to measure us up. In we go.’

In they filed and were met by representatives of all the craftselves responsible for the creation of warriors’ garb.

‘Which of you is the Commander and which the Second?’ someone asked. ‘We do not have all day, not if we are going to get you fitted out by the date the King’s Office is insisting on...’

‘I didn’t realised there was a deadline?’ Govon asked, lifting his arms patiently for someone to run round him with a measuring tape.

‘There are three companies all to be outfitted and we are given orders, just as you give orders, Commander, so please hold still...’

It was half an hour before Govon was free to accompany his warriors to the practice ground where he supervised and joined in with a round of single-sword exercises, glad to see that Hador bore Fonor no ill will, that the two seemed to be on their way to becoming good friends.

‘Commander,’ Thiriston called from the sidelines. ‘Commander Bregon is on his way over...’

Govon disengaged from his bout with Celeguel and went to meet Bregon.

‘Congratulations, Govon, you got my Second!’

‘Thank you... he is now my Second. It is a perfect core team.’

‘Mine is pretty perfect, too. I got Tinuon back, and Triwathon, so I am very happy, really. Pedir’s team are mostly his old command – the two who were spider-bit, they are his. I think Rawon is making it easy for us to begin with. This is new to us all, in differing ways.’

‘Triwathon will be glad to be back in your command.’

‘I think he’d be more glad to still be in yours.’ Bregon grinned. ‘No hard feelings. Besides, Rawon says these initial postings could be fluid. I told Pedir to join us when the outfitters were done with his warriors; how about a friendly session on the archery range, Red, Black, and Grey Dragon Warriors, the loser provides the beer?’


	273. Callordor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Govon settles into his new command...

There was a small room at one end of the Grey Dragon Company’s day barracks which had a desk and a couple of chairs in it, so it had to be his office, Govon realised. He wiped off the top of the desk and looked through the drawers. 

The previous incumbent had been of a tidy persuasion, for they had left nothing behind other than a well-thumbed Book of Regulations and some writing implements. A window in the wooden wall to his left looked out to the parade grounds, currently empty, and there was a weapons rack behind him, waiting to be stocked.

A knock on the open door and he saw one of Rawon’s standing army rank-and-file coming to smart attention.

‘Commander Govon, sir? I have a delivery from Over-captain Rawon, sir.’

‘Just put it on the desk, ah...?’

‘Ýridhrendir, sir.’

‘Well, thank you ...Ýridhrendir.’

Govon winced to himself, knowing he had stumbled over the name, saw the youngster grin.

‘Just call me Dir, sir; everyone else does!’

Govon smiled back and opened the leather dispatch pouch.

‘Does the Over-captain expect a reply?’

‘No, sir, he said to say he will drop by later. Is that all, sir?’

‘It is, Ýridhrendir. Dismissed.’

‘Thank you sir. Oh, and sir?’

‘Yes?’

‘Congratulations and welcome to the ground.’

Govon waved the youngster off and tipped the contents of the pouch onto his desk. A new regulations book, a Guide for Commanders (outlining his new duties towards his warriors), a day book for keeping records, report sheets, and a small wooden plaque which read ‘Callordor Govon, Commander of the Grey Dragon Company’.

Commander of the Grey Dragon Company. It certainly sounded well.

But not as well as ‘Callordor Govon’ did.

Of the four ranks of captaincy, there was only one higher than Callordor – Argallor – and officially there were only two ranks now between Govon and Rawon. There was a whole world of experience and politics in between, he knew, and he had never for a moment imagined, when he was in charge of a two-lieutenant flat, that he would have ever risen to this.

Briefly he wondered whether it would have ever happened, if Legolas had not found him and his warriors spider-sick on the flet... not that Govon was not an able warrior, not that he felt, any longer, that he had been promoted because of who he loved, rather than who he was – but that without that initial notice, without Hador telling the story of how the other warrior had been trapped and how Govon had stayed to free him (playing down the fact that he, too, had stayed behind), perhaps he would not have had the chance to show his mettle.

There was a loop on the plaque, and a hook on the outside of the door, and Govon united the two, unable to prevent a smile as he read the wording again.

Callordor.

Merlinith would almost pop with pride.

He went back to his desk and began to read through his Commander’s Guide, realising as he flicked through that he was going to have to sort out promotions for his command, too, as appropriate – a callordor’s second would have to have a rank of his own... it had not mattered, in the Court Guard, they were all honorary captains, but now, it would be important, particularly once his command grew to its final numbers... it seemed that giving these lower promotions and ranks was his decision, but that he would have to clear them with Rawon first... For the moment, all he needed was a Second, Thiriston, and he realised he hadn’t known what the big warrior’s rank under Bregon had been... well, Rawon would know, he could put it to him presently...

A knock at the door which he had left almost closed, so that his name plaque was obvious to anyone approaching.

‘Come in,’ he called, gathering himself, preparing to see Rawon.

Instead, Triwathon presented himself.

‘Callordor Govon, I... if you are busy, I can come back...’

‘Not at all, please, have a seat, Triwathon.’

‘You might wonder why I am here, when I am no longer in your command, but...’

‘Well, none of us commanders had any choice in who we were given,’ Govon said. ‘I was sorry to see you weren’t in the Grey Dragons, though.’

‘I wanted to say... I would have never... that is, I did not have the choice, either. That is, I am delighted Commander Bregon is glad to have me back, and I am not unhappy, but...’

‘I think it was a wise decision, whoever made it,’ Govon said. ‘Commander Bregon has been in post for a very long time, and is much better placed to bring on a young trainee captain than I am, who have had no formal training in such things. Triwathon, you will be an excellent officer, and by being in the command of someone who knows what he’s doing, you will be better than if you were left in my hands.’ 

Triwathon smiled.

‘I am grateful for you words. I did not wish you to think I had been... disloyal...’

‘Of course not.’ Govon smiled. ‘It’s a lot to take in at first, I know. I was terrified... my first command, and not only was it the first time I’d been in charge of more than two warriors at once, my job was to keep the king and the court safe...’

‘It sounds quite daunting, Callordor.’

‘Callordor!’ Govon repeated. ‘I’m sure I’ll get bored with being called that, but probably not yet for a while! Thank you for coming to see me,   
Triwathon; it was thoughtful, and it’s that kind of thoughtfulness that will make you successful. Just don’t let your warriors have their own way too much.’

*

Rawon, when he arrived a few minutes later, didn’t wait after he knocked but came straight in and took up a perch on Govon’s desk even as the Commander was finding a greeting and indicating the chair.

‘Was that Triwathon I saw leaving just now?’ 

‘Yes, Over-captain.’

‘Did he come to apologise for not being in your command?’

‘Something like that.’ Govon smiled. ‘I told him I knew it wasn’t his fault. That he’s better with a commander who has more experience while he’s doing his own officer training...’

‘Well, that’s very commendable of you, Govon, but just a little wrong. Celeguel is doing the same training, or had you forgotten? No, you have all the experience you need. Perhaps, like Triwathon, you just need to realise it... and the real reason he isn’t in your core warriors, would you like to know?’

‘If it’s not confidential?’

‘You’ve got an apparently balanced mix of old faces and fresh blood. But the key is Fonor.’

‘I’m looking forward to working with him; his sword skills are excellent.’

‘And his brother is Arveldir’s advisor-in-training.’

‘So are we looking ahead to a future where there is already a relationship between the Dragon Greys and the King’s Office?’

‘Not quite. We’re looking to the fact that Parvon, the brother, appears to have decided he is smitten with the fair Triwathon...’

‘Over-captain?’

‘Not our business, of course. But it’s common knowledge that there is something between Triwathon and the Balrog-slayer... if Triwathon were in the same company as Fonor, and the rumours about Parvon’s interest are true, it would dramatically increase the likelihood of Parvon ending up facing the wrath of Glorfindel of Gondolin...’

‘That’s presuming Triwathon would give Parvon the time of day, of course.’

‘That’s presuming nothing of the sort. With all you know of Triwathon, can you really see him hurting someone’s feelings? It will just make things simpler, prevent bloodshed, and possibly another kinslaying, if we don’t make it too easy for Parvon to indulge his little crush. So, was there anything you wanted to ask me about your new duties...?’

Not sure whether to be outraged that he was denied Triwathon’s service through simple politics, or delighted that Rawon thought him experienced enough to guide Celeguel through her officer training, Govon collected himself.

‘Yes – I want Thiriston as my Second...’

‘You don’t need my permission for that, you know.’

‘Yes. But, to my shame, I don’t know what his rank under Bregon was. I think he deserves a captaincy anyway...’

‘What level?’

‘Callor seems appropriate.’

‘You do know he has had trouble with discipline and insubordination in the past?’

‘I’ve heard rumours, but I’ve heard rumours about many of the warriors. For me, he’s worked hard, shown initiative, killed a dragon and risked his life for one of the princes...’ Two of them, if one counted the incident with Thiriston’s fist and Lord Elrond’s face, but best not to mention that... ‘I think he could grow into the rank.’

‘He’s not likely to get a command of his own, not with his history,’ Rawon warned. ‘But Bregon has always spoken up for him, insubordination notwithstanding, and he gave him a low-grade captaincy. So, yes, Callor’s the logical choice. You’ll want to appoint a company runner, too, someone to deliver the day messages and replies for you; this can be on a rota, if you want. You can choose whether to announce promotions and demotions privately or make it public at company muster.’

‘Public promotions, private demotions, I think,’ Govon said. ‘Unless I really need to draw attention to the transgressions...’

‘Sometimes a public demotion keeps the rest on their toes,’ Rawon said. ‘But while you just have your core warriors, no need to worry, I think.’

‘Thank you, Over-captain.’

‘You’re welcome, Callordor Govon. I won’t use your that title again – you will just be Commander in front of the troops, and Govon when there are just officers present. Understood? And welcome to your command.’


	274. Carousing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas and Govon are accused of overindulging...

Erestor collected his empty plate and cup together onto the tray. It had been a profitable enough breakfast meeting, but he was moving on now to peripheral issues; the end of the meeting was always a good time to give praise or to offer subtle suggestions.

Today it was a mixture of both.

He waited for Govon to set down his cutlery, for Legolas to add his plate to the tray, and moved on to the praise.

'And so, congratulations are in order, Legolas, to Callordor Govon on his promotion. Arveldir informs me that there will be a formal supper tonight for the new companies.’ These days, Govon was an official, invited participant at the breakfast meetings. Over time, Erestor intended bringing Parvon to these sessions too, ahead of the day when he himself might no longer be able to attend. ‘Relatives of course will receive invitations, too...'

'The King's Office might like to note that if Merlinith is invited, so, too, should be her friend Araspen,' Govon said.  
Indeed? Well, the new special friendship between the two ellyth had caused considerable gossip in the halls, and to have something approaching formal confirmation was interesting, to say the least.

'Duly noted, Govon, and thank you for the clarification.'

'Really?' Legolas asked. 'So it's official?'

'Seems to be. I can't remember when Merlinith's been this content. Except that she's flustered about a last-minute request for the wedding and now she has to teach her sewing room cronies how to crochet...'

'Ai, Arwen,’ Legolas laughed. ‘It seems you are missed, at least by someone...'

'I rather think this is all Arwen's doing, at its heart.' Erestor glanced from the prince to his fëa-mate. 'On a different topic, Govon, my prince, my associate Arveldir noted that his majesty seemed rather weary at their own breakfast meeting and so I have been asked to point out that keeping your royal father up until daybreak carousing is not the action of a responsible son...'

'You're right; it isn't,' Legolas agreed. 'But if you're trying to blame me and Govon for Adar not sleeping well...'

Erestor gave his tight smile.

'One of the servants mentioned, in passing, and within Lord Arveldir's hearing, that they had removed three empty Dorwinion bottles from his Majesty's study this morning. What other reason could there be, do you think, than that the king had allowed himself to relax in company with his son and honour-son?'

'What indeed?' Legolas replied, but caught Govon's eye, seeing him about to protest. 'Please pass on my apologies as appropriate and inform Lord Arveldir that I will talk to my father about the matter myself later.'

'Good luck with that,' Govon muttered.

'Also, ernilen, have you considered taking a turn on the practice grounds? There has been speculation concerning whether you had been keeping up with your sword-work of late?'

'Erestor? Are you suggesting I am out of practice?'

'Trust me, he isn't,' Govon said, grinning and unabashed at the withering look Erestor shot in his direction. 'He makes a point of always being ready for action!'

'I do not doubt it,' Erestr replied, amused in spite of himself but hiding it as Legolas coughed and spluttered into the remains of his breakfast drink. 'And rumour on that particular topic has certainly yielded much speculative suggestion on the matter and, I might add, given many in the King’s Office some interesting new ideas... Moving on,' he added hastily while Govon laughed and thumped Legolas on the back, 'it is more that, given recent developments, it will soon be appropriate for our prince to be seen to... Ah. But perhaps you do not know yet, perhaps it is an announcement being kept for this evening, in which case I had better not speak.'

'Erestor!' Govon complained. 'You cannot leave the matter there!'

'Oh, I think you will find I can,' the advisor said, getting to his feet and lifting the tray ready to deposit it on the table outside the prince’s chambers. 'Good day, ernilen, Callordor Govon.'

'Well, what was all that about?’ Govon asked, once he was alone with his fair elf. ‘Not the practice stuff, that is, I mean about you and me carousing with Adar half the night? I seem to remember us doing all the carousing privately?'

'Yes. It is worrying. As you know, the only time I spent with Adar last night was while you gave Merlinith the news of your promotion. An hour, if that. I had a glass of wine with him, and when you joined us we had one each to drink your success, and Adar gave us a bottle to bring away, as you know...'

'So, basically, Honour-Ada put away two and a half bottles of his best Dorwinion on his own last night? All by himself?'

'Yes. He has the constitution for it... but not the heart, Govon. I have seen him like this before, when my mother died... It took him a long time to come through it. And I dread to think what would have happened then, but for Nestoril.'

'Well, she is gone, and so we must sort him out between ourselves. No matter how much carousing we have to pretend to do. Agreed?'

‘Agreed. I'm sure it's just a passing thing. He'll adjust. He'll have to.' Legolas laid his hand on Govon’s arm. ‘And thank you, my friend captain.’  
‘That’s friend Callordor captain, to be precise,’ Govon said with a grin, pulling Legolas up from his seat and drawing him into an embrace. ‘So, I need to get to work. Are you coming out to play on the grounds later? I'll get my lhang out...'

'What, in public? How about a little sparring practice instead?'

‘That would probably be less distracting for my command, I must admit, if not as much fun. I will see you later then, my fair elf.’

‘I will look forward to it, my friend Callordor.’

*

Arveldir and Erestor were in the habit of comparing notes briefly following their breakfast meetings. Now, taking five minutes to meet up, Arveldir looked enquiringly at his friend. 

‘Legolas has apologized for his part in last evening’s carousing,’ Erestor reported. ‘He has said he will speak to his father on the subject later.’

‘That is good news,’ Arveldir seemed to sag with relief. ‘It is a matter for concern, so better spoken of now, early on, than once matters have progressed too far…’

‘I remember something similar when Celebrian sailed…’ Erestor sighed. ‘And yet nobody had died then and nobody has died now.’

‘Yes, it is not straightforward. Nobody has died, but there still has been loss.’ Arveldir allowed himself a moment of contemplation and then changed the subject. ‘Moving on, I need to present myself at the Hall of Audience presently; our king has insisted, exhaustion notwithstanding, to hold his public audience as usual and I need to sift out the timewasters first. If you could possibly see how Hanben is getting on? He has installed himself in one of the proposed new chambers, the better to see what is needed…’

‘Of course, I will be glad to speak with him. And I understand work is progressing on the crocheted project…’

‘You have news already? I applaud your industry… but…?’

‘Callonor Govon happened to mention his sister had been asked to teach crochet to her sewing room colleagues. And, while Merlinith is in my thoughts, I have been told to consider her and Araspen as a couple when invitations are issued and suchlike.’

Much though Arveldir would have liked to stay and enquire further on what seemed to have been a far more entertaining breakfast meeting than his own, time was pressing and he had a crowd of would-be supplicants to intimidate.

‘If you would repeat that to Parvon, as matter-of-factly as possible, I will be grateful. But now I really must go. We will meet at lunch, I hope.’

‘As do I, mellon-nin.’


	275. Cullasbes and the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the king holds a public audience and Cullasbes pushes her luck...

Despite hurrying, Arveldir reached the Hall of Audience to find that the session was on the point of starting without him while an anxious Parvon was trying to prevent a genteel scrum for position between more than a dozen would-be visitants.

'Parvon? What is going on here?'

'My lord, his majesty insists on seeing all the supplicants this morning; we are trying to establish precedence...'

'Are we so? My thanks, Master Parvon; let me take over for you. Your presence is required in the King's Office at once.'

It was phrased so that Parvon would not lose face and the young assistant felt a wash of gratitude.

'Thank you, my lord. Mistress Cullasbes has an elsewhere to be presently, and Craftsmith Duinor an urgent delivery for the king...'

'Do not let me delay you, Parvon.' Arveldir eyed the waiting throng with a challenging eye. 'I am sure we will manage to get this sorted...'

Waiting for Parvon to leave, Arveldir bowed to the waiting elves.

'Let me consult with his majesty. I will return presently.'

Just for a half of a heartbeat Arveldir thought Thranduil looked tired, but before he could be sure, the king’s guard was up and he sat proudly erect on his throne, tilting his head to acknowledge the presence of his most senior advisor.

'Where is Parvon?' he demanded.

'Sire, he has other duties this morning. I, as ever, will be overseeing your audience today.'

'It's come to my notice that not all who seek audience are granted, Arveldir. I have a reputation for accessibility to maintain, you know.'

'Forgive me, sire. But many of those who present themselves could find the information they need on the notice boards. Or they could simply ask me.'

'Indeed,' Thranduil said dryly, 'and does it not strike you as odd that they are more afraid of you than of stepping into the royal presence?'

'I thought that was how you liked it, my king, that you are approachable.'

'Well, see that you let them approach! I am expecting Duinor, one of our finest weapon-smiths. He is bringing me something and it is imperative I see him as soon as he arrives.'

'I am aware who Duinor is, your majesty. He is, in fact, waiting outside.'

'Good. We will have him in first and, if she insists on seeing us, Mistress Cullasbes last.'

'Sire, it will be my pleasure.'

Oddly enough, when Arveldir returned to the waiting area, he found more than half of the would-be supplicants had vanished.

'They remembered they had other matters to see to today,' Duinor offered.

'Duinor, good. His majesty has particularly asked for you first. You have something for the king?’

‘Indeed, I do. Will you need to see?’ Duinor lifted a long wooden box from the floor as he got to his feet. ‘It is meant to be secret until handed over to its destined owner...’

‘That won’t be necessary. Please follow me.'

Arveldir ignored the spluttering protests from Mistress Cullasbes and gestured the weapon-smith towards the doors, beckoning him to approach. Both bowed to the king.

‘Weapon-smith Duinor, my lord king, as requested.’

‘Thank you, Arveldir. You may leave us. Duinor, approach.’

Duinor rose and took the box he carried towards the king as Arveldir bowed and retreated in bad grace, his curiosity piqued. How like the king to dismiss him when there appeared to be something interesting happening! For why the king would have need to see Duinor, why any requests for the assistance of a weapon-smith hadn’t come to him to organise was a mystery... although Duinor had hinted it was something meant to be private, but unless the king was worried Arveldir would talk to Erestor and Erestor would let something slip somewhere... but neither Arveldir nor Erestor were gossips...

He reined in his annoyance and addressed those still waiting.

‘So, if you will please state your business with the king so that I may best arrange his majesty’s morning...?

‘I have an urgent matter to put to his majesty concerning the forthcoming betrothal ceremony,’ Cullasbes said loudly with a baleful glare. ‘The King’s Office has not been at all helpful!’

‘Mistress Cullasbes, yes. His majesty has agreed to see at the end of the session.’

‘But I have things to do! I cannot be waiting around all morning...!’

‘It is the place of honour,’ Arveldir chided gently. ‘And who amongst us would refuse to wait on the king’s pleasure?’

Turning away and noting more than one of the waiting supplicants were now hiding smiles, he inclined his head to the group.

‘Perhaps if I knew what you wished to bring to our king...?’

‘I am here to ask if there is news of our princes yet,’ one said.

‘And I am concerned for the future of the succession... ’

‘What is to be done now one of our great captains has gone? Are we still safe?’

‘His majesty has not been at the high table for some days now... is our king quite well?’

And there it was. The fear that lurked in the depths of Arveldir’s heart made manifest in a simple enquiry concerning the king’s health. And Arveldir did not really know the answer to that, but he understood instinctively that most of these gathered Silvans were here on any excuse they could find, because they were worried about the king.

‘In point of fact his majesty will be present in the Feasting Hall this evening where he will touch on all those matters – with the exception of the succession which really is none of our business,’ he said, hardening his voice for the last phrase. ‘Our king has been busy of late but yes, he is quite well.’

Duinor came out, grinning broadly, minus his wooden box.

‘He liked it!’ he said to Arveldir. ‘I am so pleased!’

‘Well, you are one of our finest craftsmiths,’ Arveldir said, wishing he knew what the ‘it’ was. ‘You make the knives our prince favours; he will have no other make his blades.’

‘Thank you, my lord. Good day to you!’

Arveldir waited and eyed the assembled supplicants. Picking one at random (for he had decided not to winnow them out, they all seemed concerned for their king) he beckoned him forward.

‘His majesty will see you next. Follow me.’

And he had been right; all they wanted, really, was to look at their king and know he was there, ready to listen to them, ruling over them.

‘Arveldir.’

The last supplicant before Cullasbes was leaving and the king’s advisor waved him out, turning back towards Thranduil’s throne.

‘Yes, my king?’

‘You took me at my word, did you not? No dissuading, no selecting... I think I rather preferred it when you preselected my visitors... I am tired... there is just Cullasbes, I think?’

‘Yes, sire.’

‘You had better bring her, then. And stay for the duration of the audience.’

Cullasbes somehow managed to make a curtsey look like an act of defiance and Arveldir prepared to enjoy the exchange; this haughty elleth was probably just what the king needed to liven him up a little.

‘Mistress Cullasbes, approach. On what topic did you wish to speak today?’

‘I am most displeased with the actions of the King’s Office concerning the avowing of my youngest son. I have repeatedly informed them I will need a score of good seats kept for family and friends and they are determined to refuse every request! And as your majesty is so graciously acting as Witness, I felt you should know that your minions are apparently bent on ruining the occasion.’

‘Indeed? It was my understanding that Canadion is delighted with the plans. His guests will have all received their invitations by now and everything is in train... with the possible exception of the contentious bunting, there is really nothing for your son to be displeased about...’

‘But he has not considered that my friends should be there...’

‘Why should they, in fact? I doubt they are Canadion’s friends, after all. He has friends of his own, I think. This is the way of our children once they grow; they make their own decisions and choices. Canadion will have the celebration he wants and my office is quite capable of seeing to it. Thank you for the honour of your visit.’

Cullasbes did not seem to notice that she had been dismissed.

‘Your majesty seems to be forgetting my connection to the royal family.’

Thranduil stiffened and Arveldir felt a moment’s anxiety. The king really had been very patient, but this was a huge impertinence...

‘On the contrary, I seem to be remembering it rather better than you are. My son Legolas is distantly related to Canadion through the connection between Canadion’s father’s sisters and Legolas’ mother’s family, although you tend to claim it is through your sisters. Now, if there is nothing more...?’

‘In fact, there is.’ Cullasbes gathered herself and prepared to express her outrage and latched her eyes on the king. ‘You must be aware that my son’s chosen partner has a bad reputation and I think that this is a mistake, I think in a decade or so Canadion will realise that just because his friend is afflicted does not mean he, is and you should step in now and prevent this ridiculous union before...’

‘I do not encourage use of such archaic and harmful terms as ‘afflicted’, Cullasbes,’ Thranduil said. ‘I would have all my subjects happy, if they could be, and I do not think a self-important, interfering naneth such as yourself can an objective judge. Thiriston is a hero, a dragon-slayer, and more to the point, he is not Canadion’s first male lover, as you would have realised had you visited your son while he was grieving his lost friend and recovering from injuries sustained in the course of his duties.’

Cullasbes stared as the king’s face changed, as the layers of perfect skin peeled away to expose damaged muscle and tendon, as a hole grew in the side of his cheek, his teeth becoming visible, his eye clouding.

‘I do not see how you can possibly consider yourself fit to comment on Canadion’s relationships when all you have done is ignore the penneth until now, when he has risen to prominence and is esteemed for his valour, and, in fact, were it not for the fact that his wedding is to be held in the Sacred Grove and with his king officiating, I am certain you would not care at all about what your brave young son has been doing in service of the realm. And if there is nothing more, you had better leave now.’

Cullasbes gaped, swallowed and backed away, Arveldir hastening forwards to usher her out of the Hall of Audience. 

By the time he returned, Thranduil’s face had reverted to normal and he rested his head back against the throne, his eyes closed.

‘My king, are you quite well?’ Arveldir asked quietly.

‘That elleth annoys me.’ Thranduil said. ‘Although had anyone told me, two seasons ago, that I would not only be defending Canadion in the face of his naneth’s disapproval, but also speaking out on behalf of those who insist on being in love without contributing to the birth rate...!’

‘As far as Canadion is concerned, my king, at that time you could not be expected to know more of him than common report suggested...’

‘Still, I seem to remember speaking rather harshly of him...’

‘I believe your majesty referred to him as ‘the tawdriest little slut in all of Mirkwood’, sire.’

Thranduil winced.

‘Did I say so to you, Arveldir?’

‘In fact, to Over-captain Rawon. I was in a position to be able to hear.’

‘I see,’ said the king. ‘Perhaps it is good that our over-captain knows the worth of discretion.’

‘Quite, my king.’

‘I think I will go to my chambers now. See that I am not disturbed until this evening; send out appropriate invitations for the feast tonight.’

‘Yes, my king. Commander Govon has made plain to the King’s Office that his sister Merlinith and Mistress Araspen are now cohabiting and therefore considered as a couple where invitations and such are concerned...’

‘Indeed? How very modern of Merlinith! It is perhaps a good thing Mistress Cullasbes was not present to hear that; she would probably be quite offended.’


	276. Argallor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil is comparatively abstemious.

A knocking on Legolas’ door just as Govon was rebraiding his fëa-mate’s hair prior to leaving for the feasting hall caused the prince to huff out a sigh.

‘Who can it be? We will be late!’

‘They will wait for you, my fair elf, although you may need to suffer your father’s displeasure if you keep him waiting. There; done.’

Govon lifted his hands from his fëa-mate’s head and Legolas called out as the knock came again.

‘A moment! Who is there?’

‘Arveldir, my prince.’

Legolas picked up his formal short coat and went to the door.

‘My prince, forgive the intrusion...’

‘Step in, then. What’s the matter?’

‘There are one or two points ahead of this evening... I am sure it is nothing about which you should worry, but I wished to make you aware... during his public audiences this morning, your father’s face reverted...’

‘Oh... No, that sounds as if it is something to worry about...’

‘The king was suffering from Mistress Cullasbes, at the time, and I think he was a little tired...’

‘Ah that will be after all the carousing, I expect.’

Arveldir winged an eyebrow, his mouth twitching.

‘It is a difficult situation at present; I expect you and your father needed the time together,’ he said. ‘Moving on, I am pleased to see you are attired for a formal occasion; your father will be referencing you tonight when he addresses the populace...’

‘Ai, what have you done now, melleth?’ Govon called, coming out from the inner room and fastening his tunic. ‘The invitation said ‘best uniform,’ Arveldir, and sadly Legolas said that didn’t mean my kilt but the Dragon Guard Warriors don’t have new uniforms yet...’

‘It is all in hand, Commander, and your Court Guard uniform is quite sufficient for this evening.’

‘Oh, good. Will there be kilts? I do hope there will be kilts for everyone! Merlinith’s very excited; she told me about her invitation, and she blushed when she mentioned that Araspen was included, thank you...’

Arveldir tried not to smile.

‘I am pleased she was pleased, and I thank you for making the King’s Office aware; his majesty would not wish to appear to be slighting any couple, whether traditional or modern. If you are ready, my prince, Commander, I need to attend his majesty and you ought to be in place first...’

‘Yes, we were just about ready when someone knocked on the door...’

*

The Great Table in the Feasting Hall could usually accommodate thirty guests with comfort. Today, taking into account the presence of the core warriors from all three Dragon Guard companies, their commanders, and their various spouses, partners or siblings, it had been necessary to extend the table to make room for the extra guests.

Arveldir, arriving to make sure everyone was in place before he announced the king, nodded to Parvon, there because his brother Fonor was now in the Grey Dragon Guard. It meant more of the evening work would now become morning tasks, but the assistant advisor was looking delighted to be there.

Also present was Duinor, the weapon-smith he had that morning shown into the king’s presence. Generally, Thranduil would tell Arveldir what he intended for his honoured top-table guests, but the reason for Duinor’s last minute invitation had not been shared with the advisor.

Everyone was in place at the high table, the hall full; this was the first time the king had eaten in the Feasting Hall since the two princes had left, and curiosity as to how his majesty was coping had obviously tempted many stay-at-home palace dwellers out to be social tonight.

Arveldir cleared his throat and announced the king who took his place with customary grace and dignity and swishing robes.

‘Send the wine round, Arveldir, have them serve the meal. The business will wait until after or we will never get to eat.’

‘As you wish, my king.’

The meal passed off well, Arveldir thought, enjoying Erestor’s company at his side and watching the prince’s attentiveness to both his father and his fëa-mate. 

‘Would you like us to join you after supper again tonight, Adar?’ Legolas asked. ‘Or would you join us instead? We left everything tidy.’

‘You would be very welcome.’ Govon added his voice to the prince’s. ‘Although I cannot promise we have any of the good Dorwinion left...’

‘It is thoughtful of you both, but you would do better to spend the time with Merlinith and Araspen,’ Thranduil said. ‘I have my afternoon work to finish this evening. Arveldir, you can spare me an hour, I hope?’

‘I am yours to command, sire,’ Arveldir answered, placing a regretful hand on Erestor’s knee under the table. ‘You will want the afternoon reports, I think?’

‘Yes. My own fault for asking not to be disturbed while I was... meditating. It should not take long, Erestor, never fear. In fact, you may join us, if you wish?’

‘Your majesty is most kind.’

Ah, well. Thanks to the king’s earlier orders, at least Arveldir and Erestor had had the time for a leisurely lunch... Arveldir beckoned the wine round again and almost choked as he looked across the table to where, opposite and a little off to one side, Parvon was staring at Captain Triwathon with an expression of unguarded admiration... and Arveldir was not the only one to notice, Triwathon himself, fortunately seated too far from Fonor and his brother to make conversation possible, was studiously not looking in Parvon’s direction and trying instead to maintain a calm exterior when his commander, Bregon, was openly grinning.

‘Do you think there is a situation brewing there, my friend?’ Erestor asked quietly.

‘I hope not. I have already dropped hints suggesting any pursuit of that particular person is not appropriate, but...’ He sighed softly. ‘Parvon is old enough to take a hint but young enough to hope, I suppose...’

‘Ah, the optimism of youth! Well, from what I know of Triwathon, he will let him down gently.’

‘And from what I know of Parvon, he will misunderstand.’

*

Thranduil sipped at his wine. He had been cautious; this was but his second glass of the evening and he intended it to be his last for the night. Having overheard one or other of the servants talking, he knew there was an assumption that he had been drinking with his son and honour-son the night before, and he knew also that Legolas and Govon were aware of it, also.

He was not quite sure whether he was pleased that they had allowed the tale to stand, or annoyed that they obviously felt the need to discreetly cover for him, but mostly, mostly he was ashamed.

That morning he had become so outraged with Mistress Cullasbes that his anger had burned away at his face and shown his old injury through; Arveldir had said nothing directly, and nor had Thranduil, but the fact that he could so easily lose his temper was alarming. And so he had decided it would be better if he did not rely on Dorwinion to help him find his way into reverie, not if it were likely to leave him so short of temper...

It was, perhaps, unfair of him to ask Arveldir to work tonight, but he wanted to show his advisor he could spend an evening in comparative sobriety... and there were matters he wished to know about... 

Ah, it looked as everyone had finished the main business of eating. Good.

‘Arveldir, I will address the hall.’

‘Of course, sire.’ Arveldir got to his feet and tapped his cutlery against his goblet to gain attention. ‘His Majesty King Thranduil will speak.’

Thranduil waited for the room to settle, taking the smallest of sips from his goblet.

‘My Silvans, my friends,’ he began. ‘Many of you have indicated your concern for our two oldest sons. I am pleased to tell you that we are in receipt of regular reports from their attendants. Progress is good, Iauron and Tharmeduil coping well with the journey we hear. Once the company reaches the boundary of the forest we will have no more news for some time, but at present, all is well. We are grateful for your concern.’

He paused to let them take this in, to turn to neighbours and comment on the news before continuing onwards.

‘Tonight at the High Table we have been pleased to honour the newly instituted Dragon Companies. As time progresses, more warriors will join their ranks but for the moment these are the heart of the new companies. Each is led by an able commander, Bregon, Govon, Pedir. But there is an empty place, a place for one to oversee all three companies, to determine where and when they can be best used, for the Dragon Guard’s purpose is to be responsive and effective wherever needed. They will be based in and around the palace and the court, but will not replace the palace guards and they need a leader who is not bound by the convention of the barracks but who has proven himself able under duress.’

A stir at this, and Thranduil permitted it to run around the hall before sitting more straight in his seat and signalling one of the servants to approach with a long wooden box.

‘So the office of honour-captain of the Dragon Companies with the rank of Argallor goes to one who took charge when I was incapacitated and the Commander of the Court Guard was feared dead, one to whom everyone looked for guidance when all was in turmoil. Legolas, ion-nin, you are the Over-commander of the Dragon Warriors, and this is the symbol of your office.’

Stunned, Legolas turned to his father.

‘Open the box, my son, and at least pretend to be grateful. Everyone is looking,’ Thranduil said with utter softness.

Legolas did as he was bid. Within the box was a short sword, half as long again as his knives but broader, shining and gleaming and with fair script engraved on it. 

He lifted it out and held it balanced across his hands. Annoyed though he was that his father had managed to foist a sword on him in spite of his known preference for bow or knife, still he could acknowledge the skill that had gone into the blade.

‘It is beautiful,’ he said. ‘Forged from one piece of metal, and I know only one with the skill to craft such a fine piece. Duinor’s work, is it not?’

‘Indeed, I thought the only way to convince you to use a sword would be to give you one you would cherish.’

‘Duinor, I am most grateful. This is exquisite work. Now I see why you are here tonight...’

‘Not quite,’ Thranduil said. ‘Duinor, such skill as yours deserves recognition. Henceforth you are appointed royal weapon-smith.’

Duinor rose to his feet and bowed.

‘My king, it is an honour to serve.’

‘Be seated,’ Thranduil said. ‘Legolas, you seem so taken with the sword that you have forgotten the reason why you have been presented with it...?’

Legolas replaced the sword in its case, pushed back his chair and stood up to bow.

‘My lord king, not at all. It is... unexpected, but it is an honour. Thank you. Commanders, I will look forward to working with you. I can see I will need to put in a few hours on the practice grounds.’ He glanced down at Govon. ‘And so I am entitled to tell you what to do now, Callordor Govon.’

‘When you are acting as Argallor, of course you may, my prince,’ Govon replied with a grin.


	277. First Muster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas takes on his new duties...

'So, henceforth ernilen, you wish the breakfast meeting to come forward by a quarter hour, is that correct?' Erestor asked.

'Not necessarily.’ Legolas’ eyes danced. ‘We could just finish earlier.'

Legolas' self- appointed advisor made a moue of disapproval as Govon grinned openly at this and helped himself to more toast.

'Legolas is our Argallor now, Erestor. It means he has to oversee our muster, and the time of that is set by Rawon, so unless we want to upset the over-captain...'

'I expect each morning will now be taken up with my Dragon Guard duties,' Legolas said. 'Practice and suchlike.'

'Yes, someone has to teach him how to use that shiny new sword of his,' Govon said.

Erestor and Legolas both waited, expecting some quip or witticism on the subject of the princes' sword, but Govon, it seemed, was more interested in his breakfast today, as when he continued, it was in a different vein.

‘You’ll have to be measured up for your uniform at some point, melleth' Govon said. 'I keep asking, but nobody will tell me if there's going to be a regimental kilt or not, so if you get the chance to wheedle any information out of Rawon...? And I'll confess, I'm sorely tempted to suggest that all the time Arwen and Merlinith spent together was spent teaching my sister a selection of crochet patterns to incorporate in our uniforms...’

'Do not you dare!' Legolas said, laughing. 'All right, if it comes up, I’ll ask Rawon about the uniforms! Now, Erestor, what else do I need to know?'

'If you should meet with enquiries concerning your royal brothers, notices with the latest information are to be placed in the usual areas, ernilen,' Erestor said. 'This should discourage misinformation, if nothing else. I believe it is likely you will be asked often, since you will be spending more time on the practice grounds and amongst the warriors. You may refer people to the notices, if you wish.'

'Thank you. I don't suppose you know how Adar is this morning?'

'In fact, yes, I saw him just prior to his early meeting with Arveldir.’ Erestor thought for a moment. 'It is difficult to adequately describe his majesty's mood... If I were to say 'awake', would you comprehend?'

'I see. My sympathies with Arveldir, then,' Legolas said, grinning: he knew exactly what Erestor meant; the first morning Thranduil woke clear-headed after several days of overindulgence often saw the king in a fouler temper than the severest of hangovers did. 'And don't fear; it usually wears off by mid-afternoon.'

'I am sure that is something we will all look forward to,' Erestor said.

*

'You can't just wander up in your hunter's gear,' Govon said after Erestor had left, eyeing his fëa-mate as he readied himself for muster. 'You are the Argallor!’

'But the only bit of proper uniform I have is the kilt... I would be happy to change into it...'

Govon groaned. 

'It would be too much temptation! Look, borrow my spare uniform jerkin instead of that tunic. And wear your new sword. That'll have to do until the uniforms arrive. And if you don't hurry, you'll make me late for muster!'

They reached the palace exit nearest to the barracks with a few minutes to spare. Reluctantly, Legolas released Govon’s hand with a sigh. 

‘I suppose all has to be proper, on the assembly ground,’ he said as Govon opened the doors. ‘I gather I’m to wait for the over-captain somewhere...?’

‘He usually has one of his rank and file running errands for him; I’ll send word you’re here... ah, no need; Rawon is just outside and to the left.’ And probably within easy earshot, if Govon knew the Over-captain... ‘So, I will join my Greys, ernilen, and see you presently.’

‘Thank you, Commander.’

No sooner had Govon left than Over-captain Rawon darkened the doorway.

‘There you are, my prince. With your permission, whilst you are on the parade and practice grounds and in front of your command, you will be addressed as Argallor. We will wait here for your commanders to get their warriors in order and then I will lead you out to them. Once you have addressed them and dismissed them for their commanders’ orders, we will go to my office where I will give you a sense of where your responsibilities lie and overlap with my own. I hope this is acceptable?’

‘Indeed, Over-captain, and very clear. My thanks. Please lead on.’

*

Govon was pleased to note his new command were all ready and waiting in their zone of the muster ground and were trying their best to look smart in their old uniforms. Celeguel, Amathel and Fonor, of course, were in the garb of their previous companies, but all had made efforts to be as neat and tidy as possible to honour their new Argallor.

Next to the Grey Dragon Guard, the Red and Black Dragons were waiting with their own commanders. It was not long before Bregon nodded to Govon.

‘Was that as much of a surprise to you as it was to us?’ he asked with a grin.

‘It was indeed,’ Govon assented. ‘And the jokes about me having to do what I’m told have already all been made!’

Several grins in the companies were hastily hidden as Govon lowered his head to disguise his own smile.

‘Red Dragons, stand to orders!’ Pedir said from the far end, and through the sound of the warriors coming to stand smartly to attention, Govon looked up to see Rawon and Legolas approaching and gave his own command.

‘Grey Heart Warriors, let’s have you tidy, now!’

‘Black Dragons, fall in.’

Rawon marched forward, Legolas at his side trying to keep in step and look suitably deserving of his new rank. The warriors stamped to attention as Rawon took his place to address them, Legolas at his side.

‘Dragon Companies, here is your Argallor. His orders are my orders, follow him well. Argallor Legolas?’

‘Over-captain Rawon.’ Was he supposed to say thank you, or call Rawon ‘sir’? Well, that was not going to happen... ‘Dragon Commanders, brave Dragon Warriors. Thank you for the efforts you have made to be well turned out today. Hopefully, the new uniforms will be with us soon.’ He allowed himself a grin. ‘My own included, and we can all start to look as if we know what we’re doing. I have had the honour to work with so many of you personally that I am sure we will become an effective and dangerous company in no time. Commanders, give your orders for the day, if you please.’

There being a tacit agreement between the three that precedence followed the order in which the dragons had died, it was Govon who spoke first.

‘Grey Warriors, we will have you on the sparring grounds today. Single swords, to begin. Those of you with tutorial duties, we will break in time to make sure you are not late to your places.’

‘Red Dragons, let’s do a little target practice this morning, shall we? Meet at the short range in ten minutes.’

‘Hand-to-hand for us to begin, my Black Hearts. And then... what? Rotate or combine?’

‘I’ll be losing half my force in an hour,’ Govon said. ‘And I think you will both see warriors go to other duties?’

‘This is true,’ Pedir said. ‘I’ll be glad to combine.’

‘No doubt our Argallor will be joining us... should we ease him in gently with some target practice?’ Bregon suggested. ‘Or shall we see if he can use that sword of his?’

*

In the privacy of his office, Rawon became much more deferential while still managing not to be obsequious. 

‘I am not quite certain how the command structure has been explained to you, ernilen?’ he began, placing a chair for Legolas before seating himself on the other side of his desk.

‘If my father sees fit to ride out, he is automatically the head of the army. That aside, you are the Over-captain with special responsibility for the standing army and security of the palace cave complex. Companies such as the Dragon Warriors I understand to be apart from that but...?’

‘Your orders are my orders, ernilen. But my orders are also yours, should a battle situation arise. Otherwise, your company is independent of the standing army, although I would expect to be informed if you are undertaking any particular tasks...’

‘Of course. Do we know how long before more warriors join our ranks?’

Rawon raised a mental eyebrow; it seemed the prince was taking this seriously, and so he supposed he better had, also.

‘I want Erthor and Calithilon to serve in one or other of the Dragons, when they return, of course. Meanwhile, I am compiling a register of suitable candidates for inclusion at the next phase. Not all of Esgaron’s warriors have the necessary talents, yet all need disposing of throughout the guard. Currently they are dispersed amongst the flet sentries and the hunter and scout parties. After this round of officer training has been completed, and those warriors on instructor duty have finished their sessions, we will be better placed to decide, since once the companies increase in size you will need to take thought to captains and lieutenants... but that is a discussion for you to hold with your commanders and myself when the situation arises...’

‘Thank you, Over-captain. Until such time as we are needed, I intend to join in with the practice sessions, familiarise myself with the talents of those warriors I do not yet know... would it be appropriate for me to sit in on the officer training classes at times to see how my warriors are responding...?’

‘I am sure that would be very useful, ernilen.’

‘Excellent. Is there anything more you think I should know, Over-captain?’

‘No, I think not. I’ll pass any adjustments down through Govon, if I need to.’

‘Very well.’ Legolas got to his feet. ‘I’ll go and see how the practices are going on. I may even join in one or two.’

‘You will need to be fitted for a uniform, of course. Someone will attend you in your chambers, ernilen. It has a little more dignity than having someone from the sewing rooms trail out here.’

‘Most considerate. Good day to you.’

*

Outside, he glanced around, trying to decide which company to visit first. Although his instinct was to gravitate towards Govon and his Greys, technically, Bregon’s group was nearest, and he didn’t want to appear to be showing preference to his fëa-mate, so he went to stand at Bregon’s side.

Tinuon was engaged in a friendly wrestling match with Rhonir, the rest calling out encouragement from the edge of the circle.

‘Good morning, hir-nin Argallor,’ Bregon said.

The prince grinned. 

‘Even if I deserved all those titles, I still wouldn’t insist on formality. You know your way around here much better than I do, Bregon; I’m happy to let you decide how to address me.’

‘Understood, my prince.’ He nodded to the wrestlers in the circle. ‘I’m glad to have Tinuon back in my command. In fact, I’ve made him my Second... seeing as I seem to have lost Thiriston’s services...’

‘Well, you’ve got Triwathon back, too.’

‘Very glad to have him working for me. He’s a lot happier than he was. More settled and confident now, even than before his friend...’ Bregon broke off for a moment. ‘It’s good to see how he’s grown.’

‘I think much of that is down to Glorfindel of Gondolin.’

‘Yes... but some of it has to be Govon’s doing... Ai, Tinuon, well done!’

Rhonir was on his back on the ground, laughing, and Tinuon grinning as he helped him up.

‘Care for a bout, Argallor Legolas?’

‘Thank you, Tinuon, I’ll pass. I’d gladly shoot some targets with you later, though. And well done.’

He passed on to the ranges where Pedir was leading practice with short bow. The commander broke off shouting instructions and encouragement when he saw the prince and came over with a bow.

‘Hir-nin Argallor...’

‘Commander Pedir. You have some fine archers here.’

‘Well, they have to be, the amount of time they spend on flets in the forest...’

‘True. I know your warriors less well than the Grey and the Black companies, and yet your work was vital when we were travelling to meet with Imladris. We were sorry you lost warriors on the way.’

‘It was hard, my prince; they were the first deaths we had had in decades. But it could have been worse, and that the king sent someone back to help them was much appreciated.’

‘Ai, that was a fine shot – second from the end, there!’

‘Ravondes? Indeed, I am quite proud of her skills – she is a far cousin... but her place in my company was approved by the over-captain...’

‘I am the last to comment on relatives and friends serving closely, Commander, do not fear! But with talent like that, I am only sorry she was not in our archery contest...’

‘Several of my best were on duty, or else I think the results would have differed,’ Pedir said with a smile. ‘Of course, if my prince and our Argallor wish to match bows with us...?’

‘I would be delighted – perhaps later. Commend all your archers, Pedir.’

Finally Legolas was free to seek out Govon and the Grey Dragons just in time to see Celeguel and Fonor finishing a sword bout. He swallowed.

He could use a sword, of course he could. But... he would much rather use his knives, if he had to close with an enemy, or his bow. A longer, heavier blade needed a different set of muscles to wield it, more overall strength... he thought about how Govon’s body differed from his, the firmness of his fëa-mate’s abdominal muscles, the power in his arms, the strength of his thighs, all from wielding twin swords and working the balance and play of the longer, heavier blades... he had nothing like the same build...

But then, Celeguel was hardly bulging with biceps, and she was holding Fonor to a tight, hard fight.

Really, he had no excuses.

The bout ended with a close win for Fonor, but the gleam in Celeguel’s eye threatened revenge.

‘And here is our Argallor! Legolas, well met!’ Govon called out. ‘Just in time to show us your skills; come on, let’s see that nice new shiny sword of yours!’

Legolas laughed.

‘And is that any way to speak to your over-commander? It is a good job we are all friends! That is, Amathel, we have not worked together, but I look forward to it.’

‘I hope I will not let you down, my lord.’

‘I am sure you will not; Govon will work you all too hard to permit such a thing.’

‘Come, we know you prefer the bow, but let us see if you at least know the pointy end from the handle,’ Govon said, grinning. ‘Let’s have you up with... Canadion.’

‘What? Really?’ Legolas asked, for even Canadion was looking surprised.

‘Thiriston is still working in his hand, and besides, he’s a destroyer... Fonor and Celeguel have just worked, as have Amathel and Hador. So unless you want to take me on, ernilen...?’

‘Very well. Canadion?’

‘An honour, my prince. And however poor our swordsmanship, at least the bout will look pretty.’

Legolas shook his head, laughing, as he took his place in the circle opposite Canadion and drew his sword. Canadion saluted with his blade, and the fight began.

It wasn’t a fast bout, and Legolas had plenty of time to wish he’d taken Govon up on his suggestion of a quick practice the night before. But he’d too easily been side-tracked by comments about wrist action and length of blade and it had ended up with something rather more pleasant than throwing a sword around... Canadion feinted and Legolas spotted it in time to block, the blades clashed and rang, but really, it was not his finest hour and after a few minutes, seeing panic growing in Canadion’s eyes, he spoke.

‘Very well, one of us has to lose; I do not mind if it is me, today.’

‘But you are Argallor; it would be very rude of me to beat you in your first fight... besides, I do not think I know how to win a sword fight.’

‘No?’

‘No, because, usually, Thiriston arrives and breaks it up before I have to...’

Govon called out from the sidelines.

‘Very well, break! We have seen enough to make us all feel more confident about our own sword skills! However, since you are both excellent with other weapons, all this does, Argallor, is stop us all feeling hopelessly outclassed...’

Legolas sheathed his sword with relief. Perspiration was dripping from his face, some from exertion, more from stress.

Govon came over and put a hand on Canadion’s shoulder lightly. 

‘Canadion, thank you for not utterly trouncing our prince,’ he said. ‘I think you and Thiriston have instructor duties soon? Very well, dismissed. Those who have training, off you go. The rest of you, meet with the other Dragons. I need to run through the day’s orders with our Argallor in my office. Ernilen, if you would follow me?’


	278. Concerning Uniforms...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas is measured for his Argallor uniform...

Legolas bit back his impatience as he stood to be measured for his uniform. True to his word, Rawon had arranged for the sewing rooms to send someone to the prince’s chambers during the latter part of the afternoon. Erestor had brought the seamstress and her assistant who, to Legolas’ embarrassment and Erestor’s restrained enjoyment, happened to be Merlinith. 

‘...and if we could just lift our arms up... there, lovely... make a note, Merlinith, and check the chest measurement again...’

‘Yes. It’s still coming out as between sizes four and five.’

‘Oh, that is a pity! Much easier when we don’t have to resize... There, we can put our arms down now...’

‘So, is your room making the uniforms for all the Dragon Guards, Mistress Camaemes?’ Legolas asked out of politeness and in the hopes that it might stop her from addressing him as if he were still in his first decade.

‘We’re just doing the soft parts for the commanders of the companies. The other sewing rooms are doing the same for the warriors, a company each.’

‘I am not quite sure I like the sound of ‘soft parts’, Mistress!’ Legolas said.

‘Oh, it just means the fabric garments really, the shirts and the leggings and the cloaks. Lower the arms, please, and turn around... inside leg...’

‘Must you?’

‘Indeed, for we want a good fit, don’t we? Merlinith, would you check that for me, in case of... distortion?’

‘Merlinith, do not you dare!’ Legolas said, causing Erestor to hide a smile. ‘If it needs checking, I’ll get Govon to do it!’

Camaemes sniffed.

‘Measure twice, cut once,’ she said. ‘Well, if you’re not concerned about a decent fit...’

‘Never mind that; the fit will be fine, there is no need to worry about distortion. You were saying, your rooms work on the fabric of the uniforms?’

‘Yes, there are other places to do the armour, of course, and the leatherwork; I think the kilts are being sent out to another place...’

‘Kilts? So there will be kilts?’

‘Oh, yes, but we have strict instructions; although the uniforms are to be done as fast as possible, the kilts are not for issue before the solstice. I am not sure why... and turn back again for the waist...’

Erestor, sitting calmly, cleared his throat.

‘Did we discuss what was to be kept confidential and what could be shared, Mistress Camaemes?’

‘We did indeed, my lord. And I would not dream of mentioning such important matters in the sewing rooms... Merlinith I know is fond of a little chat, but I have impressed upon her the need for discretion...’

Erestor let out a long, controlled breath that narrowly avoided being a sigh as Legolas grinned.

‘As far as it goes, Mistress Camaemes, Merlinith has been discretion itself these last few weeks,’ the prince said. ‘Although I know for a fact that she has been busy with things for Canadion and Thiriston’s avowing, and we are all agog to hear about it, she has steadfastly refused to be drawn.’

‘I am glad to hear it. We had better have that inside leg again...’

‘No. We had much better not. Can we get on, please? Erestor, I am sure I have an appointment somewhere soon?’

*

A lull in the talk within the chambers meant there were no clues, to any walking by outside, that there was anyone within. so Govon, finding the door unlocked, and it being his home, of course did not knock, but just breezed through the door, eager to see his fëa-mate and tease him about his sword skills.

‘Sorry I could not leave with you, I had to... Ah, visitors. Merlinith, hello! What have you done with Araspen? And I don’t mean, as in, personally, I mean where is she? Hope you both know she’s welcome here.’

Merlinith blushed and Erestor stared. Legolas tried to make all right.

‘Merlinith is here working today, melleth; she’s assisting Mistress Camaemes fit me for my uniform.’

‘Oh, so that’s why you’re standing on a box in just your leggings... I thought it was unusual... That’s not how they measured us, though... Erestor, didn’t see you there. How’s your day been? Better since mid-afternoon?’

‘It had been, Commander, I thank you.’

‘Well, you’ll excuse me, I’ve been overseeing hand-to-hand this afternoon and I need to wash the dust away. Nice to see you, ‘Lin, you don’t visit often enough.’

And, since Camaemes was in the way of him kissing his fëa-mate’s mouth as he went towards the bathing room, Govon contented himself with half-stepping up onto the box, kissing Legolas’ neck and gently fondling his backside on the way past instead.

Camaemes went bright pink to the tips of her ears at such a display of intimacy and Erestor shook his head in disapproval. Legolas just grinned and tried very hard not to let Govon’s demonstration of affection show in the fit of his garments; the last thing he wanted was for Camaemes to comment on the subject of distortion again.

‘I think I have all the information I need,’ the seamstress muttered quickly, backing away. ‘My thanks for your patience, ernilen. You can put your shirt on now. And your long tunic.’

‘Is there any kind of a timescale to the uniforms?’ the prince asked, covering up. ‘That is, you’ve much to do, and you are all working hard, and you are not solely in charge of the work so if another department isn’t on time, it’s not your fault, but...?’

‘I understand the Grey Dragons need outfitting for the solstice, my prince, and your uniform too. And the sooner I leave, the sooner I can organise the work so that it will not be MY rooms that let anyone down... Merlinith, I think by the time you walk back with me it will be time for you to finish for the day, so I will see you in the morning at the cutting tables.’

‘I will also take my leave,’ Erestor said. ‘Please, if you would... the matter of the kilts is not up for discussion...’

‘Of course.’

‘Kilts, did you say? Are we getting kilts?’ Govon called out from the bathing room between splashes. ‘Really? What colour? And ‘Lin, are you staying for a chat?’

‘You’re very welcome,’ Legolas said. ‘Mistress Camaemes, Erestor, thank you for your help today. Let me show you out.’

‘Perhaps I ought to go, too.’ Merlinith said. ‘You will want to be alone...’

‘Govon and I will have plenty of time to be alone later. Of course, if your friend is waiting for you...?’

‘Oh, no, Araspen is visiting her sister this afternoon. Her naneth is still unhappy with the situation – not because I am an elleth, I think, but because I am not Esgaron, but the sister is on Araspen’s side.’

‘Then let me get you a drink. We have some elderflower cordial... it’s very fragrant.’

‘Thank you, you’re most kind.’

Govon came out of the bathing room, dressed in leggings and shirt and towelling off his hair.

‘Kilts, you said? Come, tell me all about the kilts?’ he asked, sitting down and accepting a glass of cordial. ‘Ah, this stuff! I’d rather have beer, but we’ve been in trouble for carousing with the king, so we’re making sure there’s nothing stronger than this in the place for at least the next week... Arveldir’s disapproval I can live with, Erestor’s scolds take more getting used to.’

‘I am not allowed to talk about the kilts,’ Merlinith said firmly. ‘Or the uniform designs, or the decorations for the wedding.’

‘Well, we are happy to be surprised by the wedding decorations,’ Legolas said.

‘And if Arwen were here, and had her way, I am sure we would be,’ Govon added.

‘So... what are you not supposed to tell us about the kilts?’

‘Well, I must not mention that they are more pleated at the back than the previous design, and a little longer, to feed the egos of the warriors and stir envy and fear in the enemy. And I cannot say they are leather over suede, to make them more supple.’

‘Oh, I like the sound of that!’ Legolas said. ‘What colour?’

‘To match with the uniforms. Of course, I am not allowed to tell you what colour the uniforms are. So I cannot say that they will reflect the dragons, most likely. But a whole uniform in red would be too bright, and black too severe. By coincidence, we have had a large order of dark silver weave delivered, of the right weight for hard-wearing warrior garb... it is very nice, and will make for stylish garments.’ She paused to sip at her cordial. ‘I hope you did not mind Camaemes earlier, she does not often do the actual measuring, but it was thought you, ernilen, were too important to leave to the likes of me...’

‘She wanted to get her hands on my fëa-mate, you mean!’ Govon said with a grin.

‘Yes, that is why Master Erestor stayed,’ Merlinith said. ‘To act as a chaperone; your spouse is very much admired in the sewing rooms, which might be another reason why Camaemes did the work herself... Well, thank you for the drink, I must be getting home now; I still have several ells of bunting to crochet by tonight and...’

‘Bunting?’ Legolas asked, grinning. ‘I thought bunting was forbidden?’

‘Now, do not you go reading too much into that!’ Merlinith said, setting aside her glass and rising to her feet. ‘It is entirely possible I am making bunting for my own amusement, and not at all to annoy Mistress Cullasbes, who appears to be a most unfeeling naneth, so no mentioning it to the wedding party, if you please! It is meant to be quite secret. That is, if I were making bunting for the wedding, it would be quite secret.’

‘Which, of course, means that the only persons who know nothing of the matter will be Canadion, Thiriston and, hopefully, Cullasbes!’ Govon said after he had waved his sister off. ‘So, I’ve already been asked thrice today what I’m going to do about those sword skills of yours... Now, I can brush off civilians like Erestor by saying the sword is a symbolic token of your leadership, and none of your warriors are going to let an enemy get near enough to your person for you to need your sword, but it’s not going to wash with Rawon...’

‘Erestor knows about my sword skills?’

Govon nodded. ‘Or lack, thereof. Fortunately, the third who asked was Canadion and he had an interesting idea which I instinctively mistrust... but never mind that now. We can use your father’s practice room – apparently, he’s not been in since Glorfindel’s contest... so you need not fear an audience.’

‘Except I know exactly where the viewing room is...’

‘So...’ Govon pulled Legolas to his feet. ‘What I suggest is that you ready that weapon of yours and we have an hour or so finding out exactly what you can do with it.’ 

He grinned, tugging Legolas towards the bedchamber.

‘And we get up an hour earlier tomorrow and do some sword practice in the sparring room.’

Legolas laughed and followed.

‘That has all the makings of an excellent plan,’ he said. ‘Except for the part about tomorrow.’


	279. Cross Touch and Parry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Govon tries to teach some basic sword work to Legolas...

Legolas closed the doors behind him and glanced anxiously up towards where he knew the viewing room was located.

‘Legolas, there is no-one there!’

‘Are you certain, melleth?’

‘Positive. Nobody knows where the spare key went when Nestoril left, Arveldir has the other and Erestor promised not to let anyone in. It is just us, and there is no need to worry; I promise, I will not tease you about your sword skills. At least, not today.’ Govon raised his head and inhaled deeply. ‘Still, they cleaned up in here well; I cannot detect a trace of stale beer. Or anything else.’

Legolas laughed. The king’s private practice chamber, last used by Glorfindel for his disreputable contest, had not been used since, but the old sand had been stripped out, the underlying stone meticulously scrubbed, and a new layer of sand lain on top. Speckles of mica glinted now, refracting in the lamplight.

‘We’ll start with these,’ Govon said, crossing to the racks and selecting lightweight practice swords, unedged but finely made. ‘Just so I can find out exactly what level you’re working at.’

‘Govon, I am grateful for your help, but this is a waste of time...’

‘No, it is not,’ Govon said with a smile and a singsong voice. ‘You are Argallor; we will be working together in the field, on different terms from previously, and so I need to know what support you will need. And there are two other commanders, also, with whom you will be working.’

He crossed to where Legolas was standing doubtfully at the edge of the practice circle.

‘None doubt your courage, or your ability with the bow, or your knives. But there will be times when swords are needed and you are, in Bregon and Pedir’s eyes, untried. But Bregon I know will find it hard to believe you unpractised, not after the bout he had with your father... he still talks with awe of matching twin blades with his king.’ Govon handed one of the swords to Legolas. ‘Come. Starting position two.’

‘What?’

‘Starting position two; come, sideways on, sword touching the ground, like this... can you really not know? Or is it so long you forgot your basic training?’

‘So, in battle, assuming my arrows spent, my knives lost... is an orc going to wait for me to take up a starting position?’ Legolas asked, playing for time. ‘Is it some sort of universal training?’

Govon laughed as he took the stance, waiting for Legolas to mimic him.

‘Now, you might want your weight more on your back foot so you can drive off more quickly into the bout,’ he suggested. ‘Who taught you basic skills, anyway?’

Legolas muttered something, his face turned away.

‘Didn’t quite catch that, melleth...?’

‘Nobody,’ the prince said bitterly. ‘Nobody taught me sword skills; Iauron said he would do it, and Adar thought that was a splendid idea, sibling bonding and all that...’

‘And...?’

‘Bear in mind he was more than two centuries older than me; he had better things to do than help a callow youth scramble into a little bit of skill... he told me to go practice with my bow instead, and... well, there used to be a talain village, north of the hythe, where they brewed their own beer in the woods around... he would spend practice afternoons there, drinking... he said he was drinking, at least... and I would just work on my archery...’

‘So you were never formally taught?’

‘No. Tharmeduil tried to help, once he realised what was going on, but he didn’t follow any formal lessons and then, he was chosen for Long Patrol down towards the dwarf road...’

Govon sighed and shook his head.

‘Honestly, brothers! Who would have them?’

‘Well, I miss Tharmeduil. But Iauron... really, he was just...’

‘An idiot. So if I said to you, second position...?’

‘If you said it with a grin, I might have an idea what you meant, but not in terms of sword-fighting...’

‘Back to basics, then. Well, watch me... come, stand at my side, it’s all to do with where your weight is and how you hold your body to the enemy... this is first stance, sideways on, weight equally distributed... move the weight back, that’s second... roll through first to lean over the front foot, that’s third... and a half-step right with a body turn to face is fourth...’

Legolas followed the slow dance of stance through all the positions, trying them himself and finding a flow to the sequence that made a sort of sense.

‘Now, these are relevant once you’re engaging the sword and the weight of it is shifting your balance, so you know instinctively if your sword is forward you need to keep your weight back for stability, and you can plan your moves ahead.’

‘Um...’

‘Just like you do with your knives, only you’ve been working with them so long you don’t have to even think about things like this. But I’m sure you must have needed to, at first.’

‘Yes... but if you’re thinking I’m going to get that skilled with the sword...’

‘Well, you won’t unless we get started! Come on. We’ll start with a cross touch and parry...’

‘I probably know what you mean when I see it, but...’

‘Get back over there, pick up your sword, and hold it out like this... Rest the blade against mine halfway down... that’s the cross touch... and if you don’t know what a parry is, you might as well go back to bed now...’

Legolas grinned. 

‘Shall we assume I don’t, and we can stop this and...?’

Govon put on his sternest face and lowered his sword.

‘Second position. No, second. Cross touch, and parry...’

‘Why?’

‘Why what?’

‘Why parry? Why not just go in for the kill?’

Govon’s lips compressed into an exasperated line.

‘Very well – try it!’

‘But... what if I hurt you?’

‘You won’t. Unedged weapons and, besides... you just won’t.’

‘Ha.’

Legolas frowned, concentrated, and launched the point of his sword towards Govon’s chest. Easily his fëa-mate sidestepped, bringing his own sword to rest on the prince’s shoulder next to his neck.

‘And your lovely head is rolling at my feet,’ he said lightly, although he had to swallow, feeling slightly sick at how defenceless Legolas really was with a sword. 

‘You parry to knock your enemy’s sword away so that you can then dispatch him. Now come on, try again. Cross touch and parry.’

By the end of the session, Legolas was beginning to see how much he had to learn and Govon was frankly astonished the prince had survived so long without proper sword training.

‘Well, there have been no real battles for me to get caught up in, just a few skirmishes, some spiders... and the dragons, of course. Look, if I could just use this damn sword like I do my knives...’

‘We have five minutes. Why do you not try it?’

‘Let me have that one, then. I’m used to two.’

Govon threw the sword across and Legolas caught it easily. He balanced the blades for a moment, eyeing them critically, took hold of the hilts as if they were his knives, and forgot about them being too long, too wide, too different to be treated as knives and began to spin and work the blades.

Automatically Govon stepped back, out of the circle, for he was not entirely sure how far Legolas could reach with the swords; it was an impressive display of whirling steel...

But short lived. Legolas shook his head and dropped his arms.

‘No, they feel too heavy, they are not responsive enough.’

‘It looked good, though.’

‘Did it really?’ Legolas grinned. ‘Well, for you, I’ll keep trying.’

‘Good. Now come on, we’ve got the breakfast meeting in an hour.’

‘An hour? I thought it was in half an hour?’

Govon grinned.

‘I lied to Erestor about when we’d be back. Thought we’d deserve the chance to shower after the bout.’

‘And the sword practice?’

‘Yes, that too.’

*

Up in the balcony, watching quietly with Arveldir standing at his back, Thranduil shook his head. All those afternoons when he truly believed Legolas was learning sword work and instead, Iauron was teaching him... well, probably nothing of relevance, as things had turned out. But when he next saw his oldest son...

The king sighed as he remembered that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. He raised his hand fractionally and Arveldir stepped forward.

‘Yes, my king?’

‘Duinor, the weapon-smith. Have him design a pair of knives for fighting, the blades as long and as sword-like as possible. Let me have the designs for inspection as soon as possible. I am not convinced my son will ever be competent with a sword, so we will just have to make him as dangerous as possible with everything else.’

‘I will see to it, sire.’

‘And when we return to my study, I wish you to commence a list of items which I will need to mention to Iauron. Heading the list is the treasonous offence of neglecting his sworn duty and breaking his given word to teach basic sword training to his youngest brother.’

‘As you wish, of course.’

Thranduil smiled to himself as he exited the viewing room.

The family reunion might be a long time coming but, still, it would come.

He could wait.


	280. Plans for a Field Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Govon and Legolas make plans...

Legolas had no sooner recovered from his early-morning sword practice, leaving the stress of the sparring behind in the bathing pool, and was dressing for the day than Govon had made an easy announcement which had far more implications than either of them at first realised.

‘Oh, by the way, you have to announce a field trip at muster this morning. Then you have to talk Thiriston round; he’s not coming with us.’

‘What? When were you going to tell me this?’

‘Just now, exactly when I have told you. Well, I only began thinking about it last night – Canadion’s idea, I mentioned it? And I didn’t want to say before sword practice because, frankly, I thought you had enough to worry about. So, this moment, now. Just before Erestor gets here to distract us with breakfast.’

‘And what do you mean, talk Thiriston round? Field trip?’

‘Oh, you’ll hear about that later, when I announce it to the company; just stand there and look as if you know what I’m talking about. Well, I’m coming on the trip, of course... and so is Canadion...’

‘And not Thiriston? Ai, you have picked for me the easy job, I see!’

‘Do not worry, the rest of the group will be chosen with an eye to their gender and preferences and marital status. Not that I think Thiriston is really as jealous as he pretends, or Canadion as flirty... but no, just... mention it is his opportunity to shine in command, he is second and will lead muster in my absence...’

‘Which implies we will be away until after muster the following day?’

‘Yes... if not longer...’

‘What?’

‘...and will break the idea to him gently. I hope. Anyway, you are the Argallor, and his prince, so you can pull it off. I have every confidence in you.’

‘And when are we going? Why so long?’

‘After lunch today; you may need to pull rank and reorganise the officer training; we’re taking Celeguel.’

‘I suppose it’s no use arguing? But, come, what’s it about? Or I’m having you demoted to the ranks!’

‘But then you couldn’t call me your friend captain...’

‘I’ll call you something else in a moment...’

‘Well, the official reason is the healers’ hall is getting low on caul silk; quite a lot was sent with your brothers... so we’re going looking for spiders...’

‘And taking Canadion? To face spiders without Thiriston along to help keep him steady? Melleth, did you have a knock on your head, or something? That is ridiculous! What, is it some manner of pre-avowing trial of courage?’

‘Nothing of the sort! In fact, it is Canadion’s own idea... to go seeking spiders. It was my idea to make it a cross-command field trip, our first mission with our Argallor... it will be good for morale and fun, too, and give you chance to get to know some of the other warriors a little better. I’m going to ask Pedir’s recommendation for one of his, someone who know the habits of the spiders, perhaps... From Bregon...’

‘Tinuon. He knows his way through the canopy and he’s married, so Thiriston will have no cause for complaint.’

‘Tinuon, good. And see? You’re coming round to the idea...’

‘You’re forgetting something. My father. I doubt he would sanction my absence at the moment...’

‘Which is why we do not mention it, and why we leave today. Look, he cannot expect you to be both Argallor and prince, and he has given you the rank...’

‘I can’t do that to him. I agree, we could leave today... because then it will not look as if we have been preparing to be away from home for long. But I will mention it to Erestor, simply saying I will not be in the Feasting Hall tonight because we expect to be late back.’

‘I’m not sure that’s such a good idea... since you don’t expect us to be back at all tonight, and then everyone will worry...’

‘But we have say something – all anyone would have to do would be to ask Thiriston or Bregon or Pedir what’s going on and then it looks deceitful... does it have to be now, right away?’

‘Well... no... but before the avowing, at least...’

‘Ah, so it is some kind of test!’

‘If so, it’s only on Canadion’s part; it being his idea...’

‘Look at it this way. Would you go off without telling Merlinith what you were up to?’

‘Yes.’

Legolas laughed and shook his head.

‘I am sure, when you were sharing quarters, you would not have?’

‘Well... perhaps not. But not now; I have you, and she has Araspen, and we have our own lives...’

‘But who does my father have now? Do you see?’

Govon sighed.

‘Yes, yes, I understand! But... it would solve so many problems. Canadion wants to hunt spiders without Thiriston there... it would do the company good to work with their Argallor, not just see you as a figurehead... it would do you good to get away, I think...’

‘Perhaps. All right. Maybe we won’t leave today, though... I’ll see Thiriston after muster – is there an office for me yet? Or do I just set up in yours?’

‘No, they’re sorting something out for you...’ Govon broke off as a knock came at the door. ‘That will be breakfast. Are you not dressed yet?’

‘I would have been, but I was distracted...’

‘I’ll let him in, then. But hurry!’

*

‘Good morning, Commander, ernilen.’ Erestor waved forward the servant who had brought the laden breakfast tray, waiting for the food to be served. 

‘Thank you, that is all.’

‘Erestor, good. Is there much business today? I have something myself I need you to clear with my father for me...’

‘Really, my prince? No, there is not much business and what there is largely is to do with the logistics of the w... of the avowing...’

Legolas took a seat and gestured to a chair for Erestor; Govon had already sat and was helping himself to food.

‘I don’t know why we don’t just call it a wedding and have done with it,’ the commander said with a grin. ‘It’s how the two concerned refer to it...’

‘Thiriston only does it to annoy Cullasbes, I think,’ Legolas said. ‘Go on, Erestor?’

‘Artisan Hanben... a new title, he decided upon it himself and the King’s Office approved – is refurbishing new quarters for the prospective couple; Thiriston has been consulted but is keen to keep it as a surprise for Canadion... which is a little difficult...’

Legolas grinned at Govon. Govon shrugged and grinned back.

‘Are you thinking what I am thinking, melleth?’

‘Possibly... Erestor, it’s usual before an avowing for the two parties, however close, to want a little time apart – to make avowing tokens if nothing else... and I am sure it would be useful to Thiriston if Canadion were out from under his feet while he sorts out these consultations...?’

‘Indeed, one of the things I was going to moot was whether Thiriston could be spared more time while Canadion is occupied...’

‘Well, Govon and I have been thinking... the healers need more caul silk, I need to prove myself as Argallor and lead some kind of exercise...’

‘Field trip,’ Govon supplied.

‘Yes, a field trip. A cross-command selection of Dragon Warriors, led by me, with Govon as my second, to look for a caul... so, we will go on a small trip into the forest and take Canadion with us...’

‘That sounds exactly what is needed, ernilen.’

‘We will spend today preparing and leave tomorrow. And we should only be a day or two; of course, you will have to tell Arveldir so that he can clear it with my father...’

‘Oh, but wait! I am not sure that will be received at all well... your father will not want you taking any risks...’

‘There are few risks; we will be well-prepared and well-armed. And besides, I am sure if anyone could find a tactful way of saying to my father that he should have thought of that before he made me Argallor, you are that person...’

‘My prince, you flatter me,’ Erestor said drily.

*

It was not proper, of course, for Legolas and Govon to walk out onto the parade ground together; Legolas was Argallor of all the Dragon Guards, not just the Grey Heart Warriors.

So they parted in the corridor near the outer doors, and Govon went out to join his troops at muster, leaving Legolas to watch for when Bregon and Pedir had collected their companies together before walking out to meet them for the day’s orders.

Legolas had previously grumbled to himself that he didn’t really have much to do as Argallor, at present. He just stood there in his almost-uniform looking as dignified and Argallor-like as he could while the three commanders gave the day’s orders. Then if he had anything to add, he would nod to whichever commander it was most relevant to, and Bregon, or Pedir, or more usually Govon, would request silence while he spoke; it all seemed very fake and rather pointless in peace conditions. 

But in the light of the breakfast discussions, it seemed as if his inactivity was about to come to an end...

‘Argallor?’ Rawon’s runner was just outside. ‘Ernilen Argallor Legolas, they are ready for you, and the over-captain says a command hub has been set up for you near to the barracks and that you cannot miss it.

‘Thank you. Dismissed.’

He strode out and stood at the head of the three small companies while Govon and Pedir and Bregon gave their day orders.

‘Now attend your Argallor,’ Govon said, stepping back.

Legolas took a deep breath.

‘Firstly, Thiriston, I want to see you in my command centre after muster. Commanders, it is time we began to work. This being so, I am leading a field trip which will leave after muster in the morning... Commander Bregon, I would be grateful if you could spare Tinuon for a few days, Commander Pedir, give thought to who amongst your warriors is best suited to work in the canopy. Commander Govon, I would like Celeguel to come with us. Other names will be announced shortly; do not feel missed out if you are not selected, there will be plenty of chances you to serve. Dismissed, Commanders.’

He nodded and turned to walk towards the barracks and caught sight of his new command hub; a campaign pavilion. He sighed, remembering the long hours he had spent in one of these after the Battle of the Three Dragons... ah, well, he had fewer persons to worry about now... there was even a buckler outside for someone to kick to announce themselves.

But Thiriston did not kick the buckler. Instead he waited just outside.

‘Argallor Legolas?’

‘Thiriston, come in.’ Legolas indicated the seat opposite. ‘Please sit, it’s not a reprimand.’

‘Thank you, my prince... Argallor...’

‘Well, I understand from the King’s Office that you’d quite like Canadion kept occupied for a little while so that you can prepare for your avowing... your wedding... and surprise him...’

‘Yes... but I had thought this was a guard matter?’

‘It is. Congratulations, Thiriston, as Second in the Grey Dragons you will lead the muster while Govon and I are away on our field trip. I would also like Canadion to join us; his skills will be most useful and as much as anything I wanted to assure you that the other warriors with us will either be female, vowed, married, or strictly not interested in males...’

Thiriston looked as if he didn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed.

‘So,’ Legolas went on, ‘this meeting is to formally say that after muster tomorrow until Commander Govon’s return, you will be nominally in charge of the Grey Dragon Guard. Try not to cause too much mayhem, won’t you?’


	281. Discovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas is worried about Govon...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor sandalwood alert for the middle of this chapter...

‘Argallor?’

Legolas turned to see Canadion waiting.

‘Canadion. Looking forward to the field trip tomorrow?’

‘Both yes and no, ernilen... if I could speak...? Privately...?

Legolas glanced around the grounds. Presently, Govon was busy in the sword circle with Hador, Thiriston looking on.

‘Follow me.’

‘There has been a misunderstanding,’ Canadion began, as soon as Legolas had seated himself in his command hub and nodded Canadion to sit. ‘That is, I did ask Commander Govon if I there could be a field trip... but I said I wanted to... to find a spider. A carcass; I am sure I said a carcass would do and I know where such might be found. And instead, we are hunting cauls...’

‘I see.’

‘No, for I am not being clear and getting to the point, yet. Well, the healers do need the caul silk... but it is more that, there is risk getting cauls and... I am not trying to back out, I am not, indeed, but... but has our Callordor forgotten that he was spider-bit once? That Healer Nestoril herself warned about the dangers of a second bite, or sting?’

‘Ah. No, I am sure he hasn’t forgotten the spider-sickness... but possibly the healer’s advice may have slipped his mind. Canadion, thank you for bringing this to my attention. And since it was you reminded me, I must charge you with the task of keeping him out of trouble.’

‘My prince?’

‘Well, I do not see how I can say anything without Commander Govon realising I’ve been warned. And to make another aware of the danger to him might be a blow to his pride...’

‘Whereas I am in on the secret already. Of course, Argallor.’

‘So I will go to the healers’ hall and find out all I can about the bites and stings, and when we are on the trail you, Captain Canadion, will be responsible for preventing Govon from getting bitten. Thank you, Canadion. What have you now, archery practice?’

‘I’m meant to be working on my sword skills...’

Canadion sighed and Legolas echoed him.

‘Well, we can always improve, can we not? Thank you again for bringing this to my attention, Canadion. Dismissed.’

*

Healer Maereth was on duty behind the desk in the Healers’ Hall. 

‘Ernilen, how may I help you today? Nothing is amiss, I hope?’

‘No, not at all. Research, I suppose... who amongst our healers could best advise me of the full dangers and treatment of spider venom, both bites and stings?’

‘Oh, Healer Nestoril, I will seek her...’ 

Maereth faltered, shook her head.

‘Forgive me, my prince. We are still adapting...’

‘Yes, it must be difficult. We all miss her, but it must be particularly hard for those who were her friends. Still, she has left a legacy of knowledge and wisdom with you all and I am sure you will be able to help me.’

‘Nestoril taught me much of the subject; I would not claim to be expert but perhaps I can be of service... if I knew what you are seeking?’

‘A small company is setting out to seek for cauls for your supply cupboard, Healer Maereth. One of those being considered for the task has already been bitten once and I understand there could be problems if there were a second bite...?’

‘This is true. Can you say, was it a bite or a sting? Hunting venom or...?’

‘No, it was most assuredly a bite, by the guard spiders which protect the queens. The warrior so bitten was seriously ill for several days...’

‘I remember some being brought in not so long ago... Ai, yes; was not Commander Govon one? Captain then, of course... And Captain Hador and... another...’

‘That’s right.’

‘Once bitten in such a way, the toxin lingers in the flesh; a subsequent sting will reawaken it and cause exacerbates symptoms; a further bite could prove most serious; I would recommend that you choose another warrior.’

‘I see. But if the worst were to happen...?’

*

‘Hey, my fair elf,’ Govon called out as he arrived home and shut the door behind him. ‘Where did you get to? Not that I mind, I just looked about me and there you were, gone...’

He broke off as he was engulfed by a whirlwind of long, silver-blond hair, hugging arms and muffled words. Automatically returning the embrace, he staggered to the sofa to pull Legolas down with him.

‘Are you all right, melleth? What is the matter?’

‘Come to bed.’ Legolas unwound his arms and began moving, trying to pull Govon with him. ‘Come, I need you, I need you now, Govon...’

‘Are you not going to tell me what’s up?’ the commander said as he allowed Legolas to drag him to his feet.

‘Afterwards.’ Legolas was already working his hands in Govon’s clothing, freeing him from jerkin and tunic, tugging his shirt out of his waistband. ‘I need to hold you, I need to feel you beneath me, I need...’

Govon silenced him with a swift kiss.

‘I have not said for a while, but your mouth, it is so often talking and right now, if you are so in need, it would be better employed kissing, especially as it is not making much sense...’

Legolas was shaking, Govon realised, not just from desire or need, but there was something more, a ragged edge to his breath, an impatience as his hands fumbled Govon out of his leggings; it was clear his fair elf would tell him no more, though, not until after, and so Govon brought him to the bed and lay down, holding his fëa-mate close and distracting him until he, in turn became distracted in the sweet lust of sandalwood-scented arousal, the touching and stroking, the slow burn today burning fast, almost too fast, so that Legolas moving inside him, deep and hard and loving, was done almost before he had had time to adjust, and he felt vaguely worried as his fair elf slid out, turned him, kissed him, and slithered down his body to mouth and tongue him to orgasm.

It was a little while before either of them spoke, content just to hold each other and lie embracing, but the niggling sense of worry would not let Govon relax, not really.

‘So, my fair elf, I think it is now ‘afterwards’... what’s troubling you?’

Legolas turned to look into Govon’s face, but it was a moment before he spoke.

‘I’m afraid for you, that’s all. And there is no need, I am sure, but I almost lost you once...’

‘And you lost me again, metaphorically speaking, that is. I don’t understand, love?’

‘You’re talking about going out after spiders. Queen spiders, which are guarded. And you’ve been bitten once, and if it happens again...’

‘Ah. I see.’ Govon shifted onto his back and stared up at the roof of the chamber, waiting. Legolas was the Argallor; he could just refuse to include Govon on the trip... and how mortifying would that feel? How would that look? ‘You know, you can command me to stay behind...’

‘If I were not your fëa-mate, I might wish to. I would enquire of any of our warriors if they have been bit before and if so, would want to order them to stand down. But I can’t do that to you; it would be disrespectful to your fëa, to our love, and besides, it would look wrong to the rest of the warriors; you are Callordor and you deserve respect from your Argallor as much as from your command. In my head, I stop being Argallor as soon as I get home, so I’m not going to pull rank on you; I won’t insist. I don’t want you to go. But I can only ask, as your lover, that you reconsider.’

Govon relaxed.

‘I think, perhaps, I should stop being Callordor as soon as I get home, too... the other morning...’

‘Yes, you were full of yourself, were you not?’

Govon grinned suddenly, hearing the change in tone from worried to amused.

‘Ah, my fair elf! Not as much as you’ll be full of me in a moment...’

*

‘Attend the Argallor.’

Bregon gave the order this morning, at Legolas’ nod, and the prince looked over the warriors lined up before him. 

‘The following Dragon Hearts to change into hunter’s garb and present themselves at the command hub smartly after dismissal: Laimen and Faenith, Canadion and Celeguel, Tinuon and Rhonir. We are pleased their commanders have allowed us to include them in this expedition. Commanders, take over.’

Legolas inclined his head towards the warriors and made his way across to his command hub to wait. A partition towards the back gave private space, and he ducked behind it to shed his mismatched uniform for hunter’s garb of green and grey, rebuckling his Argallor sword at his side over the soft leather jerkin and checking over his other weapons quickly; a double quiver of arrows, another bundle stowed in his pack. Ready, he took his seat at the campaign table and waited for the company to present themselves, using the time to consider the members of the company. 

Canadion he knew, of course. A brave fighter, he had a tendency to panic when there were spiders, though, so without Thiriston’s steadying influence, who knew how he’d react? Tinuon, a natural second-in-command, would get anything done you asked, self-contained, cheerful, resilient. Celeguel, young and exuberant, enjoying her officer training. Rhonir, a good fighter... Laimen and Faenith, from Pedir’s command, only their names and their faces were known to him. Pedir had said Faenith had done a basic wound-treatment and field healing course; Legolas hoped her skills wouldn’t be needed, but was glad to know there was someone along with a little training.

The buckler outside rattled, followed by Govon’s voice.

‘Argallor, you have... a visitor approaching...’

What now?

‘Attend them in.’

Govon appeared. 

‘I think you had better come out, my prince.’

Legolas frowned, but did as requested. Outside...

Well, the company was lined up, neat as you like, to one side of the command hub. And striding across the grass with deceptive swiftness, flanked by Erestor and Arveldir, was the king in his formal finest.

Ah.

Part of Legolas’ mind noted with pleasure how perfectly in time the warriors were as they dropped to one knee to honour the king... but the rest of him quaked and tried to guess his father’s mood from the stern expression; pointless of course; Adar was all king at the moment, with not a glimpse of the father visible.

‘Rise, all of you. Legolas, did you think the inaugural expedition of the Dragon Guard should slip out unheralded, unremarked?’ The tone was teasing, light. ‘These brave hearts deserve more. All of you, attend; this may sound like a simple exercise, a standard mission; collect caul silk for our healers, make sure the spiders are kept back, but it is an important one. In small companies such as this, bonds are formed and skills shared which have kept many a warrior alive later in their careers. Be bold, be true, and be well. And, Captain Canadion – be back in six days or you might be late for your avowing!’

A smattering of laughter met this and Thranduil turned away with a nod to Legolas.

‘We will speak privately while Callordor Govon musters the company at the gate.’

‘Of course, my lord king.’

Legolas stepped back for the king to precede him into the command hub where Thranduil dropped elegantly into Legolas’ seat.

‘Do not think for one moment, Legolas, that there is anything in the kingdom that is hidden from me, should I choose to seek it out!’ he said. ‘You were going to tell me about this little jaunt?’

Legolas gathered his courage. He really wasn’t surprised Thranduil had found out... nor did he blame Erestor, or Arveldir; there were far too many other ways Adar could have heard about this...

‘I was leaving word with Erestor, yes. I wasn’t going to ask permission, as such, though.’

‘Oh? And why not?’

Legolas grinned and threw himself into the other chair.

‘Well, it might have looked as if I thought you wouldn’t let me go. And then you might have wondered why I thought that. And you might have thought I didn’t want you to worry... And you might have been concerned lest I was worrying about you worrying and so I... didn’t want you to worry about whether or not I’m worried about you.’

‘Oh, very commendable!’ There was a hint of acid in Thranduil’s tone, but he could not prevent a smile. ‘Very well. Take care of yourself – and of your warriors, because, ultimately, they are your responsibility.’

‘I will, Adar,’ Legolas replied, hefting his pack and weapons and waiting for Thranduil to get to his feet before walking out with him to where Arveldir and Erestor waited at a discreet distance. ‘My lords Arveldir, Erestor, while I am gone... do not be keeping my father up all night carousing. That’s mine and Govon’s job, do you hear?’

That said, he bowed, and loped off to where Govon and the Dragon Warriors waited for him, his father’s unexpected laughter making him grin all the way to the gate.


	282. 'Heroes Moving Out...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Dragon Guards set off into the forest...

‘Are we ready, Callordor?’

‘We are, Argallor.’

‘Then lead us off.’

‘All right, Dragon Hearts! Along the road and over the bridge in good order. Fall in!’

Govon set off, the warriors falling into step behind him, Legolas at the back. They strode over the bridge, and Legolas felt eyes on him; perhaps his father was watching from some unexpected vantage point? Certainly, Thranduil seemed to have eyes everywhere, even in the canopy...

In this case, though, it wasn’t Thranduil, but Thiriston; Legolas caught a glimpse of the big elf lurking behind a tree on the forest side of the bridge. Waiting until the company had turned a corner and so were out of sight of the bridge and main gate, he called a halt.

‘Argallor?’ Govon said.

‘I saw something near that big oak; can you send Canadion back to investigate, Callordor? The rest of us should continue on; Canadion can catch up with us once he has made sure all is well.’

‘Alone, Argallor?’

‘Yes, alone. And the main company should get on...’

Short of asking outright what Legolas was thinking, there was little Govon could do other than obey. But while Legolas was using formal guard titles to address him, he had no option but to reply in the same vein.

‘Canadion, go and investigate the area around the big oak; if you need assistance, you know the call sequence. We are heading straight along the path. Catch up as soon as you can.’

‘Yes, Callordor.’

*

Thiriston had been almost certain that Legolas had spotted him. Whether or not the new Argallor would do anything about it was another matter... and he couldn’t be absent from the ground for long, if any of the Grey Dragons had questions, now it would be him they looked to for answers...

But by climbing up into the tree, Thiriston was able to see the company halted, saw Canadion turn and loped back along the path, within a few paces blending in with the dense undergrowth.

Thiriston descended the oak to lean against its trunk just as he heard light steps approaching.

‘Relax, penneth, it’s just me.’

He smiled as Canadion jumped at his voice.

‘Melleth-nin! I thought you were an area in need of investigation!’

‘I suppose I am, sometimes... not now, of course. Just wanted to say be well to you again. Couldn’t kiss you goodbye on the parade ground, could I?’

‘Well, not and keep your place as second, I suppose.’

‘Will you be all right? Going after spiders and cauls on your own...’

‘I will be fine; I washed myself clean of the dread of them, remember? And I will hardly be on my own; there are some good warriors with us... true, I will not have you to save me from the panic... so I will just not have to panic. Fear... I expect I will be afraid, but that doesn’t matter, fear is healthy. I will probably be very healthy...’

‘Be safe, then. Don’t do anything silly, and don’t be late home!’

Canadion grinned and gave his fëa-mate a hug, kissing him lightly.

‘And you, take care of yourself, mind your hand, and I will see you in a few days.’

Ah, it hurt to see him go!

Thiriston waved and watched and couldn’t say anything more lest his voice be so gruff as to give away the depth of his feelings and fears. But the fact was he had grown used to serving with the penneth and to see him go off, alone, into the big forest, was alarming...

He would be fine. Govon and Legolas would look after him and, meanwhile, there was a lot of organising to do towards the avowing and the new quarters. And a knife throwing session to oversee first, of course.

Reluctantly Thiriston pushed himself away from the tree and headed back to the practice grounds.

*

‘Is all in order, Canadion?’

‘Yes, Callordor, all is well.’

‘Good. We march for the glade where we stopped to don our warrior paint on the way home; there is no watch on the flets, presently, but it will be a good place to pause.’

They fell into step again and set off, Legolas at the head this time with Govon, Celeguel and Tinuon at the back of the little column. They kept close, but were relaxed and easy under the boughs, the air warm from the shelter of the trees, the leaves slowly beginning to take on the yellows and reds of the season.

‘It is beautiful,’ Legolas said softly. 

At his side, Govon smiled.

‘Yes, it is lovely. I never know when I love the forest best; every season has something of its own. But the rich ease of this season is always wonderful. Easy to get complacent, however, easy to be too easy... the forest is still the forest.’

After a while, someone at the back began to hum, another took up the tune, and before long the troop was singing. Legolas grinned; he knew the tune from when he had marched along here with Bregon and his troop, half a year ago. An infinitely variable song, today it was ‘Heroes Marching Out’, but the words changed with the mood and the direction so that it could be ‘Heroes Coming Home’ just as easily.

Under cover of the singing, Legolas spoke lightly to Govon.

‘Now we’re in the forest, terms like ‘Argallor’ and ‘Callordor’ sound a little overdressed somehow, do you not think?’

‘Possibly. And it’s easier to say Commander and my prince, I suppose...’

‘We want to create a comfortable atmosphere; not too easy, but we do not want everyone worrying about protocol, either. Will you mention, at the next halt?’

‘If you wouldn’t rather tell them?’

‘Ai, we all know who is really in charge here, I think...’

They reached the glade and Govon called them to attention.

‘Our Argallor has instructed me to say outside the confines of the palace, in such a close troop, we are ernilen and Commander to you; it is easier to say in a hurry. Take a break for ten minutes, grab some food from your packs, and then we will look at the map and make sure we all know where we are going and what we’re doing when we get there.’

The word ‘map’ was, perhaps, a misnomer. The sheet Govon unfolded was partly representational, not to scale, and was covered with symbols and signs that made sense only if you knew the code.

‘From our position here...’ Govon tapped a circle surrounded by small squares representing the flets above them, ‘we are heading south-east towards this stand of mixed oak and willow near a rill. It’s about four hours on ground trails, less in the canopy. I know you can all read the forest, so be alert for any chemical signals suggesting the trees are responding to spiders. The latest reports we have suggest that of those spiders that came through this way a few months ago, and then returned to ambush some of us at the river, not all the queens tried to get back across to the north; we think several of them stayed south to build a new colony, perhaps merging with one of the existing nests. So while we are not expecting sign for a couple of hours or more, be alert. We’ll head up into the canopy now; keep close, but not marching formation close. Second series calls to keep in touch verbally if we’re not in visual contact, and we halt at the rill.’

‘We will pair up,’ Legolas said. ‘Canadion, you are with the Commander, Faenith, with me. The rest of you, as you will.’

Govon shot him a curious glance as they began to pack up; Legolas saw the expression in his eyes and returned him a small, private smile.

‘This is a fine opportunity for me to learn more of the warriors with whom I’ve not yet worked,’ Legolas said. ‘And I promised Thiriston that Canadion would be properly chaperoned.’

‘Have you not noticed? Since they announced the wedding, the penneth’s not even thought of flirting with anyone...’

‘Yes... but that wouldn’t necessarily stop someone taking advantage of getting him alone, would it? Not that I doubt any of our warriors – but I gave my word as Argallor...’

‘Ai, I am beginning to dislike that word...!’

Legolas grinned. 

‘We can swap around at the next halt, perhaps. Now, are we ready? Will you give the order, or shall I?’

Govon smiled and shook his head.

‘Everyone! Pick your tree and move out!’


	283. Follower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thiriston realises he is being followed...

Thiriston had got back from his unauthorised jaunt to the forest without being missed, an excuse about ‘last minute queries’ ready in his mouth should he need it. He didn’t, and was glad of it.

Being left in charge was an odd situation, even though there were only three of the Grey Dragons to be in charge of; Hador, Fonor, and Amathel. After they’d watched the expedition leave in all due style, Thiriston had sent them to the practice ranges.

‘Short bow, all of you sharing one target and taking turns.’

Amathel had raised her eyebrow in a ‘You? Give me orders? Seriously?’ kind of way, and he’d grinned.

‘See what you can learn from each other. I’ll be along soon, I have a matter to attend to...’

And now, the matter of seeing Canadion off with a hug and a kiss was done, and he was back to find good tempered banter on the range, his three Dragons practicing with light words and laughter.

The laughter faltered a little as he approached; Amathel in particular subduing her humour, only Hador at ease.

‘How did you all get on?’ Thiriston asked.

‘Sir,’ Amathel began. ‘It is difficult to properly keep track when the three of us are sharing a target; accurate scoring...’

‘Did you find out a little about each other’s style, perhaps? Pick up any tips?’

‘Fonor treats the whole process as one motion; from quiver to nocking to pull to release. Hador pauses to sight twice, lowering the nocked arrow and then looking again.’

Thiriston smiled, trying to remember not to show his teeth as he’d been told it made him look like a warg and Amathel seemed anxious enough already.

‘You noticed two different ways of achieving the same thing; you found out something about your fellow Dragons because you were standing closer while using the same target, something you might not have noticed if you’d been spread out. Job done.’

‘Are you taking a turn, Captain?’ Hador asked with a challenge in his eye. ‘Or are you going to say your hand won’t take it?’

‘I can make a shot or two without strain, at this distance. After you, Hador?’

Hador stepped up. He did, indeed, sight and sight again, releasing the arrow to fly it straight at the target. At this distance he made the gold easily.

‘A shot that good deserves to stay in sight a while,’ Thiriston said. ‘Leave your arrow there for a moment.’

He fixed his eye on the target, at a point to the right of where Hador’s shot had landed, and kept his eyes locked on that one spot while he readied his bow. Knowing his limits, that the troublesome bones in his hand were still not settled quite safely yet, he made his shot swiftly and with the minimum of effort, so that while Hador’s arrow had rocked the target, his own looked as if it had barely enough power behind it to stick in the gold without falling out again.

‘Now you, Amathel.’

She tipped her head and moistened her lips, nervous as she raised the bow and nocked the arrow, aware of being the centre of attention. She drew, held her breath, and let the arrow fly, only releasing the air from her lungs in a sigh of relief after she saw her shot land in the edge of the gold.

‘Fonor, do you want to see if there’s room for you to sneak one in there?’

‘Yes, Captain.’

All Fonor’s preparation was done as he approached the target to take his stance; as soon as his feet were planted his shot was in motion, arrow, bow, sight, release, fast and smooth. He made the outer red and looked disappointed.

‘Ai, your arrow was shy!’ Hador said. ‘It didn’t want to get too close to the others!’

‘Difficult to find a place on a crowded target. But, well done. Everyone, well done. Amathel, any further comments?’

‘I wondered if that was typical of you, sir; you seemed to hold back... that is all. And you did not take your eye off the target.’

‘Yes, I was holding back; you may have heard my specialty is throwing knives. But recent injury means I’ve had to lay off a little. So I did all the work I could in my head; using the sighting techniques for knife throwing, gauging how much effort I needed to put into the shot...’ He paused to smile. ‘...and making sure there was already an arrow in the target so I could claim crowding if I missed. Now, about your style – and I’ve only seen you shoot one arrow – you looked tense until you released. Holding your breath, that’s a good trick; it instantly took all the stress out of the shot and put it into your muscles instead. When next you get to see our prince – the Argallor – shoot, you’ll see he does the same, but lets the breath go with the arrow.’

‘Thank you, sir. I am not always so anxious, sir.’

‘Don’t worry about it. And no need to call me sir, titles are for when Rawon is present, or the king. I have a knife-throwing tutorial to give shortly. You three can either carry on with archery, or move on to something else.’

‘Sword practice, Fonor?’ Hador suggested. ‘See if you can manage not to cut me open today?’

‘Well, if you insist...’

‘Could I observe your session, Captain?’ Amathel asked. ‘I have never thrown with knives, but any weapons training can only be useful.’

‘If you want. They’re all beginners, so we’re starting off with theory in the barracks learning room first... and if you’re willing to make a throw or two, I could use a demonstrator... if you can stand being looked at by a couple of dozen young warriors?’

‘Oh, I think I can cope with that,’ Amathel said.

Odd; she had seemed anxious before and yet sought his company, and was not worried at the thought of being under the critical eye of more than a score of her peers... but if it was just him, as her commanding officer that made her nervous, what had that earlier look been about? And why attach herself to him?

Still, it would keep her out of mischief, he supposed.

He found his learners waiting for him and launched straight in.

‘Amathel’s never done knife throwing before and isn’t in the class so she’s agreed to help today. She’ll get the same tuition you get so what she can do, you should be able to learn. I won’t be throwing today.’

Some of the class looked disappointed; Thiriston’s accuracy with a thrown blade was legendary, and feared, and several of the learners had signed on for the tuition simply because he was leading it.

‘Right. Theory first, so you know what’s happening behind every cast and why we do what we do. Personally, I learned to throw first and then found out the theory later...’

He launched into the lesson, talking about stance and distance and how to work out the tumble rate from speed and force, going on to suggest tips for marking and accuracy and hold.

‘Now we’ll go to the targets and I’ll talk Amathel through a couple of throws. And just so that you all know, with a short bow she’s a fine shot, so she has the eye for target work, just no practice with knives.’

Amathel managed a small smile, not quite so easy under the scrutiny as she had expected to be, and followed Thiriston out of the barracks.

‘Stand here.’ The big elf positioned her some small distance from the target. ‘You can either stand side on, or facing. Side on is more what an archer is used to. Think about how many paces away you are, how much force you’re going to put into the cast, and how many turns you’re expecting. Remember, you’re not so much throwing, as releasing – not unlike archery, again... take your time... are you going to hold by handle or blade?’

‘Handle.’

‘Good choice. Blade is showier, but you want to keep those fingers for your next cast... and you’re going to put some spin on the blade and keep your eye on the point where you want to hit. When you’re ready...’

Amathel nodded, took hold of the knife by its handle, eyed the target, pulled her forearm back and let the blade fly. It tumbled quickly through the air to hit handle first and bounce off. There was a smattering of commiseration from the watching elves, and Amathel flushed and dropped her head.

‘No need for that,’ Thiriston said. ‘First ever throw, technique was good, aim was true, but it was a pressure throw and you put too much into your arm. Think about what happened there, too; half a step back, it would have been perfect. What are you going to change, where you stand? Or how relaxed you are?’

A rueful smile, and Amathel shook out her shoulders, tilted her neck, and took a breath.

‘I am fine right here, thank you,’ she said. ‘And I will pick up the first knife when I go to fetch this one from out of the target.’

Thiriston nodded, liking her attitude.

‘Show us, then?’

And she did, her knife tumbling more easily, almost lazily, to make its mark, not quite in the middle of the target, but not so far off that she didn’t earn the approval of the group.

‘And there you are. Well done. Want to try again? You’ve a few more knives there, see how you get on with the set.’

Pretty well, really, Thiriston noted. Now the elleth had relaxed, now she’d got her eye in and forgotten she was being watched.

‘Good. Five out of six in the target. Collect up your blades, and then we’ll have these four targets and start with you four; I don’t want you all throwing at once, I want to be able to see what you’re doing and for the others to see, also. Six knives each, stand up, and think about what we said, what you’ve seen. Think about the feel of the blade in your hand, where you want it to go...’ Thiriston kept up a slow stream of instruction as the first four trainees collected a set of knives each and threw. ‘If you don’t hit your target, leave the knife fallen, you can get it later. Otherwise you might get in the way of each other’s throws...’

But the session passed without bloodshed, although it was still far too soon to see whether there was much talent in the group. Oh, there was bound to be one or two who were likely to shape up to be half-decent, but these were all youngsters, all untried, and it would take a few sessions for any natural talent to show through.

He said as much to Amathel once the trainees were dismissed and he was collecting up and putting away the knives.

‘So it’s just hard work for them from now on, practice and determination. You did well, Amathel. Missing with the first shot and making all the rest was the best thing you could have done for the lesson.’

‘It wasn’t deliberate, Captain. But thank you.’

Thiriston closed the barracks door behind them and set off towards the grounds. Officially, the morning drills were over, and the warriors were expected to put in a couple of hours practice or learning during the afternoons, so now was the time to break for the day meal, which he had intended taking in his quarters. 

But Amathel was following him.

‘Dismissed for the day meal, Amathel,’ he said.

‘Yes sir, thank you. I will stay with you, if that’s all right.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ he said calmly. ‘I have things in the palace to attend to in my down time. Regroup with Fonor and Hador after the hour of the day meal and spend time on practice.’

Still, she followed him.

‘What?’ he demanded.

‘It is not yet after the day meal, Captain.’

Thiriston came to a halt and looked at the elleth.

‘All right. What’s going on, Amathel?’

She dipped her head and had the grace to look embarrassed.

‘It was suggested to me that I... bear you company...’

‘Was it, now?’ Amathel, I am on the point of making vows – of getting married. And my chosen fëa-mate is, with respect, not an elleth.’

‘Also with respect, Captain, I know. But... he said, you might appreciate the company...’

‘Who said?’

‘...that you would feel less lonely if you had a young, annoying elf pestering you. And I was both next youngest in the guard, and I do not know about annoying...’

‘You’re not that young.’

‘Ah, and there I was, hoping you were going to say, ‘not that annoying’...!’

‘No, you’re doing just wonderfully at that...’ 

‘...but that I was the right gender... and...’

Thiriston ran out of patience. ‘Who said?’ he demanded roughly.

‘Canadion!’ she almost squeaked. ‘He... said he would feel better, knowing there was someone around for you to grumble at...’

The big elf sighed and shook his head.

‘Thank you, Amathel, then. But it’s not necessary. I’ve got plenty to keep me busy while he’s away.’ 

She waited, her head tilted to the side until he grinned.

‘If it’s for his sake, though, you can bear me company on the grounds once drills are done. So you can be my demonstrator at the next knife session, this afternoon, last of the day hours. And only because it’s for Canadion’s peace of mind. And only on the grounds; I’ve got wedding plans to make and you might see something you shouldn’t. I have some surprises planned for Canadion that I don’t want spoiling.’

‘Oh, how exciting! What surprises?’

Thiriston growled.

‘I’ll see you at knife throwing practice, later. Until then, be off.’

Already beginning to suspect the gruffness was an act, Amathel grinned.

‘Anything you say, Captain,’ she said.


	284. Canadion's Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion announces his intentions for an avowing token for Thiriston...

The last thing Govon had expected was to be chaperoning Canadion through the canopy.

He hid his disappointment with good grace and contented himself with the knowledge that there would be a change of travelling companions later on. He watched how Canadion moved, lightly and easily through the branches with an almost arrogant familiarity and trust in the trees. They advanced swiftly, leapfrogging the lead between themselves, keeping in touch with the other teams by birdcall and whistle as the day moved on and the afternoon grew golden around them. The stand of mixed oak and willow, the chuckling voice of the rill appeared much sooner than Govon could have hoped.

And they had got there much sooner than some of the other pairs. It was a little worrying.

‘Send out the ‘arrived’ signal to the others, Canadion.’

‘Yes, Commander.’ Canadion cupped his hands around his mouth and sent off the calls before swinging across to join Govon on the cross branches of a sturdy oak. ‘We have made good progress. I always enjoy playing with the trees!’

A whistled call, an ‘arrived’ signal from the left and Rhonir’s serious face emerged from between the foliage of another chestnut.

‘Well done,’ Govon called out. ‘We will await the others and then descend.’

Good. Half the troop together... what was the delay? He supposed he should have checked first that everyone was happy in the canopy... If Laimen and Celeguel had got into difficulties, Legolas and Faenith would probably have decided to wait for them, if he knew his fair elf... Argallor, his argallor; this was not a pleasure trip... but why not let them know?

Celeguel’s identifying call came through the trees, followed by herself and she crossed to Govon, speaking softly.

‘Commander, our prince asked me let you know all is well; we fell behind when Laimen had a little difficulty... Faenith is helping...’

‘And you did not know the signal for ‘wait for us’?’

She smiled.

‘Laimen has his pride. But our prince, he came back; the trees told him, he said.’

Govon turned to Canadion.

‘We should descend and regroup in the clearing to the left.’

The glade was small, the undergrowth tight and close and the air moist and heady in the autumn warmth. It was a good ten minutes before they had a signal from the Argallor’s group and the ensuing moments before their arrival caused Govon some concern.

Finally the prince came into sight, pushing through the undergrowth and holding back the bushes to make things easier for the others. Although Faenith was walking closely and supportively near to Laimen, there was not anything obviously wrong. Legolas looked, if anything, annoyed rather than anxious.

‘Commander, we’ll take an hour or so and consider the next part of our route. Walk with me to the rill?’

‘Certainly, my prince.’ 

Govon waited until they had reached the little, lively stream before breaking the silence.

‘What happened?’

Legolas sighed. ‘Laimen neglected to mention, when he was selected for the troop, that he was recovering from a shoulder injury gained in training. Apparently, a place amongst our ranks is considered a high honour, something to be accepted at any cost... so, I have learned something about Laimen, that he has pride, and courage in bearing pain, but not so much pride he would put us at risk by hiding his injury once he realised it was an impediment... and I have also learned that Faenith’s field-healer skills are very able and she has an acid turn of phrase when dealing with the injured which quite takes their mind off their discomfort...’ 

‘Do we need to rethink the expedition? A shoulder injury; he won’t be able to draw, so we will be an archer down...’

‘True, but his knife arm is still sound...’ Legolas shot him a glance under his lashes. ‘Still, at least he hasn’t been spider-bitten...’

‘Ha! I will be fine... No, if Laimen can cope, we should go on, I think.’

‘Well, he couldn’t return on his own. And it would be hard on any of the others, to send them home with him, so I would have to order you to take him back,’ Legolas said. ‘Which neither of us would like. But then we would be two warriors down, and it would be foolish to continue. So we must either all return, empty-handed, or all continue on.’

‘Continue on together, of course!’

‘We’ll keep out of the canopy for the rest of the day and see how Laimen is in the morning. Come on. We should get back and scope out the next stage of the trail.’

*

‘We have about three hours of daylight left,’ Govon said, once they had rested for an hour. ‘You are probably all used to night marches, but so are the spiders... they are nocturnal, generally, and our previous daytime encounters with them have been during forced migrations. I would have us settled by nightfall so we can rest and approach the suspected nest sites in the bright of day.’

‘We will keep to ground trails,’ Legolas said. ‘Laimen has been injured and it will make the going easier for him.’

‘Agreed,’ Govon tapped the diagrammatical map again, moving on before questions were asked as to how and when Laimen’s injury had occurred, to save the warrior’s pride. ‘The last report we have of the nest site came in three days ago, and it took two days for the word to be brought. So it’s hardly news... but then, we do know the queens will only abandon the nests if there’s danger around... We’re heading along the line of the rill now, roughly west, and we’re looking to camp in another four or five miles – there’s a clearing ringed with birches. We’ll stop there for the night. Yes, Faenith?’

‘Before we set off again, I would like to bind Laimen’s arm to immobilise the shoulder. He should not carry a pack.’

‘Good point. Laimen, we’ll split your burdens amongst ourselves.’

‘Thank you, Commander,’ Laimen said quietly. ‘I am sorry about this, I...’

‘It happens. Learn from it, that is all I ask. Faenith, do what you need. We should be on our way.’

*

They reached the clearing without incident and Tinuon got a fire going in the centre of the space.

‘It’s a fine evening with no threat of rain; no need for tents,’ Govon said. ‘So I hope you all have your regulation hammocks with you...?’

Legolas grinned, remembering the last time he’d been in a hammock, and wondered if he dared suggest doubling up. From the way Govon was trying not to catch his eye, it seemed his friend captain was remembering, too.

‘Those who do not, they can bed down by the fire,’ Legolas said. ‘Although I have mine. Are we setting a watch?’

‘Up to you, Argallor.’

‘I will consult with some of the outlying trees, and see what the mood of the forest is. Then I will decide.’

‘I’ll come with you,’ Govon offered. ‘Rhonir, start preparing the meal, will you? My thanks.’ 

Legolas headed out beyond the clearing a little way into the forest and swarmed up into the accepting branches of one of the beech trees lining a faint trail. He sat, swinging his legs like an elfling, waiting for Govon to join him.

‘The trees here haven’t had company for a while, it seems,’ the prince said. ‘They have missed us.’

‘Patrols don’t come in this direction these days; there are no longer any settlements in the region. The boundary now is the rill west beyond those elm we passed a mile ago; no resources, Rawon says. There’s a perceived need to focus on keeping our own routes clear and protecting the existing settlements.’

‘Perhaps that’s something the Dragon Guard could do; explore the regions we’ve had to neglect, of late. For tonight... if we set a watch, we could keep each other company.’

‘And our hands to ourselves, or it would not be professional of us.’

‘True.’ Legolas stroked the bark of the branch beneath him. ‘Tree is getting word from down the root runs... there’s a small colony of arachnids... is not it a pity trees do not have the need to count...? Not many, but no longer few... it seems to be where we expected, though, about a half-day’s march.’

‘That’s good.’

‘Even so, I would be happier to set a watch. Is that what you would do, Govon? Would you set a watch?’

‘Yes. I have one of the royal family in my care, a soon-to-be-married-and-therefore-daydreaming ellon who is apart from his beloved, and an injured warrior in the party. I would make it look like procedure, and downplay the importance of it, but still, I would have the warriors stand guard.’

Legolas nodded. ‘That’s all I needed to know. We’d better get back.’

‘You know, every time you need advice, and we wander off together, they’re all going to assume we just want a little... private time together...’ Govon grinned and pulled Legolas in for a swift hug and a kiss, mussing his hair. ‘And that should help keep the illusion going.’

‘Because it is better for the troops to think we’re insatiable than that I need to ask for advice, occasionally?’

‘There is no harm in their knowing they are led by virile and potent warriors... besides, as we are only going apart from the camp for a few moments at a time and there are no tents tonight for privacy, they will not suspect us of anything marital later...’

Legolas shook his head, trying not to laugh as he led the way back towards the glade.

The fire was burning pleasantly and Rhonir had been busy, a pot swinging over the flames with the basis of the evening meal preparing. 

‘All is well,’ Legolas said. ‘The trees confirm the nest to be where we expected it to be, and there is nothing of danger in the immediate area. The forest will keep the watch while we eat, and then we will set our own watch through the night; it is a good habit to get into.’

‘The food will be a little while,’ Rhonir said.

‘We have a wineskin. We can wait.’

The wine mellowed the mood, relaxed the atmosphere, although Govon did not completely give over his trust to the watch of the trees. Legolas, too, merely looked at ease, appearing to drink more than he actually took from the wineskin, but Laimen seemed to be using the wine as a way of taking the edge off the pain of his shoulder. The stew was cooked, and the pot went round with lembas, and the wine went round again, and Canadion lay back and began to hum in his fair voice. It was an old tune, a love song, and Celeguel joined in, and after they were done, and had been complimented, talk turned to Canadion’s upcoming avowing.

‘How long have you known each other? Faenith asked.

‘Forever,’ Canadion said simply. ‘That is, much longer as comrades than as more. We have been acknowledged a couple for ten years, a little more.’

‘And are you ready? Have you your token made?’

‘No...’

‘No! But how long do you have?’ Faenith exclaimed. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘I intend to collect what I need to make the token this trip,’ Canadion said. ‘It has been a while in the planning, but will not take long in the making.’

‘And your kin? They must be excited for you?’ Faenith went on; she had come from one of the outer settlements to serve in the guard, and did not quite know everyone and their families yet, so did not realise it might be a sensitive topic.

‘My brother Melion wrote to us that he is glad; his little daughter wants to be our flower-child, but I do not know what the King’s Office will do about that...’ 

He glanced at Legolas, but the prince shook his head.

‘No word has reached me, Canadion. And if I knew anything, I am sure I would be asked to keep it secret.’

‘My prince, can I ask... Thiriston and I were at your avowing... how did your father react?’

Those members of the guard who had not been part of Govon’s Court Guard, and so not aware of the easy familiarity between them and the prince, stirred at this, Faenith looking shocked; to her, this seemed a huge impertinence, so she was surprised when Legolas laughed.

‘Ai, Faenith, you might not know... Canadion and I are far-cousins...’ He turned to grin at the spouse-to-be. ‘I think it’s fair to say Adar took the news better than your mother did... he just thought we should wait, and have a proper celebration, but then my brother was chasing off after a wife of his own and I thought we would get lost in all his pomp... as it turned out, I was glad we had not waited, for we might have returned too sad of heart.’ He glanced at Govon. ‘And besides, I did not want to delay.’

‘It took me an hour to make Legolas’ first armband,’ Govon offered. ‘But I had no notice; he asked me, after breakfast, if I was busy that evening, and so I was left with little time to worry about it...’

‘Sadly, it burned in dragon flame, but I have some of it, still. And a new token. My point is that time is not really a problem. What will you make, Canadion? Do you have a plan?’

Canadion smiled.

‘I do indeed! Mellyn-nin, I am going to make the most beautiful avowing token ever. And I am going to make it with the help of the Spiders of Mirkwood; let them do something useful, for a change!’


	285. Third Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thiriston mopes...

Afternoon tuition had gone well. Amathel seemed to enjoy the performance aspects of the lesson, and had been a quick learner.

'At this rate I won't be able to use you in beginner's for much longer,' Thiriston said, shaking his head as she grinned and clapped her hands. 'Yes, so you have a little natural talent. Good for you. Don’t get over confident or you’ll never get really good.'

'Oh, it's not that,' she said. 'But, thank you! It's that you said 'for much longer'. It seems to mean I can still help, for the now, at least? Tomorrow?'

'Maybe. We'll see. Depends when Canadion is back.'

The spacious surroundings of the guest quarters that had almost become Thiriston and Canadion's home were too spacious, suddenly. Too tidy. Except in the bedroom and bathing room, where a little trail of debris showed where Canadion had been; abandoned hair cords, bits of discarded bow string, rubbish and tat, all left, probably, as a reminder that Canadion lived here, that this was where he came home to. It was reassuring, and sad, at the same time, Thiriston mused as he picked up the litter and set it on a shelf.

Well.

He had work to do.

Taking out a box from a hidden recess in the bedroom, he found all he needed inside, and set to work, following instructions kindly provided by Mistress Merlinith.

'If you get in a tangle, come and see me,' she had said. 'Or if you like, be our guest, and work alongside Araspen and me.'

'Very kind,' he'd said. 'Rather not be seen doing this, if you understand. Even by your good self… selves.'

He seemed to have got the hang of it, though. And it was quick work, so that after an hour, he was pleased enough with his progress to set his project aside, returning it once more to its hidden corner.

He left to have a quick meal in the Great Hall, no king in attendance, so no formality. He caught a glimpse of Cullasbes scowling, an ellon with Canadion-like good looks at the same table.

Erestor and Arveldir were in the hall, too, already well into their meals. Arveldir caught his eye and indicated a space on the form at his side, so Thiriston made his way over and sat with them while he was served food and wine.

'We thought you would like to know his majesty has approved Hanben's suggested improvements to the new quarters, if that's to your liking?' Arveldir said.

'Yes. Good. Last thing a fellow needs after a long day's practice is to have to share a bathing pool with a lot of splashing chatterers.'

'Presumably sharing with just the one splashing chatterer is far less taxing?' Arveldir said with a hint of a smile.

'When he's your own chatterer, yes, and he knows where he’s splashing. Makes all the difference.'

'And you will be pleased to note Project Arwen is going well, too.'

'Glad to hear it. Penneth isn't really asking much, you know; glad you found a way round the king’s refusal.'

'A pleasure to be able to find such a fitting solution. Will we see you tomorrow for a progress report?'

'Same time as today, after the day meal. And, my thanks. He's going to love it. Only, he'll probably give me all the credit...'

'But that is quite as it should be; I am sure you will benefit more from his gratitude than we would.'

Thiriston grinned.

'It is to be hoped so,' he said.

Thoughts of the surprises in store for Canadion buoyed Thiriston's spirits for a while after he returned to their rooms. He just hoped his brave, beautiful penneth would be safe. And home soon. And behave himself while he was away. But home safe was what mattered. Soon would be nice, of course.

There was still a little work to be done on the token he was crafting for Canadion, and the work kept him occupied for a time; while he was shaping and polishing the trinket – for so it looked, in spite of the meaning behind it, more of a bracelet than an armband – he was thinking of the avowing, of the commitment to his fëa-mate, and it made him feel less lonely.

Well, it was finished, shaped and neatened and tidied and polished. He slid the completed token into a silk bag and tucked it away in the same dark recess that he’d used earlier.

Within minutes of putting the token safe, his mood had swooped downwards again and he reconsidered Merlinith’s offer and invitation. She and her friend would be company, at least, and safe company, at that.

But no. They were too newly a couple for him to want to intrude. Besides, it would be a reminder of something he’d been trying very hard to forget; that tonight he’d be sleeping alone for the first time in a long while and he wasn’t looking forward to it.

Still, there was something he could be doing.

He went to his weapons chest and took out a leather bundle, unrolling it to reveal his two dozen throwing knives, all lined up neatly in their respective pockets; six each of four different styles, long and short, thin bladed and broad. 

It was a while since he’d looked at them, his hand being injured and knowing he couldn’t use them had saddened him. But now, starting to be able to work again, it was time to look forward to the day when he could practice once more.

Collecting his cleaning rags and blade oil, he set about carefully furbishing up each knife, checking the edge, polishing the blades, returning each to its holster once cleaned.

He’d just finished the second set when there was a knock at the door. 

Not expecting company, he was cautious as he opened the door. The ellon he had noted in the dining hall, the one who had been seated near Cullasbes and who looked achingly like Canadion stood smiling at him. Tugging at one hand was a small elfling with pretty features and delicate hair.

‘Your pardon; I was told this is where I might find Canadion and his friend; I am Melion.’

‘Ah.’ The name meant ‘third son’, so that, coupled with the stunning good looks, meant this was Canadion’s best brother. ‘He’s away on guard duty. But you are welcome to come in; I’m Thiriston.’

‘I thought you might be... I have heard much about you...’

‘It’s probably not all true. Mind your child a moment, there are knives on the table...’ Thiriston hurried to stow away his knives, leaving Melion at the door to decide whether or not he was coming in. ‘There, safe now... can’t be too careful with elflings and sharp things, can you?’

‘My daughter is interested in everything that she is not allowed to have,’ Melion said, taking a seat and making a casual cage of his arms around the youngster. ‘Thank you. I am almost glad Canadion is from home.’

‘I suppose it gives you a chance to look me over without him fretting one of us won’t pass muster.’

‘Ha, indeed! But really, I did not expect him to pass comment on my choice of fëa-mate, so it would be wrong of me to intrude... ‘

‘You are welcome to sit with me; will you have wine, or beer? I have blackberry cordial too, for the child? Or an apple?’

‘Beer will be fine. And yes, an apple. Mírien likes an apple sliced, but with no core. She is our fourth child, and we treasure her, my Gilrin and I. Some said we were foolish, to have another elfling after so long, but she brings us such delight.’

Thiriston polished an apple and sliced it, coring it deftly and laying out the slices neatly on a platter. He brought it to the child before serving both himself and Melion with beer.

‘I am sure Lady Cullasbes delights in her, also.’

It was said almost as a test, to see how Melion responded to mention of his and Canadion’s naneth, and the ellon grinned.

‘Ai, you would think so, would you not? But no, she is less pleased in her granddaughter than is polite... I think because we asked the Valar for elflings, but didn’t care whether we had daughter or son... the first time, Naneth thought we had asked... she was most cross when she found out all we wanted each time was a healthy gwinig... Still, I am not here to talk Naneth.’ He lifted his beer. ‘Here’s to a happy future for you both.’

‘And may your family continue to delight you.’ Thiriston saluted in return. ‘I will take care of your little brother, if you’re worried about that. Have been doing for a while now, in fact. He’s made a difference to my life.’

‘When he wrote to invite us, his letter was so happy. You... might not know, he’s had his share of unhappiness, in the past...?’

‘I know a little, not the detail. His first... friend, who also was a good friend, I understand. The one who died, and Canadion was with the healers, afterwards.’

Melion nodded.

‘So you can see, we were worried about him. My wife and I, his brothers. It’s good to hear him sounding so positive.’

‘They say you can look at someone and know. And I did. But we worked together, first, for a good couple of decades before I knew he’d looked at me and known, as well. Not every commander allowed fraternisation in the ranks, any ranks...’ Thiriston shrugged. ‘Now it’s only death or ships could part us, and then not for long.’

Mirien had done with her apple and now looked around for entertainment elsewhere.

‘Is that for?’ she asked, pointing at random around the room and lighting on the oil and rags still on the table.

‘Ah. Cleaning things, for my... cutlery.’ Thiriston said, getting up to move the items out of reach, just in case Mírien were to investigate the oily rag and cover herself, and her very nice clothes, in it.

Melion smiled, seeing the height of the shelf where Thiriston placed the items.

‘Used to elflings, are you?’

‘Sister’s children.’ Thiriston grinned. ‘Generally, they like to draw, I remember...?’

Melion nodded, and Thiriston found a sheet of parchment and reached into a drawer to rummage for a couple of sticks of warrior paint.

‘Here, Mírien. You have the green one, and the brown... good colours for trees, yes? You can sit here, if you like...’

‘Yes, why not?’ Melion said, getting up and leading his daughter to the chair at the table that Thiriston had pulled back. ‘We can sit here too, and watch you.’

‘The colours are safe for on the skin, washes out and wipes off easily... it’s what our Commander Govon had us use in the Guard to decorate our scars with...’ Thiriston smiled at the memories this brought him. ‘Canadion likes it when I draw flowers on his face...’

‘Face? Why? Not... not scarred? Not Canadion?’ Melion lowered his voice, but the horror and fear was loud in his hushed tones. 

Thiriston stared.

‘Didn’t you know? Where do you live that you don’t get reports? Didn’t that mother of yours say anything?’

‘What happened, is he all right? Did... was it bad?’

‘He’s fine, really, it’s just... just a small patch of very pink skin above the cheekbone in to the side of his hairline, round the temple. And his hair’s growing back really quickly, we’ve learned a way of braiding so you can’t tell...’

Melion gave a low moan.

‘Really, it’s hardly anything. We’re sure it will fade completely in time.’

‘But he was so... so fair of face...’

‘He still is, Melion, always, to me. And still to others, he’s very much admired.’

‘How did he get hurt?’

‘Dragon. He was... our king was burning, Canadion didn’t think of anything, silly penneth that he is, he just threw himself at Thranduil and smothered the flames. Caught his shoulder and face, lost some hair just at the side here... but he’s healed beautifully. He’s been honoured and feasted as a hero for it, and your mother never said? You didn’t know?’

Melion shook his head.

‘We do live out of the way, probably too far... the nearest settlement is a few days away, but we rarely need to go... one of our near neighbours brings any messages in, that’s how Canadion’s letter reached us, we heard about our king’s injury, and the princes... and the losses, but... you are, right, I cannot believe my mother did not let us know.’

‘That’s why we’re taking vows in the Sacred Grove, and why Thranduil himself is acting as Witness... you know that much, though?’

‘Oh, yes, Naneth made sure the whole forest knows that. She just forgot to mention why.’

‘Well, you know now. Your brother is full of courage.’

Melion smiled sadly.

‘I saw how it was for him, growing up... I knew that about him already.’

‘Finish!’ Mírien crowed, patting her hands on the table ‘Picture all finished!’

‘May I see, penneth?’ Thiriston tipped his head to look at the artwork before him; tall trees and short trees and spiky trees and slender trees under a smiling raincloud dropping needles of rain and looking more like a grinning spider than anything else. ‘That’s... yes, was it fun drawing that?’

The child nodded.

‘It is a song, go rain on the pine trees far, far away and leave us oaks in the green to play...’

‘Ai, I know that song! It’s one of Canadion’s!’

Melion grinned.

‘Indeed, he has sung it to all my children at one time or another. Well, I had best be getting my little treasure back to our rooms... it’s getting late. I’m glad to have met you, Thiriston. It is none of my business, but... I will worry less about him, now I know he has someone like you in his life.’

‘Good. And... glad to know not all his family despise him...’

‘Despise...? Oh, no, he is much loved amongst us... it is only that, perhaps, some of us are more afraid of naneth than others... not everyone lives as far away from her as I do!’

‘Thank you for coming. Must come again, once Canadion’s home. It will be nice.’

‘Thank you, I will. Come, Mírien,’ Melion scooped the child up in his arms. ‘Say goodnight to Thiriston.’

‘Goodnight, child. Ah... don’t forget your picture...’

Mírien shook her head, hiding her face in her father’s neck.

‘For you, to have,’ she said, her voice muffled. ‘For when you want to sing the song and ‘member the words...’

‘I see. Thank you, then, and goodnight.’

And, left alone once more, staring at a fat, smiling cloud hovering improbably over a forest of wobbly trees, suddenly Thiriston didn’t feel anything like as lonely.


	286. Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the troop find the spiders' nest site

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains spiders. Feel free to read from the safety of behind your sofa.

By morning, Laimen's shoulder was much improved.

'An ache, nothing more, Commander. I can manage my pack.'

'Very well,' Govon acceded. 'But if it troubles you, it is your duty to the rest of us to say so. Otherwise, you put more than just yourself at risk.'

'Yes, sir. I understand, sir.'

Govon nodded and called for attention.

'Everyone! Day's orders! My prince?'

Legolas looked around the troop and spoke.

'We keep to ground trails today; we're less likely to alert the spiders to our presence thus. A two hour march, then we pause to regroup. We should still be far enough from the nest that we will have chance to discuss strategy once there, but if not, in brief, we are looking to harvest a caul or two and kill any spiders we find. Typically, the webs are strung out sequentially through the trees, each with its spider. The nests are attended by the queens, and with one or two guards spiders present. However, we have had reports of the queens nesting in a stack so that several nests could be guarded at once. Canadion, will you share your experience?’

With an inward shudder, Canadion nodded.

‘As our prince says. The queens nested on several levels and sat at different corners with the guards so that each spider watched two sides of their nest and the one below, or above. So that it is harder to take them by surprise and they are quicker in response.’

‘All of you, be careful. And if there are any of you who have previously been envenomed, now is the time to say.'

'So that you know this is important, let me state, I have been bitten by guard spiders,' Govon said. 'It is not that we need to know to embarrass anyone, but that a second dose of venom could be extremely harmful and we need you to be aware of that so you may take proper care. Nobody? Well, that is good, but now I feel I need not have said...'

'It is no matter, ' Legolas said. 'As long as we all know the risks. Now, there will be no order of battle, for we do not know how many spiders we will encounter, but we know our business as hunters. We know we must watch out for guard spiders and for the queens. Working together in pairs or teams, one to harvest the caul silk, one or more to attack and defend.'

The warriors nodded, but Faenith did not seem easy.

'As one who relies on caul silk, I know its worth, of course. But I don't feel easy... These are younglings, and it goes against my conscience to destroy infants. Might I be excused this task? I will gladly defend and fight queens or guards or others...'

This was no time to be squeamish! Govon got ready a reply, but before he could tell Faenith there was no place for her qualms, Legolas had nodded.

'I understand, Faenith, and if you will engage the mature creatures, then on this occasion we can let it pass. But normally we would not be able to make such allowances.'

'Argallor, ernilen, le fael. It is also that I fear for my efficacy as a nurturing healer if I compromise that nurturing aspect of my fëa.'

'Anyone else think these creatures deserve our courtesy?' Govon asked. 'No? Well, that is a good thing, I think. So, break camp and head out. Tinuon, Celeguel, take the lead. Ernilen...'

'Yes, I will bring up the van with Rhonir, as previously agreed.'

It hadn't been. Govon realised he wasn't going to be able to protest, however, and simply nodded.

'Faenith, you're with Laimen. And Canadion...' He paused to hide a sigh. 'You're with me.'

*

The forest here thickened, the trees growing more closely, converging for comfort, Legolas thought, reading the chemical signals in the air, aware of a darkening of shadow, a denseness of undergrowth. He turned to the warrior at his side.

‘It is ever a surprise to me, how different our forest can be in such a short space. I know these areas very little, and I am glad of the experience of others with us today.’

‘Indeed,’ Rhonir said. ‘I have been as far south as the road of the dwarves, but not through this region. It is most sombre. It is as if the trees here feel threatened.’

‘Yes... send a halt call ahead, will you? I would read this stand of oak here...’

Rhonir did as bid, a lilting series of sounds, and the whistled acknowledgement came back. Legolas stepped off the path and reached out his hands towards the trunks of the trees, connecting with two at once and letting his awareness fall into the stillness between them, listening with his heart to the slow messages of the forest.

Govon had come back to wait with Rhonir on the path.

‘What is it, my prince? Is there danger?’

‘Nothing is wrong, really. The forest here is distressed, uneasy and I wished to learn why. But the trees do not know... it is not a specific danger, just a slow growth of alarm, an encroachment of shadow...’

‘We have been travelling too far apart; we must continue more near to each other,’ Govon said. ‘I know we are not yet in the region where the spiders should be, but we should still close ranks.’

‘Agreed, Commander,’ Legolas said.

They continued on now in clear sight of each other, the pace slowing so that it was possible to still proceed with stealth while around the forest grew more dark and less happy. Legolas paused frequently to place a hand on a trunk, to stroke a stretch of bark, as if by doing so he could send courage and sympathy to the tree.

Presently. Govon signalled a halt and they gathered for a briefing. 

‘When we reach the nest, Laimen, you are ground support. Keep watch on the spiders, listen to the trees, keep the rest of us informed from below. You have sword and knife if you need to engage.’

‘Yes, my prince.’

‘Canadion, you have your instructions. But if this is a stacked nest, we may need your experience, too. And I still want you on caul collection; you’re the acknowledged expert, after all.’

‘My prince, I will do my very best for you. If the nests are stacked, I feel a concerted attack would be more effective than trying to pick off a caul here and there...’

‘Rather than in pairs? Yes, I can see that would make sense... if we attack as a group, then Faenith, Rhonir, Tinuon, Celeguel, I want you the engage and destroy the arachnids. Laimen, in this case your role will be vital in keeping us informed, especially those of us harvesting.’

‘Which will be the rest of us, I take it?’ Govon asked. ‘Canadion, and you and I, Argallor.’

‘Yes. Thank you for clarifying, Commander. If the nests are not stacked, proceed in your pairs.’

Govon nodded and tried to look engaged and supporting. In a way it was good that Legolas was so easily taking charge but on another level, Govon couldn’t help but feel perhaps a little missed out. He wondered whether it would be different, had he not been bitten... probably not. And one of the reasons Legolas was on this trip was, well, to give him a chance to show his leadership skills.

‘Thank you, my prince,’ Govon said, as Legolas looked towards him to take over. ‘There is to be no risk taking, but these are nesting spiders; they are not going to try to run away and so we should be able to destroy the adults first and then harvest at leisure. But the population has taken a beating this year from us; they may well be wary and more determined to protect the nests than usual. Be careful.’

*

Just over an hour further on and the trees gave warning, the air suddenly springing with chemical alarms. Govon, at the front of the line, held up a hand in warning and all stopped to take stock. Ahead, high in the canopy, the first strands of warning silk were dangling down, waiting to be brushed against by the unwary traveller and so pass information back to the spiders that there was prey or danger below. Further on the troop would be likely to encounter the sticky trap silk that could cause such havoc to exposed skin, and all looked up and around, seeking for evidence of more dangers. Communication now was by gesture and almost silent speech.

Canadion saw the nest first, just as Legolas found out from the trees the position of a guard spider, high in the canopy and pressed against the trunk of a fine beech. As the prince distracted attention, pointing west, Canadion focussed his gaze on the hammocks of silk forward and south and high above, sheets of layered silk overlapping... not quite a stack, but not the usual sprawl of nests, either. He steeled himself, for now he was here, without his Thiriston to remind him he was brave and courageous, he had to remind himself... he thought about protecting Thiriston and Tharmeduil back at the edge of Mirkwood in spite of his fears, he thought about the storm, washing himself free of the taint of the spiders... 

And then he looked, really looked at the layering of silks above, picking out queen and caul and guard. He reached out to touch Govon lightly on the arm, and pointed up at the several places where he could see the arachnids...

The commander nodded, and drew everyone’s attention to the layout of the webs and the positions of the spiders. More were spotted; two more guard spiders splayed against branches and trees, the tips of their long limbs in contact with early-warning sensor strands.

Govon laid plans. Two groups to get into position either side of the nests. Archers taking out the guards first, Legolas claiming the arachnid in the beech for his target, Celeguel signalling she’d take one in an elm, Tinuon the third. Following that, a free-for-all, with Laimen spotting and calling out locations, and in the confusion it should be possible to harvest the cauls they needed.

Commander and prince nodded to each other. Govon sent Tinuon to join Legolas, Faenith and Rhonir and while the prince took his warriors through the undergrowth, he led Canadion and Celeguel round to get into position and begin the climb up into the trees, Laimen below keeping wary watch.

Both teams in position. Celeguel readied her bow, nocking and arrow. On the branch below, Canadion did the same, ready to shoot lest some mischance prevented Celeguel from making her shot. A whistled signal told Govon Legolas was also ready, and Laimen on the forest floor whistled up acknowledgement; Legolas’ shot would be the signal for the attack.

Govon took a slow breath, steadying himself. He could see his fair elf, just, the glitter of filtered sun on the gold of his hair, could see his stillness. Not more than a few yards from his target spider, far too close if something went wrong...

Nothing would go wrong; Legolas could take a single acorn off an oak at two hundred paces, there was no reason to worry about his fair elf, his prince, his...

The air shivered and the guard spider dropped, dead. Celeguel took her shot, the bow singing loud at this proximity, her target spider plummeting a heartbeat after Tinuon’s victim convulsed and fell. Above, the branches rustled as alarmed spiders began to move.

Govon moved too, heading up and responding to Laimen’s now-shouted warnings.

‘Three more guards converging on you, Commander! My prince, ‘ware to the east...’

Canadion shot a spider out of the canopy, trying to focus on his assigned tasks; protect the commander, harvest the cauls, move, keep moving. He reached the edge of the nearest nursery web, Celeguel covering him now as he lifted his head to look for evidence of a caul... Ai! Just there, but the queen...

‘A queen is coming!’ he called out, unsheathing his knife and steeling himself against a nauseating fear he had no time for. ‘I see the caul, south corner...’

‘Go,’ Govon called. ‘We’ll distract the queen.’

No guard spiders around, Canadion checked, and Celeguel was there to back up the commander... he flipped himself up onto the web, sticking his knife into the queen’s face in passing as he did so, dived between her long limbs and ran lightly along the non-sticky tethering lines to where the caul basketed a clutch of eggs. With the ease of long practice he sliced through the surface, emptying it out and sending the eggs bounding and dancing on the web to distract any other arachnids while he cut free the anchoring lines and bundled the caul up to stuff it inside his jerkin.

Around him shouts of encouragement, the screech and hiss of spiders as he looked for another caul. An arrow sang as it passed within reach of his hand, hitting home into a spider off to his right and he pushed into the tree, looking for the cover of its foliage as he took stock... two more cauls, up a little and across. Guard spiders converging on two spots; the prince’s position and his own...

‘Canadion?’ Govon was beside him in the tree. ‘Well done. Celeguel’s below. Onward?’

‘Onward, Commander,’ Canadion agreed, launching himself across to the next tree and climbing towards the layer of the web stretched across it, his eyes already on the caul.

Shouts from Laimen, from the prince, but Canadion was already in the air, sighting his landing and Govon was close behind so he had not chance to do anything but land and twist out of the way of the queen hiding amongst the foliage. He yelled as he landed and would have lost his balance but for the guard spider there, too, and he grabbed one of its forelimbs and saved himself a fall, the spider pulling against the sudden contact accidentally helping him find his balance just as he stuck its eye with his knife. It thrashed, he stabbed again, Govon shouting incoherently at his side and there were two more guard spiders coming, nowhere for the commander to go to get out of the way of the venomous gangs, and all Canadion could do was grab hold of Govon’s arm and jump, pulling him away and out of range... and off the branch...

Canadion barely had time for fear to start when his fall was broken by a taut and bouncy surface; the hammock of the nest web, intended as nursery for the spiderlings when they hatched.

‘Am I meant to thank you, Canadion?’

‘Welcome, Commander...Ai! Ah, no...!’ Canadion tried to get to his feet on the web, staring all around, fear rising impossibly to a scream in his throat.

‘Canadion, the eggs... they’re hatched...’

‘I know, Commander!’

The eggs from the caul Canadion had previous ripped open and which had cascaded down into the web had been on the point of, or had already been in the process of hatching. Fully two dozen hatchlings, each body the size of Canadion’s hand, were scurrying from the edges of the web down to the centre where his and Govon’s weight had deformed the web, and the remaining adult spiders were advancing to protect the hatchlings too. A moment’s panic; the way the little ones moved was unpredictable, too fast, and Canadion squeaked with fright. Govon’s knives danced, stabbing at the small forms, missing as many as he speared, but inadvertently showing Canadion the only sure way out as the surface of the web beneath ripped just slightly under the commander’s blade. 

Canadion danced around the spiderlings, trying to cut a slit in the web which began to give and yaw beneath him. He put himself between Govon and the nearest advancing guard spider, still slashing at the web and ignoring the shouts and mayhem on all sides. His vision filled with spiders, giant guard arachnids, hissing queens, scuttling hatchlings and with another yell as a massive creature gathered itself to leap at Govon, he himself leapt, throwing himself at the Commander and forcing him down onto the slit in the web, ripping it wide and both of them falling, falling through and infant spiders falling all around them until the ground arrived in an explosion of pain and shock...

*

Canadion felt sick, and the darkness was too loud, somehow. It hurt, and in order to get away from it he rolled onto his side and opened his eyes. A double image of the forest danced in front of him and he curled up around his stomach and retched.

‘Easy, Canadion.’ 

Hands pulled his hair out of the way and then supported his head, cool and strong. Not Thiriston’s hands, who was touching him? Where was Thiriston? Were there any witnesses to show it hadn’t been his idea?

‘I do not know what to do with you, Canadion,’ a voice he knew was saying as the world stopped doubling and spinning, as his stomach settled again. ‘First you throw yourself at my father, and then at my fëa-mate! I am glad you’re getting married soon, we can all relax a little...’

Canadion tried to speak but only managed a whimper.

‘Let me see him now. Let go his head, my prince.’ This voice was crisp, female and Canadion felt himself being transferred from one set of hands to another. ‘It is I, Faenith, Canadion. You fell and the trees not near enough to catch you. You are not badly hurt, you are not bitten, you have broken no bones, but you landed quite hard.’

‘Commander Govon...?’

‘Somehow you managed to turn in the air so he landed on you. He’s stunned, no more,’ Faenith said.

‘I do not feel no more than stunned,’ Govon’s voice, a little shaky, came from nearby. ‘I feel rather sore, and I am not sure whether to thank you or reprimand you...’

‘Peace, Govon!’ Legolas said, coming to crouch at Canadion’s side. ‘It’s all right, we got them all, even the small ones...’

‘The way they moved!’ Faenith said, shuddering. ‘I would much rather face the adults!’

‘But the area is secure. And I will thank you, Canadion,’ the prince said. ‘Rest now. All is well.’

All was well. Canadion sighed and closed his eyes again.


	287. Lucid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the encounter with the spiders, Canadion's lucidity is questioned...

‘Tinuon.’ Legolas went over to where the warrior was gathering dead spiders together in a tidy pile off the trail. ‘Do you have a report for me?’

‘Indeed, my prince. All the adult arachnids are dead. All the hatchlings have been destroyed. The two other clutches of eggs are still far from maturity and Celeguel and I will attend to them presently... when Faenith isn’t looking...’

‘Excellent... how do we know all the hatchlings were accounted for?’

Tinuon smiled his easy grin. 

‘I counted the carcasses, Laimen counted the egg cases. The numbers matched up.’

‘Good. I want to move out as soon as possible, but our injured need time.’

‘We’ll bury the carcasses later; burning will make too much of a stink, and if we can’t travel fast enough to get away from the smell...’

‘Good idea.’

How is the commander, ernilen?’

‘Dazed and bruised, but better off than Canadion. And good work, Tinuon; you did well today.’

‘Thank you, my prince. They all did well today.’

‘Yes; I’ll talk to everyone later.’

He nodded to Tinuon and went back to Faenith’s makeshift infirmary.

‘How are they now, Faenith?’

‘Canadion has been asking some odd questions, but he seems lucid; perhaps you might be able to get some sense from him, my prince. The commander is resting; I have given him something to make him sleep since I need to manipulate his knee presently to check it is not badly damaged, and that is best done while he is unaware of it; the effects should begin soon. Rhonir lost some skin to a strand of silk, but otherwise all are well.’

‘And you, Faenith?’

She stared at him. ‘My prince?’

‘It can be stressful, caring for injured comrades. And too easy to neglect oneself.’

‘I see. Thank you, I am well. But... Yes, I would like a few moments, I think.’

‘I’ll sit with the commander and Canadion while you do so.’

‘I would appreciate that, ernilen. If they wish it, they can have to drink now.’

He nodded and went to sit beside Govon’s bedroll. His fëa-mate’s eyes were closed, but as Legolas took his hand, he smiled.

‘Hey, fair elf.’

‘Ai, friend captain...! You weren’t bitten, at least.’

‘There was never any danger...’ Govon said slowly, but the fact that he shuddered as he said it made Legolas wonder.

‘We got them all, Govon,’ he said quickly. ‘Nobody else is hurt except Rhonir and you two.’

‘Just a skin rip, I heard.’

‘Yes. Faenith says you’ll be fine.’

‘Could have been worse, I suppose... Bit sore, melleth. And tired.’

‘Rest, then. I need to speak with Canadion, but I’m just here.’

Canadion’s bedroll wasn’t far away and by moving to Govon’s other side Legolas was able to still hold his fëa-mate’s hand as he asked Canadion how he felt.

‘As if I had fallen from a high place and then had somebody else’s warrior land on top of me,’ Canadion said. ‘But otherwise not so bad. Except... what will Thiriston say?’

‘He will say your Argallor shouldn’t have let you get hurt. Thank you, Canadion. I know the commander would have me believe he wasn’t at risk, but I saw at least two guard spiders trying to attack your group. And you got your caul.’

‘And Faenith will have used half of it by the time we get home...’

‘There are two others cauls as well, though. We were all impressed by your courage.’ Legolas smiled, even though he didn’t think Canadion was looking at him. ‘And so will Thiriston be, when he hears.’

‘Ai, Thiriston... when will be going home, ernilen?’ 

‘Soon. Once we are fit to travel, we’ll get out of this place. We’ll have to dispose of the carcasses and...’

‘I need to see them...’

‘Canadion?’ 

‘I need some parts. For Thiriston’s token... tell me, my prince, if one were able to get all the soft parts off one of the spiderling carcasses, do you think it would be big enough to encircle an arm?’

The thought of a skeletal spider-armband made Legolas shudder.

‘I’m not sure it would hold together, Canadion.’

The injured elf sighed.

‘That’s a pity. I’ll just have to gather the teeth, then...’

‘Are you sure you’re feeling all right? Not... concussed or...?’

‘It is a wonderful idea I have in mind, just what Thiriston will like,’ Canadion said stiffly, with a pout on his face. ‘He will appreciate it, and so it is of no account whether anyone else does or not!’

Legolas grinned.

‘As you say. But... teeth?’

‘Perhaps they might be a little big, unless I were to use from the hatchlings, and then... no, that is a bad idea; they are too small to be impressive. One of the limbs, a thin length of limb from the adult I shot...’

‘Tinuon’s talking about disposing of the bodies; I’ll tell him to hold off for a while.’

‘My prince? What exactly happened?’

‘After you pushed Govon onto the nursery web for safety, and all the adult spiders saw the pair of you amongst the hatchlings, they rushed towards you, giving the rest of us clear shots at easy targets. You opened the web and shoved Govon through ahead of you. The trees reached out, but there were too few branches under you to slow your fall... I was most impressed you managed to twist in the air to break Govon’s fall for him... fortunately, there was considerable depth of leaf litter beneath you.’

‘When I came round the first time, and I was sick, there were hands on my head and I don’t know who...’

‘It was just me. Faenith was busy with Govon and she asked me to help you. You showed great bravery and presence of mind, you know. Those tales that pass around, the ones that say you lack courage, they are wrong.’ 

‘Can we leave soon? I don’t like being here, I want to pick over my kills and get out of this place... I want to get home...’

Canadion turned his face away. He wanted Thiriston to be the one telling him he was brave, he didn’t care what anyone else thought.

‘I’ve already give thought to it, Canadion. As soon as Faenith is happy for you and Govon to be moved, we’ll head back along the trail and camp somewhere a little less spidery for the night. We’ll rig carrying poles to the hammocks for you and the commander, if necessary.’

The young elf was silent. Legolas shook his head, seeing the unhappiness in the turned-away face, seeing the betrayal of a tear tracking down the side of Canadion’s nose.

‘You miss your fëa-mate and you don’t think you’ll feel safe until you see him again. It’s a terrible loneliness, and he’ll be missing you, too. But it won’t be long before you’re home, and taking your vows together. And how proud he’s going to be when he hears what courage you showed. Just hold on to that, Canadion. You will be home soon.’

Faenith returned from her few moments some half hour later with a bundle of wild plants in her arms and a much refreshed expression in her eyes.

‘If I could have a small fire and some hot water, I can make a poultice from these herbs which will relieve some of the pain and begin to draw out the bruising,’ she said. ‘None of us wish to linger here, of course...’

‘There is work to be done with disposal of the remains,’ Legolas pointed out. ‘So we could not leave at once, in any case. Canadion expressed a wish to examine his kills...’

She nodded and came to Canadion’s side.

‘I think there is nothing wrong with you except bruising and perhaps a concussion,’ she said, setting down her herbs and wiping her hands before holding up a finger some distance in front of Canadion’s nose. ‘Track the movements of my finger... that’s good... now, touch my finger with your own, and then touch your nose, as quickly as you can... yes, fine. Do you still have the headache?’

‘I do, a little, but it is better than it was.’

‘And you want to go looking at dead spiders, is that right?’

‘You see, I want to be sure they are dead. And... to harvest some parts...’

Faenith glanced at Legolas.

‘Do you see why I am worried about his lucidity?’

The prince grinned. 

‘Yes, I quite understand. But it’s been explained to me and, well, it makes sense if you know Canadion a little.’

‘I see. Well, then, if you feel up to moving, Canadidon, you should try. But someone should be at hand to support you.’

‘I will help Canadion,’ Legolas said. ‘And I will speak to Rhonir about a fire for you, Faenith. Come then, Canadion. Whenever you are ready?’

Canadion whimpered as he tried to gather himself together and get up. With Legolas bracing an arm for him to use to pull himself up, he managed to get to his feet, his face scrunched with discomfort.

‘Where do you hurt most?’ Faenith asked.

‘My back, on the left, low down... and my hip, and...’

‘You can sit down again any time.’ Faenith told him. ‘You’re the one wanted to move.’

Legolas raised an eyebrow at her but spoke to Canadion.

‘We will proceed slowly, at your pace. It is not far, but if it is too far, we can stop, and I can have them bring the spiders, one by one, for your examination. Step small, and think about how you are moving before you move.’

‘I have been injured before, ernilen,’ Canadion said, but his voice was shaky and he allowed himself to lean on Legolas’ arm before he tried a painful, tentative step. ‘It is only pain, and it will stop at some point.’

Getting the measure of the extent of his discomfort, he tried again, proceeding slowly and becoming aware of how the pain swelled and retracted as he shifted his weight from on foot to the other.

‘Ai, Canadion!’ Celeguel left off what she had been doing and hurried over. ‘Can I help you? Let me stand here, on your other side... you were so brave, when you grabbed that guard spider by its leg so you could pull its face into range of your knife! I will remember that move, if ever I have to be so close to a spider again!’

Was that what they all thought he had done? Canadion smiled, remembering his fear of falling, his grab for balance that fastened his hand around the spider’s leg.

‘Ai, it was there, I was there... it all happened quickly.’

‘It did so, I got the queen... and those little ones...! They were worse than the big ones, you could not predict...’

With Celeguel intent on deconstructing the battle and providing a distraction, Canadion found it easier to disregard his pain. Distracted further by hails from Laimen and Rhonir, he soon had lurched his way to where Tinuon was beginning to dig a trench near the arachnid bodies.

‘Which were yours?’ Legolas asked. ‘This to the left, I took that one out. The one with the silver markings, that was Celeguel’s first shot...’

‘That one, third from the left,’ Canadion said. ‘With the purple star on its abdomen; that’s my arrow in the nerve cluster.’

‘Ha, yes, so it is!’ Legolas stepped forward and pulled the arrow free. ‘And there is a guard spider here with a damaged forelimb and dead of a stab wound through the eye...’

‘That’s what I need, then; the leg. Can it be removed for me?’

‘Did you hit your head when you fell, by any chance?’ Tinuon asked.

‘I do not know! What if I did? I still want the limb of the spider; I want to make Thiriston’s armband from it...’

Celeguel drew her knife and stepped forward to sever the limb close to the spider’s body; it was twice her height in length and she grinned as she hauled it over her shoulder.

‘Do you think there’s enough here?’ she asked, and was rewarded by a giggle.

‘Ai, it hurts to laugh! I do not think I will need all of it... perhaps just the lower half?’

A little butchery later, and the spider limb lay in several pieces on the ground, Canadion choosing what he thought would be the best bits.

‘Of course, it will have to be cleaned up...’

‘I’ll carry the bits back for you, but you can do the rest yourself,’ Celeguel said.

‘We’ll find somewhere for you to sit quietly and do your work,’ Legolas said. ‘We will bring you all you need, but I don’t think I want to see the mess you’re going to make.’


	288. Disturbed Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas keeps watch over the camp, and back home, Thiriston is troubled...

Govon woke to find a decrease generally of pain and a strange aroma in the air. It was both meaty and repulsive and he sat up slowly, wrinkling his nose.

‘Sweet Eru, what is that smell?’ he demanded.

‘It is just boiling spider parts, Commander,’ Faenith said. ‘Hopefully, it will finished shortly.’

‘But... what’s going on?’

‘Never mind that now. While you slept I dressed your injuries. Your badly jarred right knee is not dislocated or damaged beyond twisting and bruising and it has been dressed and bound with caul silk. Your shoulder has had a poultice and a dressing applied. How do you feel otherwise?’

‘Better, I think. Our other injured?’

‘Rhonir will be fine, it was a small laceration only. Canadion is bruised but has managed a short walk.’ She paused to smile briskly. ‘Here is our prince, Commander. He will help you up and take you to stretch your legs a little.’

Govon looked up to see Legolas smiling at him.

‘Care for a tour of the camp? Let me help you there.’

Actually, Govon didn’t think he needed Legolas’ arm round his waist or to cast his own arm over his fëa-mate’s shoulders, although he somehow didn’t mention the fact. But to his surprise, his knee, bound up though it was, kept wanting to buckle and it ached and throbbed and quite took his mind off the pain of his chest and shoulder.

‘Feeling better yet?’ Legolas asked.

‘Perhaps. How is Canadion?’

‘Diverted with the thought of making an armband for Thiriston from spider parts... missing home, hurting... but not badly injured. He acquitted himself boldly.’

‘He did indeed. Where is he hiding?’

‘We settled him, and his cooking spider, downwind a little. Come and see him.’

Smell or no smell, Canadion had acquired some helpers. In spite of her earlier comments, Celeguel was there, fishing around in the cookpot over the fire and bringing up various unpleasantly wobbly, or hard and shiny pieces of spider by turns. Rhonir was to hand also, and Laimen, watching curiously.

‘It’s done,’ Celeguel announced as the prince and Govon arrived. ‘Greetings, ernilen, Commander.’

‘So this is where you all got to?’

‘The other work is finished. We were assisting Canadion in the hope of hastening the end of the smell.’

Legolas helped Govon to settle on a tree root where he could lean back against the trunk, listening as Canadion gave instructions.

‘So, now the meat has fallen off the outer shell, the soft parts can be poured out and the hard parts gathered. Those are what I need to work with. If they could be rinsed in the stream, that will cool them, too.’

‘And I suppose whoever does this needs to wash the pot at the same time, yes?’ Celeguel said, her tone dry.

‘I am sure whoever cooks for us tonight would appreciate that,’ Canadion replied. ‘Commander, are you feeling better?’

‘I was until I smelled your cook pot. I think I’ll have lembas tonight, thank you. Whatever are you doing?’

Canadion’s eyes shone and his demeanour brightened.

‘You see, when cleaned up and polished, the hard parts of the spider become beautifully shiny and can be worked into lovely decorative objects...’

Govon decided he didn’t want to know how Canadion came by that piece of knowledge.

‘I will take the pot to empty, and I will even help dispose of the soft parts, but I am not washing it out,’ Celeguel said. ‘I will instead fill it with cold water so that the shiny bits will cool for you and bring it back here.’

‘Thank you, Celeguel! You are very kind... And if you want to stay and watch...’

‘We need to move out as soon as we can,’ Legolas said. ‘So when you receive back your cooled spider parts, pack them up safely for later. Commander, are you ready to return?’

‘I am... think I need an arm, though.’

‘And a shoulder? Here.’

*

Govon’s teeth were gritted against pain by the time he made the short distance back to his bedroll. As Legolas helped him sit once more, the prince shook his head.

‘I’m sure you’re in more pain now; you’re not going to be able to walk far. We can rig a way of carrying you...’

‘Oh, no! I’ll take any help there is, a crutch, a staff, an arm... but I’m going under my own power...’

‘I don’t want to have to make it an order, Govon...’

‘Well, don’t, then!’ Govon said with a grin.

‘I won’t single you out, my friend captain. If Canadion is able to walk, then I will allow you to walk as well, with as much help as can be found for you. But if he cannot, then you need to set a good example, agreed?’

‘Agreed, then.’

‘Good. Rest there, then, while you can.’

Wanting to latch himself to Govon’s side, Legolas made himself nod and walk away, calling for Tinuon.

‘Yes, my prince?’

‘While Govon’s off his feet, I’m appointing you our second. Can you organise a staff or two for the commander, and for Canadion? Neither want the indignity of being carried if they can help it. And pass word we’re breaking camp and making for home.’

‘Of course, ernilen. There’s a nice spot about an hour’s trek down the trail... probably two hours, with our injured...’

‘We’ll make for there. I want to talk to everyone once we’re ready to set off.’

Tinuon nodded.

‘I’ll get started right away.’

*

It wasn’t long before Govon was moving so his bedroll could be packed up, and everyone gathering together on the trail. Laimen had brought a Y-shaped stick for the commander, its shaped part bound soft with someone’s cloak, just the right height to go under his shoulder to help him along. Canadion had something similar for support, too, and stood wavering amongst the company.

‘Everyone, well done,’ Legolas began. ‘A harder encounter than we expected – spiderlings, at this season? And more guards with the queens. Still, they are gone and will trouble the forest no longer; you can feel the lightening of the shadows already. This is thanks to you. We have cauls to take back, and a better knowledge of this part of the forest, of each other. We have worked well together, and we will need to continue to do so as we make our way home.’

He paused for a moment and looked around at them all, holding their eyes with thanks in his own gaze.

‘Faenith, your work with our wounded has been exceptional. They will continue to need your support and whatever you need from the rest of us to help them, say. We will set a watch tonight; we are vulnerable with our injured. As we go along, Celeguel, I want you, please, to help Canadion, should he need it.’

‘Agreed, my prince.’

‘I’ll help the commander. We need to keep close and we need to start. Move out.’

Progress was slow and stops frequent to begin with as first Canadion, and then Govon needed to pause and gather their courage to face more painful steps. After half an hour of this, and not yet having lost sight of their former camp, unable to bear the pain in Govon’s eyes any longer, Legolas called a halt.

‘We cannot continue like this,’ he said. ‘Our progress is too slow. Laimen, ask the forest to provide two stout branches, or four would be better, each half as long again as you are tall, and we will use two hammocks to fashion slings to carry our wounded in.’

At his side, Govon began to mutter and Legolas eased him down to the ground to rest.

‘Melleth, you can set a good example and give in with dignity, or you can be drugged and hauled unconscious through the woods. Canadion is determined not to give in first, and I have seen him almost weeping from pain. He is afraid to lean on anyone for help, even Celeguel, and if you acquiesce, it will be easier for him.’

‘It’s true we’re slowing progress... and I’ll be glad when we can stop for the night... very well. I won’t protest.’

Legolas and Rhonir bore Govon’s makeshift stretcher, and Tinuon and Faenith carried Canadion, Faenith having first dosed the pair with more of her sleeping and pain-relieving draught.

‘They will be better,’ she said. ‘But they have done enough for today.’

Govon and Canadion didn’t stir as their hammocks were lashed to tree trunks when the group reached their intended camp site. Nor did the little noises of making a fire and setting up disturb their drugged rest, and Faenith frowned.

‘I may have accidentally strengthened the dose too much,’ she admitted. ‘But they need to sleep to heal. If neither wake by moon set, call me.’

As it was, Legolas had the watch when he noticed Canadion’s hammock swaying. He went softly over and spoke in low tones.

‘Be still, all is well.’

‘All is not well!’ Canadion replied with quiet urgency. ‘Nature is calling me very loudly, and I cannot free myself of this wretched hammock! It is almost like a web in its constriction...’

‘Let me help.’ Legolas steadied the hammock and offered a shoulder for Canadion to lean on as he struggled free. ‘Are you still in pain?’

‘Well, yes... but more than that is the other discomfort... I had a stick...?’

It was leaning against the trunk of the tree, near to hand, and Legolas passed it over.

‘Don’t stray too far.’

‘No fear of that! And I can manage just fine, thank you!’

‘Glad to hear it.’

Legolas went over to Govon’s hammock. His fëa-mate was awake and now looked out with amused eyes.

‘When Canadion comes back, I think I might need help, too... but I’ll need someone to lean on...’

‘Ah. Should I fetch Faenith?’

‘Do not you dare!’

Legolas grinned and helped Govon out of the hammock.

‘I would like my bedroll near the fire for the rest of the night.’

‘Agreed. You must also drink something, and eat. My watch finishes soon. Here’s Canadion back. I’m just going to help Govon with something.’

After supporting Govon to an appropriate place, and helping him wash, Legolas returned to the camp and settled his fëa-mate by the fire.

‘Here is water, drink. You too, Canadion. And there is food, also.’

‘Whose watch is next?’

‘Faenith. But I will leave her to rest and sit with you a while longer.’

Govon settled in his sleeping roll and Legolas took up his watchful prowl of the camp again. Canadion seemed wakeful, returning to sit sideways in his hammock and begin to work and shape sections of spider limb. In the near-darkness it was difficult to make out colour and shine, but Canadion seemed to know what he was about, cutting sections a finger-length long and slightly narrower than a finger’s breadth, edging and smoothing them. Legolas was intrigued.

‘Next, I will polish and finish the pieces properly, and then join them together,’ Canadion explained. ‘It is an old design, infinitely adjustable, to wear as a cuff or higher on the arm.’

‘Don’t tire yourself,’ Legolas said. ‘I think you’ll be expected to walk further tomorrow.’

Almost at the end of her appointed watch, Faenith woke with a start and hurried out of her bedding with a quiet apology on her lips.

‘It was no bother,’ Legolas assured her. ‘Both Canadion and Govon woke, and ate and drank. There was no need to disturb you.’

‘Well, you rest now, my prince. All will be well.’

*

Something was not right.

His second night without Canadion at home, and there was a niggling sense of doom hanging over Thiriston, clouding his mood, making him anxious. It wasn’t just that he was missing his penneth, and worried about him, it was more... he felt there was a reason why he was worrying about him, a feeling that had settled over his moping some time during the course of the day and now that his work was done and he was alone, his anxiety was only increasing... he should never have let Canadion go off like that, he thought, forgetting that he’d been glad of the chance to make his secret preparations. He wasn’t glad now, hadn’t been glad last night...

Not knowing what else to do, he left his quarters and made his way through the palace and out to the barracks where he hailed one of the watch sentries.

‘Has there been any word tonight?’ he asked. ‘Is all well in the forest?’

‘As far as I know, Captain. Certainly all is well here.’

‘No news, nothing like that, no messages...?’

‘Not to my knowledge. Peace, all is well.’

All wasn’t well, Thiriston was sure of it.

He returned to his rooms and found no answers, no solace there. Place was far too big without Canadion, anyway... hours to go before day break... he wasn’t going to sleep now and staying awake here was just unpleasant... 

Back through the corridors he went, back to the small, cramped warrior quarters he was still officially allocated. It was strange, but although their shared chambers were overflowing with Canadion’s presence – his belongings, his mess, his indentations in the cushions... yet the place had felt so empty of him. Here, in this small, cramped room where Canadion had been just a visitor, the very air was redolent of him and Thiriston began to find his frayed nerves slowly settling.  
Although most of his gear had moved out, the bed was still made up, and he threw himself down on it. The pillow still smelled of the fragrant soap Canadion favoured for his hair, and somewhat comforted by that, Thiriston sighed and waited for the night to pass.


	289. Bruised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion makes an unhappy realisation...

Thiriston’s anxieties not having eased off overnight, as soon as it was late enough for it not to be too early for anyone to be up, he tidied himself and went straight to the King’s Office where he looked around for someone to talk to. 

It was Parvon who answered his calls and came to the outer office to see what was going on.

‘Captain Thiriston? What brings you at this early hour? Is it to do with the wedding?’

‘No, it’s... there’s something up.’ Now he was here, in the efficient and calm surroundings of the main offices, his night fears seemed inconsequential, inexplicable. ‘In the forest. I’m worried about... about the company led by our prince. I have a bad feeling...’

‘A bad feeling... I do not suppose you can be more plain? Is it general foreboding, or a specific worry? Have the trees told you anything?’

Thiriston shook his head.

‘No, I’ve not been to read the forest yet... just a hunch, an intuition.’

‘I see. Well... I will mention it to Lord Arveldir when he is free, but...’

‘I want it looking into. I’m going to speak to the over-captain about it and see if he’ll let me lead a patrol out...’

‘What’s going on here?’

Arveldir strode into the office looking tired and cross.

‘It is Captain Thiriston. He is worried about something...’

‘Indeed? Captain Thiriston, follow me through, will you? If it is about the bunting...’

‘It is not about the bunting...’

Arveldir’s door shut behind him, Thiriston found his anxiety growing.

‘Then what’s troubling you?’

‘I’m worried about our prince and the troop. I have a bad feeling.’

‘You do, do you?’

Unable to read Arveldir’s tone, Thiriston bridled.

‘Yes. Don’t know why, can’t say what’s up, but I think something’s gone wrong.’

‘Thiriston, I have just been in a rather tiring meeting with our king who called me from my bed an hour before daybreak... he’s worried too. But at the same time, he is concerned for our warriors’ pride... his majesty intends a trip to the forest to read the trees for himself. Then he will decide what to do. I will suggest you accompany him.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘Hold yourself ready for the summons.’

*

Despite an early start, it took the troop far longer than expected to reach the place where they had camped the night before. True, they had not proceeded in haste, they had stopped frequently to allow Canadion and Govon to rest, but finally, in the middle of the afternoon, they found themselves there once more.

‘We will not reach home today, however easily we move,’ Legolas had said. ‘So we may as well rest for a couple of hours and not stress ourselves. We’ve plenty of lembas and all the water we need.’

‘But will we not be expected?’ Canadion asked. ‘They will worry, perhaps...’

‘I told Rawon we would be out two nights or three, so they will not send out a relief troop quite yet,’ Legolas said. ‘Still, I’ll pass word along through the trees... I can think of one person, in particular, who may worry...’

‘Yes, for fathers always worry about their sons,’ Govon called across from where he was allowing Faenith to restrap his damaged knee.

‘I was thinking more of betrothed persons on the point of taking vows,’ the prince retorted. ‘Of course, we could always rig up the slings again, if you’re worried Adar might think you’ve caused the delay somehow, and we can press on through the night... except those of us with the duty of carrying might drop you!’

‘Will we camp here tonight, then, ernilen?’ Laimen asked.

‘I don’t think so. If we can make it to the stand of mixed willow and oak where we gathered on our way in, we can set up there instead. It’s on the main trails and, of course, we have to keep to ground travel. I realise we may not make it all the way home on the third day, but at least we can get to the flet glade which is the usual first stop for any troop heading in this direction.’

‘Our injured should be able to make it that far on foot,’ Faenith said, wiping off her hands. ‘And we have not heard one word of complaint today, but, ernilen, the commander’s knee is still swollen and troubling him considerably...’

‘I am fine,’ Govon insisted. Faenith glared at him and continued.

‘...while Canadion must be in great discomfort himself. And it is your turn now, Canadion, so come on across and let me dress your hurts.’

‘Oh, it is not so bad...’ Canadion said, but winced as he got to his feet.

‘Let me help.’ 

Celeguel offered her arm and supported him over to Faenith’s treatment station, staying to assist with lacings and general fussing; Canadion having seemed very shy of accepting support from any of his male comrades, there was a tacit agreement that Celeguel help with his care. If this was a very different Canadion from the flirting and light-headed ellon those who knew him were used to, they put it down to his approaching nuptials and only grinned about his new shyness behind his back and not where it might hurt his feelings.

Careful not to look over, Legolas tracked Canadion’s treatment by listening to what passed.

‘Let me see your shoulder now; Celeguel, can you help with the sleeve...? thank you...’

A hiss of indrawn breath; Canadion was definitely hurting.

‘I’ll put a poultice on overnight for you; at the moment, you’ll be better with it not constricted. Stand a moment, I want to look at your back and your hip...’

‘Ai, Faenith! I am bruised all the way down to my ankle on this side; that cannot be right?’

‘It is not all the way down... it stops above your ankle do you see? Bruising can spread, and this is what has happened. But this was not an impact point, it should not be sore when I depress the skin, see?’

‘Well, not there, it doesn’t hurt... but, how long will it be like that? I am purple and green and...’

‘A week, perhaps.’

‘A week! But... no, that is not... it cannot be a week... I am getting married in four days, I have to be healed by then, I...’

Legolas frowned to himself. Often volatile, still this seemed a disproportionate response from Canadion.

Faenith was hushing him.

‘Be calm, penneth! You will be perfectly fine, able to stand through the ceremony and the pain will be greatly lessened...’

‘You don’t understand!’ Canadion protested. ‘I... it will show, the bruises...’

‘Well, these are heroes’ bruises,’ Celeguel said soothingly. ‘Proof of valiant deeds. And you will not need warrior paint to draw attention to your courage, will you?’

It was said, Legolas was sure, to make Canadion laugh, but the sound that followed was more like to weeping than to humour.

He saw Laimen and Rhonir exchanging glances, their eyes anxious.

‘We’re going to be here a little while,’ the prince said. ‘Laimen, would you fetch some water for us? Rhonir, we’ll want a fire; collect some kindling, if you will.’

‘Yes, ernilen,’ Rhonir said, getting up hastily, eager to flee the sounds of Canadion’s distress.

‘At once, ernilen.’ Laimen grabbed the waterskin and headed for the rill.

Govon caught Legolas’ eye and grinned when his fëa-mate shook his head.

‘Ernilen, would you come?’ Faenith asked.

‘Of course.’

Canadion had subsided, but still looked mournfully glum. Faenith had covered his midsection with a blanket while she examined his injuries, and so Legolas was able to see the full, alarming spread of bruises for himself.

‘Are you in much pain?’ Legolas asked kindly. 

Canadion tried to shake his head, but ended up nodding. 

‘But worse is that I am so marked, and...’

‘No doubt Thiriston will be annoyed with Govon and me for not protecting you properly. But, really, if you had not acted as you did, what of your Commander? He would have been attacked by guard spiders and the consequences extremely dangerous. Canadion... what is really the matter?’

‘My p...prince?’

‘When you smothered my father’s flames, and you burned, you bore your injuries in near-silence... and yet now...?’

‘But it was different, there were others worse than me, it would have been thoughtless to complain... and... and...’

‘I see. You do know that Thiriston will only look at you and see the courage you have shown? It may even earn you extra cherishing, who knows? You warrior loves you as you are, Canadion, and besides, any bruising will not show under your wedding garments.’

‘I... had hoped to wear my kilt...’

‘Ah.’ Who knew about that? Arveldir? If so, what was he going to do about it? Adar would be most displeased at the thought of a kilt in the Sacred Grove... ‘Does Thiriston know?’

‘It was going to be a surprise...’

‘You know, if Thiriston isn’t expecting you in a kilt, he won’t be disappointed if you wear leggings then, will he?’

‘That is true. Very true, my prince. But... oh, I had so wanted...’

‘I am sure as far as Thiriston is concerned you could turn up in one of your naneth’s ridiculous dresses and your beloved wouldn’t care!’

Canadion found a smile.

‘Oh I hope he would!’ he said, his voice a little shaky but much more normal. ‘Naneth’s dresses are, as you say, not at all pretty...’

‘Well, do not worry about it. You could always wear long boots, and then only a little of the bruising would show. Or leggings beneath the kilt; I know, it is not what you intended, but if it made you feel more confident...’ Legolas glanced up; Faenith was looking to approach again. ‘We will be here an hour or two; rest. And if you need it, we can rig the hammock for you again.’

‘Thank you, ernilen. I... I suppose, while I am resting, I can work on my token, at least.’

Legolas nodded and rose to his feet.

‘Faenith, I know we are in the middle of the forest and resources are limited...’

‘I have enough supplies for a poultice, but I would have treated the hip as the more debilitating injury. He should walk to increase the blood flow to the injuries, or sleep to hurry healing. But the hammock for resting in would be more comfortable for him than the ground.’

‘Agreed. I will have it placed while you see his wounds dressed again.’

*  
Thiriston kept alert all through his morning’s duties, but nobody from the King’s Office came for him. In fact, it was not until he was about to head for his daily inspection of the new quarters that a tap at the door and a messenger asked him to attend the outer doors, armed for the forest, as soon as possible.

Collecting his bow and sticking a couple of knives into his belt, he grabbed his cloak and hurried off as requested, to find Thranduil himself, sword drawn and swishing idly at the weeds that were growing in the courtyard.

‘There you are, good.’ The king sheathed his sword. ‘To which trees are you most attuned, Thiriston?’

‘Oak, my king.’

‘Hmm.’ Thranduil nodded. ‘Willow, for me. We will head down the path a little and see what we can pick up. Are you any less uneasy today?’

‘I thought I’d settled a bit... but then, about half an hour ago, I felt a surge of panic...’

‘I simply am not comfortable with the message of the forest, at present. One likes to think, that if there were something seriously amiss, one would know without telling... come, then. Lead on.’

Following the same trail that Legolas’ troop had taken just a few days before, Thiriston strode along ahead of his king until he found an oak which sat a little way off the path. While he leaned his forehead against its bark and allowed himself to think himself into its awareness, Thranduil leaned back against a tall beech and breathed in the air of the forest... all seemed well, calm, in fact, if anything there was a lifting of mood in the shadows... but Thiriston’s face, when he returned, was clouded.

‘Nothing of any certainty, sire. There is no sense of the troop close at hand... but would they not be on their way back by now?’

‘Consider a moment, Captain. They were intending to clear out the nest of which we have had rumour; had it gone badly awry, we would have heard. Had all gone to plan, they would have engaged the creatures yesterday. Allowing time for clearing up afterwards and a small celebration, they would not have set off for home before this morning. They may have had to go further in search of the nest, after all.’

‘But my first unease began around the time they would have engaged... someone may be injured...’

‘If so, not so badly that it was needed to send one back to seek help. Come, take comfort from that. I understand you are unsettled; you are anxious for your friend. 

Understandably so; you have watched over him for a while now, and it must be difficult to give his care into other hands.’ 

Thiriston tried not to growl and the king smiled softly.

‘I found it interesting that the entire troop was comprised of married or uninterested parties... you need not fear Canadion would be importuned by any, not least because my son simply would not permit such behaviour. But he is young, yes, and prone to excitability... he needs to be away from you to learn he can be independent. So that when he comes home, you will both see that he is where he wants to be, not where he feels he must be. Do you understand?’

‘Yes. It must be a little like letting one’s child go off on a long journey by themselves.’

Thranduil winged an eyebrow but declined to comment.

‘Assuming there is no word to the contrary, I want you to take out the rest of the Grey Dragons after muster tomorrow. Follow the known trail of Legolas’ troop, and see what information you can gather. Very well. We should return now.’

‘But, my king...’

‘Left to yourself you would do what? Launch yourself into the forest as you are, I suppose, alone and carrying no aid other than your presence?’

‘I would, sire.’

‘But you were left in command of the Grey Dragons, Thiriston; you cannot abandon your duties. Not so close to your avowing day, it would not do for you to spend it in a cell for dereliction of duty now, would it?’

‘Of course not, sire. My king is kind to remind me of the rules.’

‘Sometimes we all wish to break the rules, Thiriston. But not this day.’


	290. Maereth and the Fëa Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the troop head for home, and Thranduil asks Healer Maereth for help...

Canadion was aware that the pain had gone. He was relaxed and at ease and, if his limbs felt heavy, then at least they didn’t feel sore. Everything was swaying in a very soothing fashion.

Voices, there were voices, familiar, lilting, light and bantering.

‘Not far now,’ one was saying.

‘And that is good! Commander Govon, whatever have you been eating of late? I am sure you are heavier than when we set out?’

‘It is all the cares of command, they weigh heavy on me... but you can stop and let me walk...’

‘Walk?’ Canadion said, properly waking himself up.

‘Halt!’ a voice called, the prince, Canadion thought as he blinked and tried to work out what was going on. 

It was getting dark, for one thing. But it had been mid-afternoon when he’d retired to sit in his hammock and work on Thiriston’s token, waiting for the pain-killing draught Faenith had given him... oh.

‘Setting you down, Canadion.’ Tinuon said. ‘It’s nicely flat here, do not worry...’

Canadion held the sides of the hammock as he was lowered to the ground, and then sat himself up, feeling around in the netting surrounding him.

‘Lost something?’ Govon asked. He, too, had been set down and was already out of his hammock and stretching.

‘I was working on... ah, here it is!’ Canadion let out a relieved breath.

‘May we see?’ Legolas grinned. ‘I’m curious as to whether the smell of boiling arachnid can properly be justified by your results...’

‘I think it will be nice,’ Canadion said.

From slender lengths of spider chitin, Canadion had so connected the pieces as to form a lattice. These would expand and contract thanks to pivots made from drilling through with the point of a knife and then fine strands of mithril wire threaded through and secured with neat little twists. The brightness of the glittering silver points contrasted with the dark and shining latticework, where the polishing had revealed an unexpected beauty to the spider parts, iridescent now in greens and turquoises and blues.

‘That is beautiful!’ Legolas said, impressed.

‘You cannot always be certain what you will end up with, but I have been lucky.’ Canadion smiled. ‘Sometimes the shine is in purple and brown, pretty enough, but the bright blues are rare. There is more to do, of course, but about half my connections are secured.’

‘Do you feel able to walk for a little?’ Legolas asked. ‘Our intended camping ground is less than a mile further on.’

‘I am sure I can,’ Canadion said, carefully putting the latticework away inside his tunic. ‘And I am so sorry I fell asleep,’ he added, looking an apology to Tinuon and Rhonir, who had been carrying him.

‘Faenith said you would heal faster sleeping,’ Legolas said. ‘And, since healing swiftly is important to you... I let her drug you.’

‘And then permitted her to drug me also, claiming that if I walked it would slow us all down,’ Govon said. 

‘Well, you can walk now,’ Legolas said. ‘Come. I would have the camp set up before full dark, if possible.’

*

The Healers’ Hall usually had an air of soft silence to it, but this afternoon when Thranduil presented himself at the main desk, the nature of the quiet grew somehow worried and he realised; it was the first time he had visited since his sons had left.

Since Nestoril had left.

Gaelbes dropped a perfectly polite curtsey.

‘My lord king, how may we serve today? Is all well?’

‘Healer Gaelbes, yes, all is well. I simply... I intend a visit to the Sacred Grove, I need to see the Fëar Trees and require a healer to accompany me, one who can read the trees... I understand Healer Maereth is skilled in traditional Silvan skills...?’

‘Indeed, yes, since... since Healer Nestoril left, she is our expert! I will send for her, sire. Please excuse me.’

Thranduil had forgotten how young Healer Maereth seemed. And he certainly did not remember her as being quite so anxious and nervous... he tried to put her at her ease, but it did not seem to work.

‘I am told you are our Silvan traditionalist, Meareth...’

‘My king is very... that is, I have always been interested in our history and traditions, sire...’

‘Well, I need your help in the Sacred Grove... I need to read the trees there and my knowledge is limited...’

‘I will get my bow, sire.

‘Maereth, do you not think your king capable of protecting us both, at need?’

‘Forgive me, your majesty. I did not think...’

He had meant it as a joke, and now she had blushed red to her eartips and was staring at the floor as if her gaze was stuck to it...

‘Never mind,’ he said, trying to sound kind. ‘Besides, there have been all manner of preparations taking place for the forthcoming avowal . Although it will be dark soon, we are still highly unlikely to run into trouble. Come.’

The walk was not far, and Thranduil was glad of it, for by the time he had reached the grove he was losing patience with Maereth’s clipped, monosyllabic replies to his attempt at conversation. He reminded himself that she had been embarrassed, and was perhaps a little in awe of him, and tried not to make things worse...

Evidence of the upcoming wedding had been apparent along the trail; the path had been smoothed and the trees asked nicely to slide back a little. The grove itself was relatively untouched; a dais had been installed near the king’s willow, but no more.

‘The golden rowan,’ Thranduil began, heading over to it. ‘Does it look healthy, to you? Is it... undamaged?’

‘If your majesty will permit me a moment, I will attempt an examination...’

‘Maereth, yes, I am your king... but I am also a father, and it is as such that I am concerned. You need not be so very formal... Healer Nestoril was not.’

‘I am sure Healer Nestoril was always most respectful of your majesty, may the Valar have mercy on her...’

‘In fact, Nestoril and I frequently enjoyed a lively exchange of opinions...’

‘She was a wonderful person, may Eru Ilúvatar look kindly upon her...’

What was this? 

‘Maereth? Nestoril is not deceased; there is no reason to speak of her in the past tense.’

‘Forgive me, sire. The golden rowan, you wished to know?’ 

The healer approached the tree and looked at it closely before laying her hand on its trunk.

‘It is hale, my king, it is whole, it is very healthy.’

Thranduil closed his eyes for a moment in silent relief; his son was safe, according to the tradition of the Fëar Trees...

‘Of course, Healer Nestoril, may the Valar...’

‘Maereth? Please, do not be offended, or distressed at my question but... why would Nestoril need the mercy of the Valar particularly?’

‘Oh.... but... she was – is Silvan... and she is sailing... and they may not wish to admit her to the Undying Lands...’

Ai! Did this superstitious Silvan really think he would send Nestoril off to her doom, just to suit his own ends? That he would simply allow her to sacrifice himself for his sons? He bit back an angry response and calmed himself before speaking.

‘We are all very fond of Nestoril and I was sorry to see her go. She offered her services, you know; it was not asked of her...’ 

Even as he said it, he wondered if he should not have tried harder to dissuade her.

‘Maereth, I would not have let her go, had I thought her to be in any danger whatsoever...’

‘One cannot help but worry, sire, when one cares for someone.’

‘True. This is why we are here today; the rowan, my son’s tree, it is in good health, you say?’

‘It is indeed.’ Maereth stepped around the rowan and came to an abrupt halt when she saw the hazel tree behind it. ‘Although... there is damage here... to this poor thing... it will be fine, it is just a little battered, but it is drooping rather...’

Thranduil had never really noticed the hazel before. In fact, he could not remember when it arrived... it was not his tree, nor that of any of his sons, nor his lost wife’s... it had to be somebody’s tree, though, and...

Govon; it must be his tree.

Legolas was fine, but something had happened to his fëa-mate. 

‘Maereth, if there is anything you can do to help this tree, anything... Silvan, traditional, please do it. I will be most grateful.’

*

‘We need to get a fire going,’ Legolas said. ‘I’m going to speak to the forest, send word back along the root runs. Hopefully, somebody will be looking to hear news of us by now.’

Govon struggled to his feet and made his way over, supporting himself on his stick.

‘Let me come with you. It isn’t hurting as much now.’

‘That’s good. Leave the stick, rest on me.’

Since he had the pleasure of Govon’s company, and an excuse to hold him publically, Legolas went further into the forest than had he been alone. Still within easy reach and call of the camp, he took a moment to gently hug his fëa-mate.

‘I have been wanting to do that ever since we left home, and more so since you were hurt, friend captain,’ he said. ‘But...’

‘But we must set aside our personal wants and needs for the sake of the troop,’ Govon said. ‘I know.’

‘We’ll be home soon.’

Suddenly, the restraint of the last few days was too much and Govon pulled closer to draw Legolas in for a kiss, his fair elf’s hands going to his head to stroke his hair, to lightly caress his shoulders until they pulled apart, gasping.

‘Soon,’ Govon said, and Legolas nodded.

‘Soon,’ he promised.

It took him a moment or two to calm himself enough that he could approach a tree and make it aware of him, sending a message of location, reinforcing the information by focussing on the types of tree all around in relation to the rill, to the trails.

‘I have not said that we have wounded,’ Legolas said. ‘It’s a difficult concept, to say we’re a little hurt, but not badly. Easier to say nothing of it, although it seems disrespectful.’

‘You can make it up to me when we get home, my fair elf.’

Legolas smiled.

‘I fully intend to, my friend captain. I suppose we’d better get back.’

Govon sighed.

‘Pity,’ he said.


	291. Missed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil realises how important Nestoril had been to the running of the Healers' Hall...

Thranduil had walked away, giving Maereth privacy to work without his scrutiny, to allow himself to think...

If Govon had been hurt, from what manner of injury was he suffering? What of the rest of the company?

The Sacred Grove was where the fëa trees of the ruling family grew; some trees did migrate in, such as the hazel that had so surprised Thranduil by its presence, but only when they were of significance; in this case, Govon’s avowal to the prince had meant his tree had been adopted in much as he had been adopted into the family. 

Tradition said that every fëa had its tree, but those other soul trees would be scattered throughout the forest, and the individual may never find his or her own... it did not matter, generally.

But it did mean that Thranduil only had information about his son and Govon, nothing of the others in the troop...

Maereth had begun by laying her hands gently on the hazel, and had been singing in a quavering voice that suggested she was still a little nervous. Presently, her singing stopped.

‘I have done all I can, my king,’ she said. ‘I think it is not a serious injury, but probably there is pain and soreness for whomever this tree represents.’

‘Thank you, Healer,’ Thranduil said gravely. ‘Let me escort you back to the Healers’ Hall.’ 

‘My king is most attentive.’

‘Well, I dragged you off before you could get your bow or your supplies, it would be unkind of me to abandon you,’ he said, and was rewarded by a glimpse of a smile. 'Besides, I ought to speak with the healers; I will need to send someone into the forest...’

Maereth gasped.

‘At night, my lord king?’

‘One on of the main trails where we have certain knowledge all is safe,’ Thranduil said. ‘With an armed escort, naturally.’

Maereth’s studied silence made the king think somehow she wasn’t convinced. Well, she seemed to be the nervous sort, in any case, and he hastened to assure her.

‘Healer Maereth, you have already served us well today; we would not expect you to be the one to go.’

But when he presented himself at the desk in the Healers’ Hall and with courteous words expressed his requirements, he saw horror grow in Gyril’s eyes also.

‘I am not sure our halls can spare anyone, your majesty,’ she said with grave apology in her tone. ‘It is growing dark, and the forest...’

‘Are you very busy at present?’ Thranduil asked, making sure his tone was enquiring and not sarcastic, for he made it his business to always know how many of his Silvans were in need of the care of the Healers’ Halls; there had been two minor incidents on the practice ground that morning, he had been told, but nothing of any significance and apart from an elfling with stomach ache from overindulging in apples... ‘Have you many injured in your care?’

‘Well... as to that... we are two healers down, as it were, with our dear Nestoril leaving and... and Healer Hanben pursuing a career elsewhere... and we are in the middle of an inventory...’

Thranduil forbore to enquire whether it was policy for the Healers’ Hall to conduct inventories outside of proper working hours. He kept to himself, also, his utter certainty that Healer Nestoril would not have refused his request; had she been unable to get a volunteer, she would have offered herself instead...

As had, in fact, happened with his sons. 

He had not quite realised how much Nestoril would be missed; not simply on a personal level, but her leadership, her innate ability to persuade her healers they were capable of more than they believed of themselves... her loss was a void, a blow to the smooth running of the Healers’ Hall.

‘Commander Govon is injured,’ Thranduil said, still managing to sound calm. ‘It is entirely possible that others of the company are also hurt. I am concerned for their safety, Gyril...’

‘I understand, sire, indeed I do. But is not Captain Faenith with them? She has field training and is quite able to deal with any minor incidents...’

‘What if this is not a minor incident?’ Thranduil asked mildly. ‘Or what if Faenith herself is incapacitated?’

Gyril swallowed.

‘I see, my king. Leave it with me, I will... I will try to find someone to spare...of course, if you could wait until morning? Or, had you mentioned this earlier today...’

‘My sources of information are generally good, Healer Gyril,’ he said, still maintaining his calm air. ‘But they have not quite managed to predict, ahead of time, when the services of a healer are likely to be required. It is no doubt a failing on the part of my subjects that they neglect to keep me informed when they intend to be injured. Good day to you.’

He sailed out of the Healers’ Hall, snapping his fingers for attention. A passing servant stopped and bowed.

‘Yes, my lord king?’

‘Tell Rawon I will see him in my study in fifteen minutes. He is to have the Grey Dragon company with him, those who remain.’

‘Yes, your majesty.’

‘And fetch Arveldir. I want Arveldir at once.’

‘Of course, sire.’

Thranduil carried on his way. If this was too much for one servant, then that one would speak to another, and so the message would be passed on. If Arveldir did not catch up with him before he passed the King’s Office, he would have to make a personal appearance...

But it was Erestor who stepped out of a side passage ahead of him a few moments later and bowed respectfully.

‘Your majesty, Arveldir’s apologies, he is unfortunately entertaining Mistress Cullasbes and is devastated not to be able to attend your majesty at present...’

Erestor’s choice of words made Thranduil’s lips twitch and his mood lightened.

‘No doubt... Erestor, attend me, then. I fear that something is amiss with Legolas’ patrol in the forest; there is some suggestion that Commander Govon is injured, possibly others of the company...’

‘I am most sorry to hear that, sire. How may I help?’

‘I’ve sent for Rawon with the intention of ordering a company out tonight.’

He paused, waiting for Erestor to protest that this was Mirkwood, and it was getting dark, but the dark-haired elf merely nodded.

‘Will your majesty send out a healer with them?’

‘Somehow, all of our healers are busy tonight...’

‘Really? How very unfortunate!’ They had reached Thranduil’s study now, and Erestor opened the door and stood back for the king to enter. ‘If I may offer a suggestion, my king...?’

Thranduil took his seat behind the desk, his gaze measuring. 

‘Go on?’

‘Former Healer Hanben. It is true, he has turned away from healing to pursue his inventions, and he is, perhaps, not exactly a favourite... but I understand he is skilled with the sort of injuries one might run into in the forest...’

‘Erestor, thank you; that is a most helpful thought. Have a request sent to him, would you, with courtesy?’

‘Of course, my king.’

Erestor stepped outside and beckoned the guard keeping watch at the end of the corridor, dispatching him on the errand. He returned to the king with the news that Rawon was approaching.

‘My thanks, Erestor. If you like, you can pour two glasses of Dorwinion. One is for you.’

*

Thiriston had been prowling when the message came to report to Rawon. He snatched up his weapons and cloak, and hurried to the parade ground where the over-captain was waiting. Summons seemed to have gone out to others, too, for Hador was present, and Amathel, still tidying her uniform, fell into step beside him.

‘Do we know why we’re wanted, Captain?’ she asked anxiously.

‘No. Just had the message. Must be something, though.’

‘Where’s Fonor?’ Rawon asked.

‘On his way, Over-captain,’ Hador said. ‘Just leaving the palace now.’

‘Well, we’ll collect him on the way. We’ve been summoned to the royal presence.’

*

Thranduil sipped at his wine and eyed the warriors assembled before him.

He took in Amathel’s eagerness, the tightening of Thiriston’s eyes that betrayed his anxiety, Rawon’s disguised annoyance. He decided not to keep them waiting.

‘Over-captain Rawon, I have called you and these Grey Dragons here tonight for a purpose. Acting on information gathered this afternoon, I am concerned that my son’s troop may have run into difficulties – I do not believe these to be too serious, or the forest would have spoken...’

Rawon mistook Thranduil’s pause for breath as his turn to speak, and did so.

‘But indeed, sire, we had word from the trees but very lately... the troop is located some four hours from the flet glade and...’

‘And you did not think to bring me this news immediately?’

‘I beg your pardon, your majesty, but it would have been in the evening report to the King’s Office; location report and no hint of any real trouble...’

Thranduil laced his fingers together on the desk and tipped his head to the side to examine Rawon’s face. The king’s expression was impassive, and somehow that was far more terrifying than had he scowled or frowned.

‘I believe to the contrary. I wish to send the Grey Dragons, under Captain Thiriston’s command, on a night march to seek their Argallor and Callordor Govon’s troop; my information suggests Govon has been injured and if, as you say, their most recent location is so far from home as to be four hours out from the glade, I do not feel such action inappropriate. Write up the necessary orders and have them taken to the King’s Office for Arveldir to stamp. Any duties or training these warriors would have taken tomorrow and the next day should be cancelled. You will need to tell the Dragon Warriors to take fresh supplies with them, to stop and read the forest regularly and send signals ahead. When they find the troop, if it is possible, two should return at once with a report which you will bring to me, in person, here in my study, once it arrives at whatever hour that might be.’

‘As my king commands,’ Rawon said faintly.

‘Very well. You may tell your warriors to muster at the front gate as soon as they are ready and to hurry about it. And you may take all with you as you leave, with the exception of Captain Thiriston, with whom I wish to speak.’

Thiriston swallowed, his expression becoming even more worried, but as soon as Rawon and the rest had gone, Thranduil waved him to a chair.

‘Sit, Thiriston. I wish to assure you that I have no evidence that anything is wrong with your friend. When you and I read the forest earlier, I did not have quite as much information as I have since garnered. This has led to a possibly regrettable delay... no matter. There is an unfortunate lack in communications with our forest, whereby the nuances of danger and difficulty are difficult to convey... I hope this is the case tonight.’

‘That’s true, my king. I’m still uneasy, though.’

‘Which is why you are getting the duty and not Commander Pedir’s Red Dragons, who know that part of the forest well.’

‘Thank you, sire.’

‘Do not take any risks, do not hurry overmuch or you may miss hints from the forest. Make sure you pause at the flet glade and allow your troop time to acclimatise.’

‘Yes, my king.’

‘Nobody from the Healers’ Hall can be spared tonight, so they tell me, and so Erestor has gone to persuade Hanben to resume his former role as a healer for once. Collect him on your way out.’

‘Well, at least he’s not scared of the forest at night.’

‘Indeed. Dismissed, Captain and do try not to worry.’


	292. Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thiriston finds Legolas and company and is reunited with Canadion...

Thiriston and his troop took their first halt in the flet glade. The moon was riding high above the open space bathing the grass with milky silver and he judged it to be a little before midnight.

‘Good, well done,’ he said. ‘Take your ease for a while. Eat, drink. Hanben, you need anything?’

Hanben shook his head.

‘No.’ He lowered himself to the grass and looked up into the moonful sky. ‘No, I have food and water in my pack. How long will we be here?’

‘In the glade? Not long, a part of an hour. In the forest, I don’t know. Depends what we find. How they are.’ Thiriston took out his water flask and drank. ‘Going to see if the trees have anything to say for themselves.’

The oak Thiriston climbed and connected with had a fair bit to say for itself, mostly about the wind in its branches and how the dry summer had meant pushing its roots out further in search of the water it needed. But soon the rains would come, and come in volume, the air promised.

Thiriston sucked at his teeth. Trees took, if anything, less notice of the passage of time than elves did, so it wasn’t certain when this promised rain would hit. Of course, they were all pretty much waterproof, but if there were injured warriors to transport, rain wouldn’t make the task any easier...

He leaned in against the tree again, forming a query about the troop, and spiders, and got a garbled message back of webs high in the canopy, and all being well, but not. He was, however, able to discover whence came the message and so locate the probable site of the camp.

Returning to the company, he tried not to let his impatience show while his small command rested and ate.

‘How are you in the canopy, Hanben?’ he asked casually, as they were packing up and preparing to move out; to go through the trees would be faster than the trails on the ground, and up in the sapience layer, the messages of the trees more easily read.

‘Really? I get to run the branches, too? The rest of the healers do not know what they are missing! Lead on!’

*

Woven through his dreams, Canadian heard the cries and whistles of a dozen species of woodland birds calling in turn. He knew he was dreaming, though, for as well as the birds, he could hear the growling of a warg, and he knew for a fact that there were no wargs in this part of the forest...

There were voices now, too, and one was growly and familiar and couldn't possibly be here...

Could it?

But he was sure, almost sure, and he opened his eyes with a smile on his face.

'Thiriston?'

For a moment, silence.

'Now you have awoken him!' Faenith complained loudly.

'Well, you said you would not have me disturb him,' another voice, vaguely familiar... Healer Hanben, that was it. 'But since disturbed he is, I will see him.'

'Not yet, you won't!' Thiriston said, his voice approaching. 'Five minutes.'

'Two,' retorted yet another voice, that of the prince. 'For two minutes, you are off duty. And then you are ordered to help Canadion with his examination by the healer.'

Canadian struggled to sit up, but his limbs were heavy and still rather sore. And then arms reached into the hammock, scooped him up, held him close, and he felt the stinging prickle of emotion in his eyes at the familiarity of the embrace, as he realised it really was Thiriston, he was here, they were together. Lips brushed his neck, warm breath soothed him.

'You hurt, penneth?'

'A little, a little tender. It doesn't matter now.'

Again, the growl.

'Does to me.' Thiriston lifted him clear of the hammock as easily as if he were an elfling and bore him away to a quiet corner to sit down and cuddle him. 'Was worried about you.'

Canadian wanted to protest that he was fine, but, really, he wasn't, and besides, it was nice to be held so closely, to feel safe and secure once more.

'I missed you,' he said instead, snuggling in. 'I thought of you all the time. Except when I was sleeping, and then I wanted to dream about you...'

‘Well, perhaps if you’d been paying attention to what was going on around you instead of day-dreaming about me, you wouldn’t have got hurt...’

Thiriston held Canadion closer, making him whimper.

'What is it, what did I do, did I hurt you...?'

'I do not care, it is so good to have you hold me.’ Canadian sighed. 'I am sore, though. Bruised.'

Thiriston sat his beloved up gently so that he could look more closely at him. Canadion’s face was unblemished, as beautiful as ever, his hands unmarked. Everything else was covered by garments, though, the neck of Canadion’s tunic laced higher and more tightly than Thiriston was used to. Gently he loosened off the ties.

'Where are you sore?'

'Everywhere!' Canadian said sadly. ‘And I will not heal in time and have to bear the bruises to our wedding...'

'As long as you are at the wedding, I do not care,' Thiriston said. 'Come on. Tell me what happened?'

'Just...there were hatchlings, and guard spiders and, oh, you know how spiderlings move...'

Canadion shuddered, but so did Thiriston.

'I was better, lots better until then, I even grabbed hold of a guard spider, although it was sort of... it looked braver than it was. I... might have screamed, at the little spiders scuttling everywhere... but it was all right.' Canadion gulped. 'Because so did Commander Govon... well, I knew if I got bitten I really would have to miss the wedding, or risk vomiting all over the Sacred Grove, so... it was the only place to go to escape...'

 

'Where was?'

'Down. I cut open the nursery web and Govon and I dropped through, and the spiderlings dancing and bobbing about on their emergency lines and snapping out at us as we fell... and then... then there were not enough trees to help and we landed hard.'

Thiriston shook his head.

'And you didn't break anything?'

'Just... Just Commander Govon's fall...'

Ai, penneth...!

Thiriston stroked Canadion's face gently, the thought of what could have happened starkly frightening; it was rare, but elves had died falling out of trees.

'What was all that snarling, when I woke up?' Canadian asked, seeing the worry in his beloved's eyes and trying to distract him. ‘I thought there were wargs in the camp!’

'Ah. Found out there wasn't anywhere private for you to be examined. Didn't think it was right, myself. So they're rigging a screen.'

'I see.’ Canadion smiled and hugged his fëa-mate. ‘But you know, everyone has been most respectful of all our injured. For me, Celeguel helped with any lacings I couldn't manage and walked me across to Faenith. And nobody looked. Our prince, he helped the Commander similarly, and nobody looked then, either. It was not a problem.’

Thiriston grunted and allowed himself to nod. 

‘Captain Thiriston,’ Hanben’s voice called out from nearby. ‘I am ready now.’

‘Look to Commander Govon first,’ Thiriston called back. ‘And then whoever else is hurt.’

‘Now, Captain!’ Hanben insisted. ‘Worst hurt, first tended.’

‘And I can walk, you know,’ Canadion said. ‘Although it is lovely to have you hold me, I do have a little bit of pride...’

‘No, do you really?’ Thiriston said with a grin. ‘But you will lean on me, I hope?’

Canadion smiled his happy smile and allowed Thiriston to support him over to where one of the blankets had been strung between two trees, separating Hanben and Faenith from the rest of the company. The treatment area was lit by lanterns and torches, and a tree trunk covered with a blanket served as a seat to which Thiriston helped his fëa-mate. 

‘I wish to say,’ Canadion began, ‘that Faenith had been very dedicated in her care of us all, and...’

‘Yes, I know, they all said the same thing,’ Hanben said with a nod to Faenith. ‘The king sent me, it wasn’t my idea, you know. But I’m here now. What did you do?’

‘I fell some thirty feet with only one or two branches to slow my descent, I landed in leaf litter and then Commander Govon fell too, and I helped break his fall.’

‘Headaches for the first day, but they eased,’ Faenith supplied. ‘Contusions to shoulder, back and hip with development post-incident down as low almost as the ankle...’

‘Let’s have the tunic off first, then,’ Hanben said. ‘Captain Thiriston, if you’re going to stay, you might as well help...’

Thiriston glared but began to help Canadion out of his upper garments, trying not to gasp when he saw the mottled bruises blackening the loveliness of his sweetheart’s tawny skin... huge patches of his back, his side, his shoulder and upper arm...

‘Is it very hideous?’ Canadion asked, trying for a lightness of tone.

‘Not hideous at all,’ Thiriston said. ‘Does look sore, though.’

‘I need to check something,’ Hanben said. ‘Come, you’re in my way there! Stand in front of him and hold his other hand, I need to move this arm...’

Canadion winced as Hanben manipulated shoulder and elbow.

‘Sorry... just a minute here... there, done. I have with me a slightly better salve than the one Faenith was given. Your friend here can apply it for you. Need to see your hip, now.’

Thiriston assisted Canadion back into his shirt before helping with leggings. He held his penneth’s hands all through the examination, looking quietly into his eyes as if that would somehow help with the discomfort, for Canadion winced often as his hip was rotated.

‘Yes. Again, more salve. I think... yes, another dose of the draft you’ve been taking, tonight. Here.’ Hanben passed over a beaker. ‘Drink up! You need to sleep.’

‘So do we all,’ Commander Govon called from the far side of the screen. ‘The whole camp is awake now!’

‘Well, once these two are out of the way you can come and be checked over. Bruises and twisted knee, isn’t it?’

Thiriston helped Canadion tidy himself and led him back to his hammock.

‘And you’ve been sleeping in this? Not even a tent? A bedroll?’

‘With my bedding in, it is quite comfortable. There is no pressure on my sore areas.’

‘Well, let’s get this salve on you and you can get back into it. I’ll keep watch over you.’

It was almost impossible to spread the healing potion across Canadion’s lovely body and keep his touch objective, impersonal, when he wanted to linger and put love into every stroke and slide his hands elsewhere. But he kept his focus, and soon the salve was soaking into the bruises and Canadion was sighing, his breath growing slow as the sedative began to take effect.

‘Don’t go to sleep yet,’ Thiriston said with a smile. ‘Need to get you up into your nice hammock first.’

‘But it is a very nice hammock,’ Canadion said drowsily. ‘Join me, if you like...’

‘Would love to, penneth.’ The big elf scooped Canadion up and gently lowered him into his hanging bed, straightening blankets around him. ‘But I might lean on you and hurt you in the night. Sleep well. I’ll be just here.’

He stroked the hair back from Canadion’s face and kissed him lightly, watching the generous mouth curve in a smile, the nictitating membranes flick across to cover those beautiful amber-lit eyes.

‘Captain Thiriston?’ Celeguel’s voice was soft, not at all intrusive, and she waited a little distance away for him to turn towards her. ‘Argallor Legolas has asked for speech with you; I will sit with Canadion, if you wish, while you are busy.’

‘Thank you. And... you’ve been helping him. It’s kind of you, I’m grateful.’

Celeguel smiled.

‘It has been no hardship, I promise you. He reminds me so of my little sibling...’

‘Ah. You’ve younger brothers, then?’

She grinned. ‘Actually, a younger sister, begging your pardon.’

Thiriston couldn’t prevent a laugh. He was still grinning when he presented himself to Legolas and Govon at the camp fire.

‘You sent for me, Argallor?’

Legolas nodded.

‘I’m curious as to how many charges you’re going to find yourself on when we get home...?’ He spoke lightly, but there was an edge of steel lying just below the surface of his words. ‘Since you were left in command of the Grey Dragons... I recognise you brought them all with you, but, still...’

‘Ah. Well, in fact, his majesty the king ordered us out... that is to say, he met with Over-captain Rawon, and it was decided to despatch us to make sure all was well; once his majesty knew that the commander was injured...’

‘Adar knew?’

‘Yes, ernilen; he’d asked me to visit the forest with him earlier in the day and couldn’t reconcile his unease with Rawon’s assurance that the word from the trees was good. He investigated further and decided to send us out to meet you.’

‘I see.’

‘So, to answer your question... unless you count that I spent more than the two minutes off-duty time that you said I might spend with Canadion...’

Legolas grinned and shook his head.

‘Consider yourself already reprimanded, and think no more of it. Your Canadion has really been quite heroic, you know. No doubt you’ll hear all about it on the way back. Now, you should try to sleep. I want us home tomorrow, and you might find yourself called on to carry him.’

Thiriston nodded and went back to spread his bedroll close to Canadion’s hammock. He was near enough to push at the bracing crossbar, rocking his beloved who murmured and snuggled.

He was just settling himself when Canadion murmured again and turned onto his side, causing something that was in the hammock to tumble over the edge and land firmly on Thiriston’s chest. Starting up from his near-reverie, he looked at the offending item.

It was really rather pretty, whatever it was, he thought, pushing himself up on one elbow to lift the item for examination. An intertwined lattice of strips, shining and the colours changing and slurring, blues and greens, and spikes of silver... It seemed to be unfinished, but...

‘What are you doing with that?’ Celeguel hissed, dashing over to all-but snatch at the thing.

‘It fell out of the hammock,’ he said.

‘Well, give it here at once! And you have not seen this, do you understand?’

‘What...?’

‘It’s for you, you great big cave troll! And it’s meant to be a surprise. He’s been working so hard on it, he was going to try to get it finished tomorrow...’ Celeguel carefully aligned the lattice work and slid the item away inside her jerkin. ‘I will write him a note to say I have it safe, and then he need not realise you know... just make sure, at the proper time, that you are surprised. And delighted, if you are not delighted...’

‘He’s been making this?’ A grin began to spread across Thiriston’s face. ‘For me? Is it... is it for our avowing?’

Celeguel didn’t answer his question, instead scribbling on a scrap of something and sliding the note inside Canadion’s tunic where he couldn’t help but find it when he woke. Only then, job done, did she sit down again beside Thiriston to speak in quiet tones.

‘You should have seen him, he was amazing! He took the caul and leapt for the next nest up, and there was a queen and its guardian waiting, so he grabbed a forelimb and almost pulled it out of the creature, so he could stab its eyes, and then he tumbled into the net to release the next caul, and Commander Govon was there and, you know he’s doubly at risk from being bitten before? Two guards coming, so Canadion ripped open the net and pushed the commander to safety, and only then thought of himself, and all the small ones everywhere, and everyone screaming and shrieking...’

‘Everyone?’

‘Well, not our prince, of course! So then, after, he would see his kills and pick the right parts... that, if you please, is made from the guardian he attacked. And it smelled very bad while he was cooking the goo off so we all contributed, in a way. We’re all in on the secret, it would be such a shame to spoil it now...’

‘Secret. Yes, I understand.’

‘Good.’

Celeguel departed and Thiriston laced his fingers together behind his head. Canadion was making that lovely thing for him? 

He drifted off into reverie hugging the secret to his heart and vowing to make sure Canadion never knew he’d already had a glimpse of that wonderful, beautiful example of his beloved’s bravery.


	293. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the company reaches the palace and Legolas speaks to his father...

It was already dark by the time the company found themselves on the wide path to the bridge not half a mile from home. Legolas called a halt and turned to address them.

‘Well done, all of you! For your courage and your support of one another, for the kills made and the care taken of our injured. You have served and worked together well.’ 

He glanced around his troop, noting how tired some of them looked. Thiriston had insisted on carrying Canadion’s hammock, and the only ellon tall enough to take the other end safely was Hanben, who had been muttering something about ‘a better way’ for at least the last hour. Laimen’s face was pinched from the pain of his damaged shoulder, but he had insisted on helping with more than just his own pack. Govon had had to be drugged to keep him in his hammock when they had set off, and was now wakeful and trying not to complain at the shame of being carried. Well, it was not far, now.

‘We will not make our injured suffer the indignity of being carried into the palace. We will all walk home, and we will do so singing. Take a moment to make arrangements.’

He went over to help Govon out of his hammock and get him supported on his stick.

‘Really, I feel a lot better today,’ the commander said. ‘I have less pain and more movement.’

‘Able to walk home?’

‘More than able.’

‘That’s good news; I will be back at your side in a moment.’ 

He passed on to where Thiriston was gently helping Canadion find his balance.

‘How are you now, Canadion?’

‘I will be fine, my prince, thank you for asking.’

‘Yes... but that wasn’t what I asked. Thiriston, it might look better if you don’t actually carry him, but... whatever help he needs.’

‘Aye, my prince.’

Legolas returned to stand near Govon, ready to steady him if needed.

‘Are we ready? Heroes Coming Home, who will lead us...?’

Canadion lifted his head and sniffed the air.

‘I think the Storm Song might be more appropriate,’ he said. ‘It will rain within the hour.’

‘Then we had better make sure we are home long before it starts,’ Legolas said.

*

Arveldir knocked on the door of Thranduil’s study, entering on command and bowing deeply.

‘My king, the strains of ‘Heroes Coming Home’ have been heard approaching the bridge. We expect the arrival of our prince and our warriors very shortly.’

‘Legolas will want to see the injured to the Healers’ Halls,’ Thranduil said, looking up from his papers. ‘And if Govon is amongst them, my son will wish to stay with him. I will permit him an hour, and if he has not made his way here by then, you are to seek him.’

‘Understood, my king. Word from the messengers was good, I think?’

Thranduil nodded; Thiriston had sent Fonor and Hador back and they had arrived a few hours previously with news of minor injuries but no bites or stings and no broken bones.

‘I would hesitate to call any injuries sustained insignificant – to do so would sound as if one was belittling our warriors’ discomfort – but certainly nobody is badly hurt.’ The king glanced swiftly at Arveldir. ‘Which is why an hour is more than enough. Then, of course, I will see the wounded for myself.’

It was far less than an hour when Thranduil heard another knock and Legolas, still in his old and borrowed bits of uniform, entered.

‘My son, good evening; I am glad you are back.

But Legolas was not in the mood for the niceties.

‘Why did you send Thiriston after us?’ Legolas demanded. ‘We were fine, we didn’t need any help!’

‘Take a seat.’ Thranduil’s voice sharpened in response to his son’s tone. ‘How many injured did you bring home?’

‘Four, but...’

‘And they were all walking wounded?’

‘Some of the time... but that is not the point! If you’re going to send me out as Argallor, you need to let me be the Argallor...’

Thranduil rose and crossed to the table near the window where he poured two glasses of the good Dorwinion. Pressing one into Legolas’ hand, he pushed his son towards a seat and himself sat down opposite. He did not comment on the tremor he had felt through his son’s jerkin, although it was difficult to say whether Legolas was trembling from rage or exhaustion... 

‘In fact, I did not send you out; you sent yourself,’ Thranduil said. ‘All that was left for me to do was make it seem you were doing my will. In my opinion, it was foolish to take Canadion away from home so close to his avowing, and to hear from Thiriston’s messengers that he was actually hurt... it does not reflect well on your judgement...’

Legolas bit back an angry retort, his eyes smouldering as he sipped the wine to give him a reason not to speak; it burned and it soothed and it gave him a moment to recover.

‘Although, on reflection, I do not think it was your idea,’ Thranduil went on, eyeing his son thoughtfully. ‘It is not like you to act so.... yet, if the idea were suggested to you, presented in the right way you might not find yourself able to refuse, if the reasons seemed good...’

His son still saying nothing, the king changed his line of reasoning.

‘Or it could be that if one wished to provide a safe place for, say, an ellon approaching a significant commitment to have one last hurrah... or perhaps a former friend, a swan song...? But then, if that were the case, than the other party would need to be in the company also, or to meet along the way, and I note no such individual amongst your warriors, Legolas, and that you met only trees and spiders...’

‘It should be noted that Canadion behaved with propriety, with more decorum than one would have expected in such case, sir,’ Legolas said formally. ‘I very much regret his injuries – they were my fault, since I had assigned him the task of keeping Commander Govon from being spider bitten and he took his duty most seriously.’

‘But why were you seeking spiders at all?’

‘The healers were worried about their stocks of caul silk. Much was sent along the river with my brothers.’

‘This is true.’ Yet the Healers’ Hall had declined to send one of their own out to help those injured in pursuit of the cauls they required... it seemed unfair. Thranduil sighed. 

‘Let me tell you the tale, ion-nin. Thiriston was uneasy at the word from the forest. Since I could not pick up the same sense of unquiet, I decided it was probably... bridegroom’s anxieties. But not dismissing his concerns, I took Healer Maereth to read the Fëa Trees... your golden rowan was fine, Legolas, but had it been damaged I would have ridden out myself and had I found all well, I would have retreated without your knowing I had ever been there. Instead we found damage to Govon’s hazel.’

‘I see.’

‘No, you do not. It struck me that if Govon was injured, the chances were that others also had been harmed. I did not think you would wish to worry us with a report of any accuracy, and decided perhaps Thiriston’s concern was due to his connection with Canadion, rather than pre-wedding nerves. Thus he was the appropriate person to send and, with his command, made it look less like a rescue mission and more of a personal request to act on his part, agreed to by his king. And was Govon injured?’

Legolas drank off his wine, using its burn to soothe the lump in his throat. He nodded.

‘It’s not serious but he’s in pain. As is Canadion. Rhonir has a skin laceration and Laimen a damaged shoulder.’

‘It grieves me to learn this. You are wet, too. I suspect that is not helping your mood.’

‘Canadion said rain was coming, and it did, just for the last half mile. But it was pretty heavy and the last thing we needed...’

‘I am sure the forest needs it. Are you done with being angry at me yet, ion-nin?’

‘Perhaps. Just about.’

‘Do not be concerned. Any who might comment on the rescue will think only that Thiriston was sent because he was worried about Canadion; none will spare a thought for your over-protective Adar’s lapse in judgement...’

‘Adar? Was that... an apology?’

Thranduil raised haughty eyebrows.

‘Not in the least, why would I ever need to apologise...? It is more... I did not have enough information to act otherwise. Now, come. If you are done with being cross, let us visit your brave wounded together. I am sure you do not wish to be from Govon’s side for longer than you have to.’

*

Healer Gyril wrung her hands when the news reached her. Four injured warriors, four!

She bustled around giving orders, making preparations so that as soon as they arrived, helped by their comrades, they were settled in treatment rooms and attended to immediately.

Ai, poor Canadion, with his wedding coming up, and Thiriston not wanting to leave his side, insisting on staying to see him treated... and then, too, Commander Govon...

The two other warriors, Laimen and Rhonir, Maereth took over their care, while Gaelbes assisted where needed and consulted with Faenith, who had been there when the injuries took place. 

Collecting supplies, Gyril found herself with Gaelbes for a moment.

‘Ai, this is dreadful! I feel so badly for the poor injured ellyn!’ Gaelbes said.

‘I, also. It feels I cannot work hard enough on their comfort to make up for the fact that it is our fault!’

‘Our fault?’

‘Yes – I told the king I would ask if one would go into the forest... and none of us were willing...’

‘But we could not go, not into the forest! Not at night! And... and they did have some help...’

‘But I cannot help thinking... if our dear Nestoril heard of this, she would be most disappointed in us...’

‘Well, she will not hear,’ Gaelbes said. ‘Perhaps... perhaps we should try harder to be more courageous in future. But it is not our fault, we did not ask them to go...’

‘Except that we were low on caul silk.’

‘I must attend to the commander,’ Gaelbes said, collecting supplies hastily.

‘And I Canadion,’ Gyril said.

*

Canadion was starting to feel a little less fragile. Gyril had permitted Thiriston to help him undress, and wash, and stay while he was tended to and now a soothing salve was on his hip and caul silk stretched over it to aid the healing process, the same for his shoulder and back. The Healer had spoken with gratitude at how useful the cauls would be, and then had pulled covers up to Canadion’s chin and laid her hand on his forehead for a moment.

‘I would like you to stay here tonight, and...’

‘Not going to happen,’ Thiriston said. ‘I’m taking him home. Not right now, if you don’t want, but I’m not having another night away from him.’

‘I see. But it is already getting late. We can bring in a bed for you, Captain...’

‘Unless you’ve got one big enough for us both, no.’

‘I will see what might be done, Captain; it is only for your friend’s sake that I wish him to stay...’

An abrupt knock on the partially open door, and Arveldir’s voice.

‘His majesty the king and Prince Legolas are here to...’

Gyril gasped, turned, and dropped into a curtsey so low that she was almost sitting on the floor.

‘Oh, sire, forgive me! I did not know, I had not realised... I apologise to you, and to your warriors, that we failed in our duty and...’

‘Do get up, Gyril!’ Thranduil said with a touch of impatience. ‘When I want a public apology, I will demand one! Otherwise, it is quite in order to wait until we are alone and then grovel in private!’

Legolas leaned forward and helped the distressed healer to her feet.

‘Come, Gyril, we know all about it; we should make sure there are plans for next time, but for now, don’t fret; there is no real harm done, do you see?’

Shaken, Gyril allowed herself to be seated in a chair where she continued to tremble while Thranduil asked Canadion how he was feeling.

‘And we hear you did all this to protect your commander from being bitten; we commend your courage, particularly as there were hatchlings?’

Canadion nodded.

‘They were... quite awful, my king. At least with the big ones, it is easy to find a target!’

‘I do not think anybody is entirely comfortable when there are hatchlings on the loose. Well, rest now, get yourself healed swiftly; you have a big day approaching.’ He glanced at Thiriston. ‘If you were to decide you needed a few days longer...’

‘No!’ Canadion said quickly.

‘I agree. It’s thoughtful of you, sire,’ Thiriston said. ‘But I think we want to hold to our original plan. Even if I have to hold him up all the way through the rituals.’

‘It is probably wise; else all Arveldir’s careful arrangements would be for naught. Be well, Canadion. Arveldir, we will see Commander Govon now.’


	294. Tender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas gets Govon home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adult Content; you may prefer not to have someone read this over your shoulder...

It had taken all Legolas’ powers of persuasion to get a grudging agreement that Govon could leave the Healers’ Hall. 

In fact, it was only that Legolas raised an eyebrow in an accidental – and uncanny – resemblance of his father on learning that Canadion had been allowed home that finally had Gyril stumbling over herself to agree.

‘But, please, he must drink this first, and come back in the morning, as must Canadion...’

‘Good, thank you, I will see that Govon is here after he has broken his fast,’ Legolas said hurriedly, lest she change her mind. ‘Govon, drink up – and then shall we go?’

So Legolas had put his arm around his fëa-mate’s waist and they had made their way slowly back to their chambers.

‘Ah, home again!’ Legolas said. ‘Our own bed, and privacy to say what we like to one another, to touch hands again... I am aware, I have several days’ worth of demonstrations of affection owing to you, my friend captain.’

‘That sounds like a nice way to spend what’s left of the evening, my fair elf.’

Someone – perhaps Arveldir, probably Erestor – had seen to it that there was a cheerful fire lit in the grate and food and wine waiting.

‘Come, let me help you, friend captain. Sit there, I will fetch you something to eat.’

‘I am really not so hungry,’ Govon protested, allowing Legolas to fold strong arms around him and lower him onto the sofa. ‘But some wine would be nice.’

‘Rest there; I’ll fetch you some.’ Legolas crossed to the table to pour wine into two beakers. ‘I will begin at once with the backlog of attentiveness, by saying I love you, my dearest friend captain, by unfastening your braids and stroking free your hair... what do you say?’

The prince turned back with a smile to see Govon’s head tilted to one side against the corner of the sofa, his eyes wide and translucent under the nictitating membranes. He shook his head and managed to find a smile; the draught Govon had taken before leaving the Healers’ Hall, probably, had contained more in it than just pain relief.

‘Well, you need to rest, I suppose,’ Legolas said softly, raising his goblet before drinking off the wine. ‘But you won’t be comfortable there, my beloved friend captain.’

With all the gentleness he could, he lifted Govon in his arms and carried him to the bed to tenderly undress him, taking time and care and using the opportunity to properly see the extent and severity of Govon’s bruising... it sounded such a small thing, a bruise, a minor inconvenience... until one saw the blue and purple mottling covering Govon’s skin, realised something of the intensity of impact that had caused it.

Govon murmured something under his breath as Legolas eased him out of his shirt and laid him down on the bed, but he was deep in the grip of the sedative now and didn’t so much as stir when his boots and leggings came off and his legs were lifted onto the mattress.

Legolas took a moment to lay Govon’s clothes on a chair before folding the covers over his beloved’s form and himself stripping and climbing in beside him. Carefully he nestled in, sliding an arm under Govon’s neck to support him and kissing him gently.

‘Rest well, melleth-nin; there will be time later for tenderness.’

*

Legolas woke to the touch of skilful fingers caressing his body and a mouth busy on his ear-tip, the gentle tug of teeth and twist of tongue causing him to gasp and jump, feeling the swell and throb of desire beneath the teasing touch. The teeth and tongue paused, the mouth released him and a soft voice, dark with love, whispered magical, enchanting suggestions while the hand continued its voyage across his eager skin.

He swallowed and turned his head to catch the mouth in his own, allowing Govon to lead in the kiss, to decide how to move, how to lie, where to rest over him.

‘You were going to bring me some wine,’ Govon said, lifting away from the kiss at last, his tone as teasing as his fingers.

‘There is more wine. There is always more wine.’

‘True. And right now, I do not care about wine, but about you... there was mention, also, of affection?’

‘Demonstrations of affection,’ Legolas agreed. ‘Love and tenderness. I was planning on loosening your braids...’

‘Leave my braids. Unloosen me.’

‘I’ll be the one unloosed in a moment, if you don’t slow your hand, my love...’

Govon smiled against Legolas’ throat and slowed his rhythmic fingers.

‘I do not mind.’

‘I do; I want to look to your needs, my friend captain...’

‘Well, since you insist...’

‘Good. Because your body is tempting me to touch... but I’ve no wish to hurt you... may I stroke your back?’

‘My back would like that...’Govon sighed as Legolas drifted careful fingers softly down his spine. ‘And my front would be nice. Or anywhere, oh, yes, anywhere... everywhere...’ 

Legolas shifted position to ease Govon onto his back, to lean over with a kiss, trying not to contact any bruised areas as his fingers relearned the contours of his lover’s body. 

‘I fear to hurt you.’

Govon gasped as Legolas’ touch woke fire in his skin.

‘I do not care!’

‘But I care, my love. To see your skin so darkened and know you are in pain...’

‘Apart from the knee, I am just a little tender, that is all. So anywhere else... anything...’

Legolas kissed him again, a slow and languorous meeting of mouths that gave the lie to the urgency he felt from his own arousal, the need to bring release to his beloved. He caught Govon’s lower lip between his teeth for a moment, licking the captured skin lightly with his tongue before continuing to kiss and mouth under Govon’s chin and down his throat, feeling the movement of his friend captain’s larynx as he swallowed beneath Legolas’ lapping tongue.

Govon brought his hands round to stroke Legolas’ hair, his shoulders, to reach for his fair elf as the prince slithered out of reach, kissing and caressing his way over chest and ribs to stop at the place where the long-ago scar arced over Govon’s hip; Legolas explored it lightly with his tongue, all its long, curving length until he was nestling his face against his beloved’s groin and covering the heat and hardness of his arousal with his seeking hand. Beneath him, Govon’s hips jittered and twitched and Legolas could hear his fëa-mate’s breathing quicken with anticipation.

He folded his hand around Govon’s erection with slow care before bringing his lips to bear, licking and sliding his tongue over the surface, hearing the gasps and moans from his beloved as he moved his hand slowly, taking the head of Govon’s arousal into his mouth and using the interplay of tongue and lips and hand in practised combination until with a cry and a buck, a thrust of hips Govon buried himself further into Legolas’ mouth as his climax overwhelmed him and he came long and hard, Legolas steadying him as he swallowed until finally Govon shuddered and stilled, and the prince softened his mouth and rested his face against Govon’s belly for a moment until he felt Govon’s hand in his hair stroking gently.

‘I love you, my fair elf,’ he said softly.

‘And I you, my beloved friend captain.’

‘And I love that you call me that, still, my fair elf. But perhaps what I need now is to hear you cry out, to bring to you the release you gave to me...’ He stroked the hair back from Legolas’ face, tried to move, to pull his beloved up the bed towards him. ‘I want to touch and caress you, to feel you convulse...’

Legolas lifted towards him, crawling up to lie beside his fëa-mate, facing him. Govon pushed him onto his back, his fingers seeking.

‘... to kiss you, even if you taste still of me, to kiss you and stroke you hard, harder, to feel the heat of you spilling onto my hand... to know it is my touch stirs you, my hands delighting you.’

He paused to push himself up to seek Legolas’ lips, to kiss him as he resumed his ministrations, ignoring the minor discomfort from his bruised back, ignoring everything except the rise of his lover’s body, the soft cries and moans as the sudden swiftness of his touch combined with recent abstinence brought Legolas swiftly to the peak of need and over it, felt the shudder and rush of wet warmth covering his hand.

The kiss ended and Govon stayed his touch.

‘Better?’

Catching his breath, Legolas nodded.

‘Better, much, but... I was going to wait... wasn’t expecting...’

‘It was what I expected,’ Govon said. ‘I loved this, I love to hear the need in your voice turn to joy, I love that something I do can bring you such pleasure.’

‘You do, you are so much to me. Not just... this, although it is a joy to me, but... just you.’

Legolas sighed contentedly and snuggled in.

‘I would love to stroke your hair right now,’ Govon said. ‘But one hand is uncomfortable to use and the other is, well...’

Legolas grinned.

‘I hold you excused,’ he said. ‘Although it is not so very far from daybreak. I could help you bathe, and the water would support your body a little... if you felt like it, we might be able to manage something more before our day properly begins... if it would please you?’

Govon smiled into his eyes and carefully didn’t stroke his fëa-mate’s hair.

‘I think that would please me very much,’ he said.


	295. Last Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion and Thiriston begin their last day before the day of their avowing

‘Come along, penneth.’

The gruffly gentle voice penetrated slowly and Canadion whimpered as he came awake.

‘Come along. Time to stir yourself, my dear one.’

‘But I am comfortable. I am asleep. If I wake up, it will start to hurt and... oh.’ Canadion sighed. ‘I am awake, I think.’

‘I know you’re sore, my lovely. Come, let me get you into the bath, and you will feel better soon.’

‘Will I?’

Thiriston chuckled as he slid his arms under Canadion’s body and lifted him easily out of the bed.

‘We will bathe together, and then I’ll take you to the healers on my way to muster.’

‘Is it very bad today?’ Canadion asked as Thiriston gently washed his injured hip and shoulder.

‘How does it feel, penneth?’

‘Not quite so sore.’

Thiriston made his smile reassuring, but how could he say, it looks better, because that would imply it had looked worse before? And he knew that in Canadion’s mind these bruises spoiled him, somehow. Inspiration came as he remembered the hues on the lattice work he hadn’t been supposed to see.

‘At the risk of offending you and seeming to belittle your hurts,’ he began. ‘I love this colour. Just this bit. It is the most perfect blue in the world...’

‘W...what?’

Thiriston dipped to gently kiss the bruise, exactly the shade of iridescence he’d seen on the chitin pieces.

‘I could wish it were not on your poor body, my love. But the next time we need to get out the warrior paint, I think I’ll use this colour on you, if you will. Actually, I think it would look well on me, what do you think?’

Canadion gave an almost hysterical giggle.

‘Your injuries will be faded in a just few days,’ Thiriston continued. ‘But the honour your comrades hold you in for your actions will last far longer. And the love I have for you – that will never fade.’

‘You always know the best thing to say,’ Canadion said with a smile. ‘So, shall I wash your back for you?’

‘Lovely. I’ve missed your hands. Amongst other things, but we don’t have time for that now.’

‘Are you sure about that, maethor-nin, my warrior?’

‘Yes.’

‘Pity.’

*

Thiriston deposited Canadion in a chair in the Healers’ Hall with a nod to Maereth behind the desk.

‘Look after him,’ he said. ‘He was very brave and saved his commander from serious harm. I can’t stay, I have muster. Can you see he gets home, when you’ve done with him? He’ll need help.’

‘I will be fine,’ Canadion protested. ‘It is not so far, really, and I will not have to do anything when I get there...’

‘We will send a message when he has been tended to, Captain, and then you may escort him yourself, if you wish – so that you will know he is safe, and if you wanted one of us with him, of course...’

‘Not upsetting the Healer, I hope?’ Legolas called from the doorway where he was supporting Govon. ‘That’s my father’s task!’

‘Not at all... I hope you weren’t offended?’ Thiriston asked of Maereth. 

‘Oh, no!’ She smiled at Thiriston and then turned to bow to Legolas. ‘We have been so used to having Healer Nestoril represent us to the king that we are still a little shy of him, your highness...’

‘Well, here is Commander Govon, come to have his bruises looked at.’ 

He brought Govon over to the seating but, before helping him lower himself into a chair, gave him a gentle hug and kissed him. Maereth squeaked and Canadion gawped.

‘It is not muster-time yet,’ Legolas pointed out. ‘We are none of us are on duty yet.’

‘That’s a fact,’ Thiriston said, and tipped Canadion’s face up to kiss him. ‘See you later, penneth.’

‘Shall we walk across to the grounds together, Thiriston?’ Legolas asked. ‘And you can tell me how the wedding plans are coming along. If there’s anything else you want Arveldir to arrange for you, today’s your last chance...’

*

Canadion’s sigh as Thiriston disappeared from view this drew Govon’s attention.

‘Is that because you miss him, or because there’s something worrying you about your wedding, Canadion?’

‘Oh, I am sure it will be perfect... even if we cannot use the bunting Arwen made... and I am too bruised for my kilt and I do not know what else I should wear... and... the thing that worries me, Commander, is that Celeguel took care of Thiriston’s token so he wouldn’t see it by accident, she left a note saying so, but I have not been able to see her privately to thank her, and get it back and it is not yet finished and when the prince said, last chance, I thought, when will I be able to finish my token...?’

‘Rest easy on that score, Canadion; I’ll have them send a note to Legolas to order Celeguel to bring you back to your chambers.’

‘Ai, thank you! It would be a terrible thing for it not to be finished...’

‘As for what to wear... I am sure there is something Thiriston likes you to wear...’

‘My kilt and warrior paint,’ Canadion said sadly. ‘Or my skin, but that is marred presently.’

‘We both of us will be healed of our bruises soon. And you have always looked very fine in your uniform, you know. I have seen Thiriston’s eyes on you at muster.’

‘I know you are trying to help, Commander. And I know, I am fortunate to have our king be our witness, I am grateful for all the many kindnesses...’

‘You sound almost sad about it. Don’t be; it will be joyous, and your friends will be happy for you.’

‘No, not sad... it will be the best day of my life... I simply... it is so important, to be bound to him, properly.’

‘Legolas and I, we did not have so long to wait as you have. But it did change everything; it was... permission, almost. Validation.’

‘I think you and your prince have made things easier for me and my warrior. And for others like us.’

‘That wasn’t why we did it but, good.’ Govon smiled. ‘And here is Gaelbes and Gyril. No more sleeping draughts, I hope, Healers? My plans for last night ended very suddenly when I fell asleep unexpectedly!’

*

‘I met one of Canadion’s brothers lately, nice fellow, considering the mother,’ Thiriston said. ‘I’m expecting my sister; that is, I hope she can manage it, she’s often busy with traders and such... we’ve not heard yet if Flora will be able to get here...’

‘Ah, now as to Flora, yes. Erestor informs me the barge is due at the hythe today and the King’s Office expects her to be on it. Healer Gaelbes has suggested she stay with them, in the same room she had previously. Continuity and familiarity for Flora, Gaelbes says, but I think the healers just want to see the gwinig again.’

‘That’s good news; Canadion will be pleased. Flora will notice a few changes, I think.’

‘Sadly, yes. And Erestor did say there was word your sister plans to arrive today.’

‘Bronwenith will be here, then? That’s good news. She will bring my niece Inwien, I hope.’ 

‘As far as I know. Erestor has said the King’s Office will meet your guests and find quarters for them, if you are working... it is unfortunate, but without Govon, the Grey Dragons need you,’ Legolas said as they emerged into the bright morning for the muster. ‘Or I would see you had more time with Canadion today.’

‘It’s an honour to be Second,’ Thiriston said, meaning it. ‘I am down to train knife throwing later, two sessions.’

‘That’s what happens when you’re good at something, you see, you are expected to show others how to be better... Erestor was saying he and Arveldir will need one more consultation with you, with regards to the surprise you have planned for Canadion, and then all will be done.’

Across the grounds, the warriors of the three Dragon Guards were assembling and stood smartly to attention on sight of their Argallor. Rawon, as yet, was not there so Legolas filled in the empty time with a greeting.

‘Before we start, I’d like to say thank you to all those who were part of the field trip... it was a little more interesting than we expected, but well done. Your commanders will be glad to know you were all invaluable. I hope next time – there will be a next time, that part of the forest was rather sad and needs company – we will not come home quite so battered. And I see Rawon coming now, so I will stand back, but it was good to work with you and I look forward to many more such exercises.’

He stood with Rawon as the over-captain addressed the troops and the commanders gave the day’s orders and the companies dismissed about their business.

Now what?

Remembering that Govon tended to spend his morning hours after muster in his company office, he decided to spend an hour there, for the sake of it. Letting Thiriston know that’s where he could be found, he set off, and seated himself in Govon’s chair at Govon’s desk and wished he could be with his fëa-mate at the Healers’ Hall and not simply filling in for him.

A knock at the door a little while later, and he saw one of Rawon’s messengers waiting in the doorway.

‘Begging pardon, Prince Argallor, but this is for you.’

‘Thank you.’

Legolas unfolded the message and scanned the words; Govon and Canadion had been attended to and were ready to return to their own places. And Healer Hanben had also arrived at the Healer Hall with a possible solution to moving injured warriors over rough terrain more easily, and wished to try out his contraption...

‘Very well. Find Celeguel and have her report to me. And find out if Captain Thiriston is free.’

‘Prince Argallor, I happen to know that Captain Thiriston is leading a knife tutorial at present.’

‘Excellent. Tell Celeguel to meet me there, then, will you? Then I shan’t need you again, thank you.’

*

‘All right, better! Try taking a quarter step back and throwing it just a little harder next time,’ Thiriston called out to one of his trainees. ‘Watch how Amathel does it.. . Amathel? Try for three smoothly, get the rhythm... and there. Good. Now, by turns, try again. I will be just having a word with the Argallor, here, and, yes, he is watching you... all of you...’

‘Peace, Thiriston,’ Legolas said with a smile as the big elf hastened over. ‘It is just that news came that our wounded heroes are ready to go back to their quarters. I was going to ask Celeguel to help Canadion, with your approval?’

‘Yes, Argallor. I think she is training on the archery range...’

‘I’ve sent a runner for her. Well, I’ve interrupted you long enough... Amathel, she’s good with the knives, isn’t she?’

‘She’s coming on well, my prince. I’ll pass that on to her, if I may.’

*

‘Just what is that... thing... contraption... device, Hanben?’ Govon asked, eyeing the new invention with distrust. Having had his bruises anointed, his knee bound with caul silk, he was now sat waiting near the main desk to make sure somebody came to collect Canadion; if Hanben was the one, then Govon wanted to be certain that this transporting device was safe.

‘I was thinking last night, Commander, as I helped carry Canadion’s sling, that there had to be a better way to move our non-ambulatory wounded. This is what I have developed. As you see, there is a reclining carry-zone like to the suspended hammock, attached to handles as if it were a regular litter or bier... but, beneath, you can see the wheel assembly...’

‘Just the one wheel?’ Govon asked.

‘Indeed, no; it is five, joined with the largest at the centre and matching medium and small pairs moving outwards; the intention is to make for better stability over uneven terrain... and two sets of stands so that if the conveyance is stopped and rested, it will sit on either the back or the front rests for stability.’

Hanben demonstrated as he spoke and Canadion shrank back into his chair.

‘Commander Govon, your knee makes you need this conveyance more than I...’

‘But you are by far the most seriously injured of us...’

‘I am fine, really!’ Canadion insisted. ‘I can walk. Really, I want to walk...’

‘I am not sure Thiriston would like the sound of that,’ Govon said, and, seeing Legolas in the doorway with Celeguel, raised his voice a little. ‘And, yes, I know, we both were walking at the start of yesterday, but we worried our fëa-mates and we have to allow them to fuss just a little over us, you know; it makes them feel needed.’

He grinned as Legolas came over.

‘And there was me thinking it made you feel cherished, Govon! Well, Canadion, here is Celeguel who will help you home; Thiriston is busy with his knife instruction. Once I have you home, Govon, I’m going out to the practice range myself for an hour.’

‘Will the commander try out my invalid conveyance?’ Hanben asked.

‘Celeguel, would you like to pretend to be an invalid?’ Legolas suggested. ‘Perhaps if these two saw it in use, one of them would volunteer?’

‘All right.’ Celeguel eyed the conveyance curiously. ‘I don’t want to say, is it safe, but... how does one...?’

‘I have it steady,’ Hanben said impatiently. ‘Just sit and swing yourself into it.’

‘Well... Oh, yes, it is quite comfortable, Canadion... and it feels stable... Oh!’

She exclaimed as Hanben lifted the handles and the balance shifted, the suspended surface cradling her as the erstwhile healer pushed her around the entrance hall.

‘Oh, that feels quite fun!’ Celeguel exclaimed. ‘But we are on smooth surfaces here...’

‘I hope it will be equally effective through the forests... if you are free later, could we try an outdoors test, Captain?’

‘Ah...’ Celeguel disembarked and looked across at Legolas. ‘That depends on my Argallor...’

‘As long as you are not all day from the practice ranges, Celeguel, it will be well.’

‘I am busy this afternoon,’ Hanben said. ‘So it would not be all day.’

‘Good. Well, I suggest you take Canadion home, Celeguel, assisted by Hanben and his contrivance, and when you have done, you may take the rest of the morning to help our innovator.’

‘Must I be wheeled home?’ Canadion asked.

‘Yes,’ Legolas said. ‘Consider it an order, if you wish. Celeguel will help.’

*

Although at the start of the journey, Canadion gripped the frame of the conveyance in terror, by the time they turned into the corridor which held his rooms, he had become quite used to the motion and his thanks to Hanben were genuine and heartfelt.

‘I have a moment’s business with Canadion,’ Celeguel said. ‘But then I am at your disposal, Hanben, if you want me to help with your testing.’

‘Yes, good. I will wait at the end of the corridor.’

Celeguel helped Canadion up from the conveyance and he opened the door.

‘Please, come in.’

‘I have never been in one of the good guest rooms,’ she said. ‘It is very impressive.’

‘I know; I liked it a lot at first. We have a private bathing room, which is wonderful, but the rest of it now seems a little... perhaps too big, perhaps just... too far from the barracks... and thank you for helping me so much.’

‘You are welcome, penneth, and... here is the thing you must be wanting, here is your work.’ She removed a pouch from inside her jerkin and passed it over. Canadion retrieved the lattice-work token with relief.

‘Ai, thank you so much, Celeguel! There is not more than an hour’s work, I do not think... I shall start straight away. But I had been worried – if I wish to get it finished, today really is my last chance.’


	296. Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion has a visitor or two...

Celeguel settled Canadion at the table and brought him cloths and knives and saw he had everything he needed for working on his token.

‘I had better go,’ she said. ‘Hanben is keen to test his contraption... I will do my best to break it, without it breaking me! Do not work too hard, now!’

‘Thank you, Celeguel; it will not take me long to have it finished.’

She waved from the door and before he could begin to think about how being alone was not so far away from being lonely, Canadion spread out the latticework to complete the connections and interweaving of the strips. He saw that one of the pieces shone in the same shade of blue that Thiriston had picked out amongst the bruises earlier and tried to smile.

His nimble fingers worked quickly, polishing and folding and piercing and threading, twisting the fine wire into neat snug knots to fasten the strips in place and allow articulation. Soon all the links were made, tied, tight and he tested the expansion and contraction of the piece. Satisfied, he carefully folded it round, making his last row of connections to turn the flat lattice into a cylindrical armband. Designed to be infinitely adjustable, the piece would expand so it could slide onto Thiriston’s arm and ride high above his elbow, or contract down to make an effective wrist brace.

There. Done. Strong, adaptable, and with its own unique beauty. Just like Thiriston himself, in fact.

*

Canadion gave the armband a final polish to take off any lingering smears from his fingers and wrapped it carefully in a piece of cloth, and then into a wooden box.

Getting to his feet, he stretched cautiously and took a few steps to get his stiff and sore hip moving. Really, the pain was not so bad... he would need to be able to stand unaided tomorrow evening, after all... yes, he could do that. No, when he’d first had his fall, he’d made himself walk, he’d been able to get along with support, and it was only that it hurt a little... he’d expected to be feeling less discomfort now, not more, but the healers had said the bruises were still developing, and to be patient. Only there was not that much time left to be patient with...

A knock at the door startled him out of his solemn turn of thought and he limped his way over to the door, opening it to reveal a servant with a laden trolley.

‘Your pardon, but I was asked to deliver this to the rooms of Captains Canadion and Thiriston.’

‘I am grateful, but what might it be...?’

‘It is the day meal,’ Erestor’s voice said from behind the servant. ‘I hope you are not too busy to break your work to eat with me?’

‘Not at all... thank you, this is kind. Master Erestor, please step in.’

Erestor had a large parcel in his arms and set it down on the first available space. He dismissed the servant and pushed the trolley to the table, unloading dishes from it.

‘We need to have a discussion concerning tomorrow’s celebrations; Arveldir is conducting a similar interview with Captain Thiriston elsewhere. The King’s Office has heard much of your self-sacrifice and bravery. How is the pain?’

‘Annoying,’ Canadion said with a sigh, offering Erestor a seat at the table. ‘And you know I had hoped to wear my kilt...?’

‘Indeed so,’ Erestor set a plate for Canadion and slid food onto it before serving himself. ‘Arveldir discussed the possibility with me... will this not now happen?’

‘Alas, no! For I am bruised all the way down and it might encourage people to look at my legs, and that would not really be appropriate... but I did not have an alternative and so I am at a loss.’

Erestor smiled his small, contained smile.

‘Be easy on that matter, Captain; I think I have a solution for you. Or, rather, the ladies of the sewing rooms have provided one. Come, when we have eaten, I will tell you what is in that parcel there.’

‘It sounds exciting,’ Canadion said, trying to sound interested.

‘I am assured you will be the envy of all your friends and comrades,’ Erestor said, pouring wine. ‘So, all the guests have confirmed their attendance, his majesty has requested a look at your words before the ceremony...’

‘Our words? What words?’ 

‘The special words you will speak to one another, those few, important-to-your-heart words. He will use them in his role as Witness and wishes to be sure... you have not given thought yet?’

‘I... no.’

‘Well, many use heart, body, soul, or hröa to hröa, fëa to fëa... Arveldir told me that your prince and your commander used ‘now, tomorrow, forever’... consult with your fëa-mate and let either Arveldir or myself know tomorrow.’

‘All right. And, I have Thiriston’s token made; it is just finished, in fact!’

‘Good. I did hear that Commander Govon’s token for his prince was made in something of a hurry...’

Canadion smiled.

‘Well, this was my plan from the start; it just proved more difficult than I expected.’

‘The order of events will be as follows; as it grows dark, there will be a celebration out of doors for the equinox. During this celebration, you and Thiriston will withdraw and prepare, and once it is fully dark you will be led to the Sacred Grove, with your guests following, there to meet your Witness and make your vows. After that, there will be a feast with you and your guests at the high table.’ Erestor smiled. ‘And then the rest of the night will be your own.’

*

By the time Erestor left, taking the trolley with him and leaving the large parcel behind; on learning what was inside, Canadion had decided to wait for Thiriston before opening it, and he now found himself much less anxious and far happier than he had been before the advisor’s visit. He had just moved the parcel into the bedroom when there was another knock at the door.

‘It is open,’ he called. ‘Please to come in.’

The knock came again, followed by a familiar voice in a less familiar tongue.

‘Is that Canadion?’

By now he had managed to limp himself to the door and smiled as he answered in Westron.

‘Is that Flora?’

He opened the door and it was, indeed, Flora, and in her arms the baby.

‘It is! And it is you!’ Flora exclaimed.

‘And it is you and Belegornor!’ Canadion laughed. ‘How nice you have come to visit – will you sit with me?’

‘I would like to hug you, if I may,’ she said. ‘But I had better put the baby down first.’

‘Let him lie on the sofa, and we will put cushions around him so he will not fall, and sit near him.’

This done, Flora threw her arms around Canadion and squeezed him tightly. He tried not to yelp.

‘It is lovely to see you,’ he said. ‘And how is your gwinig?’

‘You see, he is growing... but slowly... but the healers say, that is right, elven babies grow differently from human children, and my peredhel will be longer growing up than most. But I think that is nice.’

Belegornor woke amongst the tangle of his shawl and waved a fist, protesting slightly. Flora scooped him into her lap for a cuddle.

‘He is a very good baby, and he rarely cries. It is as if he knows he does not need to.’

‘That is good to hear. And you, are you well?’

‘Yes, very well. I heard that Iauron and his brother have gone. Is your king very sad?’

‘Our king is always sad, penneth, just a little. Yes, he misses those who have gone to the ships.’

‘And then Nestoril and Feril have gone, too. And even Arwen is not here.’

‘Between ourselves, although Arwen is a fine lady, I do not think we miss her as much as we do Nestoril.’

‘I liked Nestoril, very much. And so, you are getting married tomorrow! Are you very excited?’

‘I am indeed; I am sure I will be able to make him happy, and he is everything to me.’

Belegornor’s face twisted into something like a smile, and he waved a fist.

‘Ah, do you want attention, gwinig?’ Canadion leaned over to stroke the baby’s hand. ‘Well, let me see if I can still remember the song for you... I fear we may need it, lest it rain tomorrow during the celebrations and make everyone’s nice clothes all wet.’

He began a gentle rendering of the Storm Song, Flora joining in. They had just started a second rendition when another knock came at the door.

‘It is open,’ Canadion called, pausing his song. ‘Please to come in!’

The door opened and a tall elleth entered. She had dark brown hair and strong features that nevertheless were fair. Hiding behind her legs a small child peeped out, her shining chestnut hair tucked into neat baby braids.

‘Hello, Canadion,’ the elleth said. ‘I was told I might find you here... should I ask, does my brother know you serenade lady guests when he’s at work?’

It was said laughing and Canadion laughed back as he struggled to his feet to hold his hands out to his new visitors.

‘Bronwenith, how lovely! And is that our dear Inwien there? Are you being shy today, penneth, or do you like wrapping up in your nana’s skirts?’ He crouched down and spread his arms and the small child rushed to hug him. ‘Ai, she is grown so fast! But it is, what, almost two years since we last met? Come, darling, come and meet my friend. Flora...’

He nodded Bronwenith to a seat and made introductions in Westron.

‘Flora, here is Thiriston’s sister Bronwenith and her daughter Inwien, here for our wedding. And, Bronwenith, Flora is a special friend. She was caught out in the forest in a thunderstorm, and her baby wouldn’t wait, and Thiriston and I found her there. Your brother helped this little gwinig into the world.’

‘I do not pretend to understand,’ Thiriston’s sister said. ‘But I have given up trying to understand anything that happens around you, Canadion!’

‘Oh, it is a very long and very dull tale, really. But Flora agreed to come back to see us vowed, and it is always lovely to see children and babies.’

‘It is nice to meet you,’ Flora said. ‘I am sorry I do not know much of your language, but you have the common speech better than some Laketowners I know!’

‘Well, we are a trading family, and often deal with other peoples of the world, so I learned young. And so has Inwien! Of course, Thiriston was never going to be in the business, he only ever wanted to be in the guard after our parents died... well, so he refused to keep learning and tried very hard to forget what he knew anyway.’ Bronwenith shrugged. ‘And so you are a new mother? Tell me all about your baby...?

Babies and children furnishing an unending source of conversation and entertainment, time passed happily. Canadion cuddled his fëa-mate’s niece and joined in if the conversation seemed likely to flag. After a while, just as he had got up and led Inwien over to help him prepare and serve non-alcoholic elderflower cordial, there was another knock.

‘It seems I am popular today,’ he said with a smile, calling out. ‘Come in, please; be welcome... it is Melion! Everyone, this is my brother Melion and his little daughter is Mírien.’

‘Hello, everyone!’ Melion smiled and came over to hug his brother. ‘How are you?’’

‘Oh, I am fine, fine... Look, here is Thiriston’s sister, and...’

He ran through introductions and found more drinking cups and elderflower cordial to find Melion’s eyes still on him, still smiling.

‘I heard that you had an adventure in your last patrol,’ he said softly. ‘And you were hurt?’

‘Oh, it was nothing, I... just a little bump and bruises and...’ Suddenly Canadion could hardly speak, tears welling up in him from somewhere deep in his fëa at the sight of his brother’s sympathy. ‘It is lovely to see you! Come, you have not met the gwinig my Thiriston helped to deliver, have you...?’

‘So it is true! I heard a tale of you and a gwinig, brother, but thought it had to be something entirely innocent...’

‘Ai, you know me so well...’

The moment passed, the drinks were shared around and the conversation moved on.

‘So you are both just back from a patrol?’ Bronwenith queried. 

‘Just me. Thiriston was left in command of the rest of the company.’

‘And you went? This near to your avowal day, and you were sent out?’ Melion said, preparing to be outraged.

‘Our commander is very considerate of family commitments, but it was important,’ Canadion replied. ‘Besides, I needed to be away from Thiriston, for a little while, just so that I remembered what it felt like, without him, and so be more properly appreciative of him. And to know that the reasons I need him are not that I am incapable of doing things for myself, but that I need to be with him for more important reasons that that.’

Presently Flora began to look about her.

‘I promised I would visit Merlinith this afternoon, and I will need to return to my room in the Healers’ Hall first. It is lovely to see you, Canadion, and to meet your lovely family.

‘Do you know your way?’ Bronwenith said. ‘I promised Healer Maereth I would look in when next I was here and show off my daughter to her; I can easily walk you across.’

‘It is kind, thank you.’

Left alone with his brother, Melion helped clear away while Mírien entertained her uncle with a song she had been practising. After Canadion had applauded and praised, Melion came back to sit with him.

‘I am glad you will have a proper avowing,’ he said. ‘Glad you have found happiness with your big, strong elf. If anyone deserves happiness, it is you.’

‘Us,’ Canadion said. ‘You and I, we were never happy, really.’

‘I remember you as a joyful child,’ Melion said. ‘And even later, you had moments of happiness. As for me, yes, marriage and parenthood has made me happy. My wife is my fëa-mate and I am hers. It makes up for everything... well, almost everything. So I will see you married, and with the king as your Witness and my daughter as one of your flower children. And it will remind me of how deeply happy I was at my own avowing, and we will celebrate.’

‘Naneth complained that there were not enough seats for her friends,’ Canadion said softly.

‘Oh, do not think of Naneth; you know it is impossible to make her happy and it is not your duty to do so...’

‘But Arveldir in the King’s Office, he said to her, of course, you can have all your friends around you. But you will have to sit at the low tables, with everyone else...’

Melion made a strangled sound in his throat. Canadion smiled. Melion giggled, Canadion laughed, Mírien joined in, just because she could, and soon Canadion was wiping his eyes, his sides sore from the release of tension by humour.

‘Well, she has her uses, our mother,’ Melion said, recovering. ‘Had she been more like to most naneths, we might not have been so close. ‘

‘Will you eat with us tonight, Melion?’

He shook his head.

‘It is very good of you, but no. It should be just you and your beloved tonight, taking time together. After tonight, everything changes, even though it will still be the same. I will see you then, little brother. And take care – I do not believe you are as unhurt as you pretend.’

*

Left alone, Canadion sat in the silence for a little while, musing on the sudden change from empty to full and reflecting that, while there was now only him here, the room no longer felt empty. Instead there were echoes of conversation, the children laughing, the smiles and warmth and he closed his eyes with a warm sigh.

‘Penneth?’

It could have been moments later, it could have been hours. Canadion blinked and cleared his sight.

Thiriston was crouched down in front of him, a hand on his knee, looking into his face with a careful half smile on his lips.

‘Were you sleeping? Has it been a long day for you, without company?’

Canadion stretched carefully, presenting himself as enticingly as he could.

‘Hello! Yes, I may have just drifted off for a moment! But no, I have had lots of company! Erestor was here, and brought us a mysterious parcel, and lunch for me, then Flora...’

‘She came to visit you? That was kind.’

Thiriston got to his feet and folded his arms around his beloved. Canadion kept talking as he was lifted up.

‘...and then Bronwenith arrived, with Inwien! It was lovely! She teased me about Flora...’

‘Ha! She would!’ Thiriston carried Canadion through and laid him gently on the bed. ‘Glad she’s here, though.’

‘Then, just as I was making drinks, Melion and Mírien arrived!’

‘Not by yourself then?’ 

‘No, not for long. Just long enough to get finished something important for tomorrow. And, talking of tomorrow, did you know we have to say words?’

‘Yes, they are called ‘vows’... or did you not realise?’

Canadion giggled; Thiriston’s lips brushed his hair and his hands were busy loosening the laces of Canadion’s tunic.

‘No – special words, our words, just for us in the vows, words that mean you and I and everything.’

‘Ah, those words. Thought it was obvious. Death or ships.’ 

‘I was thinking more... not death nor ships... because, not even that would part us.’ Canadion linked his hands behind Thiriston’s neck beneath the fall of his hair. ‘Not after we’re vowed.’

Thiriston smiled and dipped his head to kiss Canadion’s willing mouth.

‘Perfect,’ he said.


	297. Preparing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion and Thiriston get ready for their avowal...

Canadion was in the loneliest, scariest place in the world right now.

An hour ago, dressed in his tidiest clothes, he had sat next to Thiriston as the night fell over the outdoors Festival of Balancing, the celebration feast for the autumnal equinox, their last shared breaking of bread before their vows.

An hour ago? An age ago.

On the far side of the closed door, he could hear little Mírien singing the Storm Song with Melion joining in when she forgot the words; she had been singing it off and on all day, as a cloudy sky that morning had hinted at rain later, and she was determined to use the song’s magic to keep the weather dry for her favourite uncle. So far, it had worked, and the skies had been clear overhead, he stars glittering like gemstones as Melion and Mírien had brought him indoors to change for the ceremony while outside, in the forest, the celebrations went on and somewhere else, Thiriston was making his own preparations.

On the far side of the door, his brother was waiting to come and help, if he was needed, but Canadion wanted to get ready by himself, if he could.

He took off his garments with care, for movement still caused him discomfort if not actual pain, standing unclothed before the looking glass and staring at his reflection in the lamplight.

They were pretty colours, he supposed, the bruises splodging across his skin. Blue turning to green, black to purple, purple to yellow. From his shoulder to below his knee, he was marked and marred with the evidence of his fall.

Tears tickled the corners of his eyes and he lifted his chin and his gaze defiantly. He would see past these surface markings, he would! Did not Thiriston tell him, ‘beautiful, always’? Why could he not believe it? Thiriston would not lie to him, and to doubt the truth of his beloved’s words would therefore be questioning his judgement.

Thiriston loved him. And, yes, it was impossible that it should be so, that someone so kind, so strong should have patience to put up with him, to see beyond the reputation... but Thiriston loved him, not just a little bit, not just a passing fancy, but enough to vow with him, to be his fëa-mate. 

Death or ships, they had said on the plain outside Mirkwood, the only things that could part them, and that not for long... but over the weeks, following the decision to vow, to acknowledge they were each other’s forever had changed that, intensified it. Canadion had loved once before, not as deeply or as powerfully as he loved Thiriston, but it had still been love, it had still almost broken him when that dear friend had died. He couldn’t, wouldn’t go through that again, if... and all the Valar and dear Lord Eru, do not let it be, do not... if Thiriston were to... to... 

No, he couldn’t even think it. But if it were to be, in some dark future, then he would follow. He would say goodbye to any left who might still care for him, and he would fade to be with his Thiriston. And ships? Ships were easy by comparison. If Thiriston were ever to want to sail, of course Canadion would go with him.

So the special words for their avowing now would be ‘Not Death Nor Ships’, a promise that nothing on Middle Earth or beyond it would have power over their fëar’s bond.

Canadion pushed the hair back from his face, turned so that the scars from dragon fire were presented full to the mirror. Just a very little marking, a pinkness and a whiteness, a ripple, a pucker, just in the shadow behind his cheekbone, close to his ear. And the hair grown back there, now, long enough to hide amongst the braids and not look odd. 

His eyes drifted to stare at his battered, multihued body and ran the fingers of one hand down the other arm. His skin felt soft, though, even where it was bruised.

It was a strange thing, but when he looked at Thiriston’s broken nose, and marks of old battles on his body, he saw only courage, and strength, the beauty of his bravery. Not that his big hero elf wasn’t fair, in his own way. His gentle eyes, ready smile, quiet kindness and gruff, bluff tenderness... Canadion considered himself blessed to have been allowed behind the bravado to find the loving heart within.

Well, if Thiriston thought him beautiful, who was Canadion to argue?

He tossed his head, smiled, and reached for his clothes.

*

‘Are you all right in there?’

Thiriston huffed a breath. Bronwenith meant well, but she was fussing...!.

‘I am fine,’ he said. ‘There are a lot of layers and fastenings, that is all.’

‘Well, hurry up! Inwien and I want to see you in all your splendour!’

‘Give me a minute or two; I’m far from splendorous yet!’

Thiriston laced up his leggings. They were charcoal suede with a stripe of lighter grey along the outside seams and fitted well without being over-snug. With them went supple black boots with mithril buckles. There was a cream linen shirt, a sleeveless leather tunic matching the leggings and a damasked silk coat of the same grey as the stripe. The collar and cuffs had an embroidered tracery of leaves stitched in burgundy thread; all told, it looked like something a prince would wear, not a warrior. There was a belt of dark red leather, the hanging loops and sheath for the ceremonial knife in matching grey and red hide. The white handle of the knife bore the mark of the finest weapon-smith in the forest; Duinor’s work.

‘Come on in then, see what you think,’ he said, standing to face the door.

It opened and Bronwenith looked him over. Her hands flew to her face with a gasp and she shook her head, starting to sob.

‘What, am I that ugly?’ Thiriston said, laughing and stepping forward to pull his sister against him. ‘No crying on the coat there, I think it’s silk and it wouldn’t do to show up with water marks all over me...’

She pushed away from him, laughing now.

‘Ai, I am just so proud of you! My little brother, getting married! And so fine as you look!’

‘Dress uniform for the Grey Dragons,’ he said proudly. ‘There’s a cloak, too. Arveldir says the sewing rooms have been working all out to get these made for us in time for today. None of the other warriros will have them for another fortnight or more, just Canadion and I.’

‘That’s a good thought,’ Bronwenith agreed. ‘Let’s see the cloak, then?’

It was the same charcoal shade as the leggings and tunic, but the lining was grey and red and black, the colours of all the Dragon Companies.

‘Yes; I’m very grateful for this,’ Thiriston said. ‘Poor penneth, he was worried silly about what to wear. Hope he’s happy with the uniform. He’s going to look amazing.’

Bronwenith helped fasten the cloak around Thiriston’s shoulders. It had a beautiful drape and made him look as if he was swaggering just standing there.

‘You really love him, don’t you?’

‘Of course. Couldn’t live without him, not now.’

‘I’ve seen how he looks at you, so much devotion! I am sure you will be happy together.’

‘Well, we have been so far.’ Thiriston’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. ‘Inwien, pet. What do you think of your old uncle’s working clothes, then?’

*

Canadion stared at his reflection for a minute and found he was smiling.

Everything fitted perfectly, the leggings were snug and supple and kind against his legs, the shirt soft next to his body, the cream of it setting off the tawny tones of his skin. The coat was knee-length, the tunic ended at mid-thigh, but everything felt comfortable and went beautifully together. He gave a final nod to his reflection and went to join his brother and niece.

‘Will I do, do you think?’ he asked shyly.

‘I think Thiriston will look at you and see how fortunate he is,’ Melion said with a warm smile. ‘And that it is a good job you are getting married tonight, or all the naneths will be desperately trying to make you change your mind about their daughters!’

‘There is no-one else for me,’ Canadion said. ‘It is Thiriston, or nobody.’

‘Canadion, I love you dearly, of all my brothers it is you I feel most close to. It would be wrong of me to let you proceed without saying... are you sure? Sometimes he sounds a little, well, possessive... and it is no good saying you will give him no reason to be, for if a person has a jealous heart, it colours even the most innocent of actions to suit its belief...’

‘Ai, Melion...!’ Canadion smiled and shrugged. ‘It is a little game we play; it stops others from trying to take liberties with me, and although he looks fierce, indeed he has never accused me, never brought up the stories of my past. He is sometimes unsure of himself, but not jealous, or possessive. He would hurt the world before he hurt me. But thank you; to know you care enough to speak out...’

Melion nodded.

‘And so, you are ready? You have everything?’

‘There is just the token I made... here it is.’

He took the token in its fabric pouch and slid it safe into the pocket of his tunic.

‘Now I am ready. Are you ready, Mírien?’

Mírien nodded with solemn dignity and patted at the floral circlet on her head, pushing it awry. She had been coaxed into a little gown of silver grey with tiny white daisies sewn around the neck and hem and sleeves, her white shoes would no doubt be grubby grey by the time they got to the sacred grove, but she looked far too sweet to be real. Over her arm was a little basket full of fabric flower heads.

‘Now, you know what to do, darling?’ Melion said. ‘You walk in front of Uncle Canadion and Thiriston, you will walk next to little Inwien and every now and then you will drop a flower from your basket; do not worry about litter, they will all be picked up later. Can you do all this?’

Yes, Mírien could do this. 

‘Something will go wrong, I am sure of it,’ Melion muttered.

‘But she looks charming, and, even if it did, people would say only how sweet she is.’

‘That is likely true. Anyway. This is your evening, my dearest brother. Be happy and happier and happiest.’

Canadion gulped and smiled.

‘I already am happiest,’ he said.

*

Erestor was waiting at the outer doors.

‘Your Witness has gone ahead,’ he said. ‘And Captain Thiriston is waiting at the willow arch for you; Arveldir is with him. Your formal guests are lining the path within. You will proceed, your flower children ahead of you, to the entrance to the Sacred Grove, and there pause as agreed. And I wish you a wonderful evening and a joyous future.’

Thiriston stepped out of the shadows at the side of the arch, his eyes busy, and grinning as if his face would break.

‘You look wonderful,’ he said. ‘Beautiful always, whatever, but... every inch the warrior, every bit lovely.’

‘And every inch yours. Ai, maethor-nin, you look like royalty!’

‘Come on, then. Let’s get married.’

A slight problem; Inwien did not want to walk ahead, but insisted on holding Thiriston’s hand. He shrugged.

‘As long as I can hold Canadion’s hand too, it will be fine, he said. ‘And Mírien can take your other hand, my love.’

They got as far as the other side of the arch when Canadion halted abruptly with a gasp.

The trees along the path were lit with lanterns and torches, and hanging between them were festoons and swags of ribbons, strings of heart-shaped bunting in ivory and ice blue and sliver, the colours of Thiriston’s house... granted, it was not the pink and lilac that Arwen had made them, but there would not have been enough anyway and this, with its carefully-chosen colours, was really even more perfect...

Thiriston squeezed Canadion’s hand.

‘Surprise,’ he said. 

Canadion squeezed back and grinned.

‘It is lovely, you think of everything, do you not?’

‘Well, are we going to get married, or what?’


	298. Vows, Exchanged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thiriston and Canadion exchange their vows and tokens...

The only lights in the Sacred Grove came from two shrouded lanterns hanging behind the dais where Thranduil stood with his hands folded in front of him. To his right was a standard with the pennant of Thiriston’s house; ivory, ice-white, blue, and beneath it a small flag of lilac and pink; Canadion’s house had no standard, so the King’s Office had decided to invent colours for him anyway. To Thranduil’s left was a slender column of silver steel carefully shaped to hold a pair of diamonds glittering and glinting sluggishly in the muted light; Thiriston’s parents’ starlight gemstones would participate in his wedding, even though they could not.

What would they make of this? Would they be delighted their son had found happiness? Or would they look at Canadion, his gender, the tales told about him, and would they be concerned? Well, Thranduil would tell them, if he could, that while he had once been unsure of the youngster, Canadion had proved brave and loyal and true, and genuinely cared for their son. And were they to complain about him being male, Thranduil would point out to them that having an honour-son was actually not as bad as they might fear.

He heard a stir in the forest outside the grove and knew it was time.

Resting his hands on the rail around the dais, he looked towards the entrance of the grove to see Canadion and Thiriston bowing to the trees. 

After a moment they entered the grove. Each held a small elf-girl by the hand and they approached to stand on front of the dais, dropping in obeisance. The children tried to curtsey, making Thranduil struggle not to smile.

‘Oh, get up, you two!’ he said softly. ‘I am your Witness; you do not bend the knee to me now, not here.’

‘What is now, Uncle?’ Inwien asked, tugging at Thiriston’s hand. ‘Is it time?’

‘Not yet. We have to wait yet for all our friends to come in. We will tell you, when it is time.’

It seemed to take forever for the guests to take their places. Nothing lit the seating area; easy for elven eyesight, but Thiriston thought he heard Flora’s voice; of course, she might struggle in the dark.

His eyes came to rest on the stand with the gemstones... this was thoughtful, this was almost too kind, too much... Ai, Nana, would you look at Canadion and love him like another son? Ada, would you admire his skill with a bow? Would you honour his courage and bravery? Would you take him to your hearts, for if anyone needs a loving honour-family, it is Canadion...

How could you not? He is just everything...

*

Thranduil looked out over the heads of the to-be-weds across the grove. All the seats were filled, the benches at the back for those not especially invited by the King’s Office but told they were welcome nevertheless... the area behind, and still people filed in, standing where they could, sitting on the ground... whether because they admired the two taking vows, or because a same-gender ceremony was a novelty, or because the king was Witness... or just because it was the same night as the equinox and everyone was out already... as long as it was not all Canadion’s supposed former friends come to sigh over him...

Thranduil refused to smile at the thought and held his face impassive until, finally, the grove was still and Arveldir signalled from the entrance that everyone was here.

‘Welcome, all,’ he said. ‘We gather to celebrate the vows of Captains Thiriston and Canadion of the Grey Dragon Company. It is with pride that I speak as their Witness tonight. But before I do, I have something to read to them, and to you. Arriving this morning, written some days ago and passed from flet to flet, it is a message for our friends from Healer Nestoril, who, as all here know, has left to accompany our princes. She asks that this be read publicly before the ceremony to show her respect and honour for her friends.’

Thiriston and Canadion exchanged glances as the king unfolded a letter and began to read aloud slowly and clearly.

‘”My very dear friends,” she begins. “I regret I cannot be with you on your special day, but I want you to know that you are in my thoughts. By the time this reaches you I will be on the point of leaving our beloved forest, but I know the day and the hour of your vows, and I want you to know that, far from you as I am, I will lift a lantern and uncover it to shine on your future. Be well and be happy and know that you are both loved.”’ Thranduil looked up. ‘It is signed with the word, Ness.’

Thiriston swallowed hard. Canadion’s lip trembled. Thranduil looked down for a moment and folded away the letter; it had cost him to read it, it had surprised him how hard it had been to read a simple message of good wishes without succumbing to an excess of inappropriate emotion.

‘Take a moment if you need it,’ he said softly to Canadion. ‘And then we will begin.’

Presently, Canadion nodded.

‘Canadion and Thiriston, as your Witness under the bright stars, in this most sacred place, we greet you and welcome you. In presence of Eru Ilúvatar who sees all, and in sight of the Valar whom we love and who in turn love us, speak your vows.’

Canadion moistened his lips and began in a tremulous voice that grew stronger as he went on.

‘I call on the stars above, on our dear Lord Eru and all the Valar, to see I bind myself to you, Thiriston, only you, rhaw and fëa, today and all our tomorrows, and not death nor ships will part us.’

Thiriston turned to his penneth and repeated the words slowly, solemnly, his mouth fighting a smile all the way until his declaration was done, his vows said.

‘It is with honour I witness these, your vows, under the bright stars,’ Thranduil said gravely. ‘And what tokens do you have of your promises made for each other, symbols of the ties between you?’

A little fumbling as Canadion dropped a pouch in Mírien’s basket and pushed her forward, and Thiriston gave Inwien a nudge. ‘Give that to our Witness now, there’s a love,’ he muttered.

Thranduil’s eyes sparked with humour as accepted the baskets and took out the tokens... he struggled not to show surprise... was this...?  
He folded his hands over the items for the traditional blessing.

‘Canadion and Thiriston, your vows are Witnessed, your promises made. Rhaw and fëa, today and all your tomorrows, and let not death nor ships part you.’ 

Thranduil slid the latticework band of spider chitin onto Thiriston’s arm, noting how the big elf struggled, and failed not to beam with happiness, then fastened a delicate and pretty bracelet of polished heart-shaped dragon scales onto Canadion’s wrist... dragons and spiders, indeed! But the two looked utterly delighted with their tokens, almost on point of tears, he would have said, and that would never do...

‘Live in joy and light,’ he said, raising and uncovering a lantern so the brightness shone out like a beacon in the grove. It lit the starlight gemstones, making them burn with a bright glittering flame, it was echoed as throughout the grove lamp after lamp was uncovered or lit, until everywhere was bright with points of light and Thiriston and Canadion linked hands with each other and their nieces, and walked towards their guests.

A little bustle, and the healers emerged from amongst the throng in a cluster, Gaelbes leading.

‘Captains!’ she called. ‘Captains, we have something for you.’

‘What’s this?’ Thiriston said, curious.

‘It is... Healer Nestoril...’ Gaelbes began.

‘...may the Valar have mercy on her...’ Maereth whispered.

‘She left instructions we should do this. She said you would smile...’

Gaelbes lifted up a second lantern. Its top and three of its sides had been covered in exactly the same shade of blue as the head-rail Nestoril had habitually worn.

Canadion began to laugh and cry at the same time, and Thiriston grinned.

‘Ai, thank you, Gaelbes! Of course, we miss her, but this... it is like she, and her sense of humour, are with us tonight. Thank you. Thank you all.’ He gave Canadion a tiny shake. ‘So no tears, penneth. Just happiness tonight. Come on, let’s get the girls back to their parents and then I can kiss you. And after that, there’s a feast to attend.’

Canadion nodded and led Mírien back over to her ada, his progress slowed by well-wishers. But soon the little one was back with Melion, and Canadion was casting about to see where Thiriston had got to. The voice from behind him, one he’d not heard in so very many decades, came as a shock.

‘Canadion.’

He turned and found himself looking into the careworn eyes of a familiar, handsome, and much missed face, and without pausing to think about possible consequences, threw himself into the ellon’s waiting arms with a shriek...

All heads turned. Melion saw Thiriston’s face change to a dangerous scowl and hurried to intercept.

‘Who the...?’ the big elf demanded, brushing past Melion as if he wasn’t there. ‘Hey! You there!’ he yelled, drawing the attention of everyone who hadn’t already been staring. ‘Who are you and what are you doing with my husband?’

The two separated at the shout and Thiriston, coming to an angry halt, saw that Canadion was laughing and wiping at tears, and the other grinning, his smiling amber-ringed eyes so much a copy of Canadion’s that the worried husband faltered, shaking his head.

‘Ai, forgive me!’ the ellon said, an arm still hugging Canadion and making Thiriston growl. ‘I am your new Adar-in-Honour and as for what I was doing...’ He paused to smile at his son. ‘I was apologising. It is long overdue, I am afraid.’

‘Thiriston, it is my Ada, he is here!’ Canadion exclaimed, wiping his eyes again.

‘Happy tears, penneth?’

‘Very happy! It is Ada!’

Unable to help it, Thiriston grinned.

‘Yes, you said. And we still haven’t had our first married kiss, is your Ada going to mind, do you think?’

Canadion’s Ada released him, laughing.

‘No, he’s going to watch and make sure his son’s married somebody who knows what he’s doing. When you’re ready, then?’

Undaunted, Thiriston looked into Canadion’s eyes and smiled. Gently he lifted a hand to stroke his thumb across the lush mouth, saw his husband’s eyelids flutter, and bent to capture his lips. First married kiss, and the honour-ada watching... it needed to have finesse, delicacy... but Canadion made that little needy noise in his throat and suddenly took charge, clutching Thiriston’s head and pulling tight against him, his tongue invading, his eyes closing and through the layers of clothing obviously enjoying himself greatly. 

He broke off, laughing into Thiriston’s eyes.

‘Let me introduce you to my Ada,’ he said. ‘He is called Merenor and he tends to keep away from the palace...’

‘Oh, I wonder why?’ Thiriston said, bowing. ‘Sorry if I was a bit gruff before, Honour-Ada-Merenor. Sometimes, people don’t respect Canadion’s boundaries as they should. They tend to pay better attention if I point out their mistakes...’

‘I am glad there is someone to care for him,’ Merenor said. ‘And Melion is here! How lovely!’

‘Adar! It has been ages!’

Melion and Merenor hugged, and Merenor laughed.

‘Yes, too long! I brought your other brothers with me, too...’

‘How did you manage that?’ Canadion said.

‘A little bit of threat, a little bit of bribery, a little taunting... the usual. Well, they soon realised the Adar in the room could be even more scary than the Naneth in the palace... so... we journeyed up together... now, where...? Ah. Being reunited with their mother, how nice...’

Arveldir approached and bowed.

‘Captains, the king is ready to leave for the feast; you are to follow in his train behind the prince and his fëa-mate,’ he said. ‘Master Merenor, good evening. It has been some years since you last visited the palace.’

‘It is indeed. I had a very good reason to come back, though.’

‘Lord Arveldir,’ Canadion said quickly, ‘I know it is short notice, but, can you make space for my Ada on the top table with us tonight?’

‘It is already done, Captain.’

Merenor leaned towards his youngest son.

‘Have you forgotten who sent out the invitations for you?’ he said. ‘Very pleased to be asked, and the letter so well-phrased...’

‘It is what I had hoped, but did not dare hope...’ Canadion sighed delightedly. ‘I did not say yet, how wonderful this all is.’

‘I am glad to see you happy, ion-nin,’ Merenor said, falling into step beside his youngest son. ‘You know, when your naneth said she would like another child, she begged the Valar very hard for a daughter. She never quite forgave me that I did not; I have only ever wanted a happy and healthy child... so she blamed me, of course, for not asking... but you see, I never really liked... girls...’

‘I... ada?’

Merenor leaned in and repeated, ‘I never really liked girls...’

‘Adar! You waited until now to tell me! All these decades and years and...’

‘Your naneth made me promise not to tell you until you were married... she blamed me for Baudh’s predilections, too, and so it was better I move away until... Oh, who is that?’ Merenor asked, losing interest in his explanations. ‘Dark, slight... doesn’t look Silvan... with Arveldir...’

‘That is Master Erestor, visiting from Imladris.’ Canadion said.

Thiriston took hold of his husband’s hand.

‘And he’s taken, Adar-in-Honour.’

‘What about the fellow next to the prince? The one with all the glorious hair...?’

‘Ada! That is our prince’s fëa-mate... and this knowledge is all too soon for me to be easy with the thought of...’

Thiriston tucked Canadion’s arm into his own and led him off more quickly towards the king; Thranduil was trying not to look as if he was waiting for them and it was never a good idea to keep the king waiting and, besides, the penneth looked as if he needed a moment away from his Adar for the shock to wear off...

The company moved indoors to the Feasting Hall, and to Canadion’s delight, the corridors leading thence had also been decorated with more swags and garlands, the hall itself was resplendent with banners and bunting in Thiriston’s colours... the backs of the chairs at the top table each had their decoration and Erestor showed Cullasbes to her honour-seat as mother of one of the spouses with quiet delight, for her chair was festooned with bunting crocheted guaranteed to set her teeth on edge in sugar pink and cream.

‘Made especially,’ Arveldir whispered to the newly-vowed couple. ‘To Arwen’s pattern but using those colours we thought most... appropriate...’

‘It is all so lovely,’ Canadion said, oblivious to the barbs intended for his female parent. ‘I cannot begin to say how lovely, and the number of persons who we will need to thank...’

Arveldir bowed himself away, Thranduil took his seat and the rest followed.

‘And you mostly, maethor-nin,’ Canadion said, resting his head on Thiriston’s shoulder for a moment. ‘I need to thank you more than any other.’

‘Well, and you are very welcome, husband,’ Thiriston said with a grin. ‘But look at this!’ he went on, pushing back his sleeve to reveal more of his token. ‘You made this, just for me, and it is beautiful.’

‘You do like it, then? I am so glad! For though it is pretty, it is bits of dead creature, after all, but my thought was, you make me so brave, you helped me find my courage enough that I could face spiders, and so it seemed right...’

‘It is beautiful, and clever, and personal. I will treasure it.’ He smiled and nudged Canadion’s shoulder. ‘As I intend to treasure you. Celeguel is full of how brave you were, how you threw yourself at a spider and yanked its leg to bring its face to your knife...’

‘Ai, if only it were so...! I leapt for the tree and did not know there was a spider in it so I had to grab the creature to save myself from a fall...’

Thiriston laughed at the honest mortification in Canadion’s tone.

‘I like Celeguel’s story better!’ he said. ‘And all I did for you was keep some dragon scales and shape them a little...’

‘But this is so lovely! I know your feelings for dragons, my husband, and that you would make me something so pretty from such a thing... but...you kept the scales?’

‘I am glad you like it.’

‘You kept the scales from when we encountered the dragons?’

‘Yes.’

‘All that time...?’

‘Well, it’s not that long, just a couple of months, really...’

‘To make me a bracelet token?’

‘...yes...’

‘Before we had that talk? Before we came to our agreement?’

‘Well, yes... after you almost went off with those louts from Imladris, I knew I couldn’t bear you to...’

Canadion lunged for him to grab him up in a huge hug.

‘I would not have gone! It was only that I did not think I was wanted... but it was only a misunderstanding, and we are married now, and I would not... not even Elrohir, who is considered quite pretty so I understand, not that I noticed, and...’

By now Thiriston was laughing and the rest of the table staring as he tried to gently set Canadion properly back in his seat.

‘Come on. They want to drink our health, or something, they’re waiting the serving.’

‘Then after we’ve eaten, we can go home? I want to get you home, lovely as is your uniform I want to remove it item by item and...’

‘I know. Of course, you’re going to need a lot of help yourself...’

Canadion sighed happily.

‘I know. I am quite looking forward to it.’


	299. Parvon, Deputising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Parvon bumps into someone as he is tidying up after the avowal ceremony...

Parvon watched the exit of the wedding party and their guests with a sigh. Now they were gone to their feasting, and someone had to clear away the evidence from the Sacred Grove and make sure the rest of the evening went smoothly, and it was up to him to see the next bout of preparations were completed in a timely manner.

He didn’t mind; although it might look to the casual observer that Arveldir and Erestor would simply be enjoying themselves at the feast, he had seen how busy his mentor and the advisor from Imladris had worked over the previous weeks, and they were still on duty, too, on alert to be sure there was no chance of a kinslaying between Mistress Cullasbes and Master Merenor, or should Thiriston spot one of Canadion’s alleged former lovers in the crowd...

But Parvon’s tasks? This was quiet work, unseen work, the tasks that were only noticed if they didn’t get done.

He began at the dais, carefully removing the gemstones to their carrying case and stowing it inside his robes. He removed the ceremonial lanterns and set them up as work lights near the seating before going to the entrance of the grove.

‘Are you there?’ he called.

‘Yes, Master Parvon,’ a voice replied. ‘Should we make our bows?’

‘Please do so, and come in.’

He waited for the work crew to file in, some looking round in awe.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It is a special place, indeed. But it was fitting it be used for the avowal tonight, with the King presiding and the stars overhead. Now, take the chairs away first, then the benches. Some of you take down the lanterns... bring the standard, too. Others may take down the decorations from along the path with care; you know where to take them. There will be others waiting for them, tell them to get started and I will be along when all is done here.’

Even as he spoke the work crew was busy with the seating, clearing away. Finally the dais was disassembled, the stand from the gemstones moved, and just Parvon, and his lantern remained in the grove.

He walked the perimeter, lantern raised, making sure all was tidy, no dropped litter marred the ground, all was tidy, barring one or two fabric flowers which hadn’t been claimed as mementos of the wedding. Satisfied, he stood in the centre of the grove and raised his lantern as he bowed his head.

‘We thank you, Heart of the Forest, for your shelter and your care. We are grateful to share our ceremonies with you, to share our joy at the union of two individuals in one love. We remember ever who shelters us and keeps us safe.’

Making his way to the arch, he turned back and bowed again before backing out of the Sacred Grove. 

The decorations were already coming down and people worked quickly and quietly, murmuring acknowledgement as he passed. He paused to speak with the head of this particular team of workers, thanking her for her diligence, reminding her of what was intended.

‘I will be twenty minutes at most, so try to be done by then,’ he said.

‘Yes, Master Parvon. We will be finished easily.’

‘Good. Thank you.’

He nodded and made his way into the palace complex to the strong room where the starlight gemstones were kept down a corridor disguised with a tapestry. He turned the key in the lock and glanced around, matching the reference on the storage box with the shelves until he found the right place. Setting the twin diamonds on their display stand, he made sure all was tidy and stepped back.

His lantern caught the light of the stones, caused them to flare and burn and suddenly it was as if he was seeing them for the first time... row upon row and shelf after shelf, thousands upon thousands of diamonds and pearls glittering and shining, and each one was a loss, a death, a store of memory...   
It seemed there were more gems here than stars in the skies... than Silvans in the forest...

All these forevers, gone, stolen, never to be... it was dreadful to think of it...

He left the room, locking up automatically and hurrying away, trying to throw off his sudden sadness.

So wrapped in thought was he that he did not notice how far he had gone, that he was already nearing the main passages leading to and from the Feasting Hall. And he certainly did not notice someone abruptly turn out of a side passage to collide with him.

He recovered with a gasp, beginning to apologise as the other was, and realised he had been bumped into by none other than Triwathon who stepped back swiftly.

‘Ai, forgive me, Master Parvon, I was in haste and not looking where I was headed... but... forgive me, are you quite well?’

The kind and gentle enquiry made his heart fill; but that was Triwathon, always courteous and kindly... and so very...

‘I am sorry, Captain, I... work and busy and... It has been quite an evening, has it not?’

‘Indeed. I wish them happy,’ Triwathon said with a wistful smile. ‘So many do not find their forever love...’

‘It is better not to, than find him and know he likes another better and... your pardon.’ Parvon bit back his words and straightened his shoulders, trying to be business-like. ‘There was a letter for you in the King’s Office; it was to be delivered in the morning as none knew where you might be found today; if you would like, you could take it now...’

‘For me? I wonder why...? Yes, now would be good; I have had enough of feasting tonight...’

‘Oh? You will be attending the party later, I hope?’

‘I... hadn’t been going to.’

‘I am sure you will be looked for.’

Triwathon gave a smile which looked a little forced, and Parvon led the way, his mood changed to one of jittery delight mingling with terror of saying the wrong thing; Triwathon was just such a wonderful person, so beautiful, his fëa and his face, and Parvon was lucky to share the same air as him... to be able to walk beside him – to have been bumped into, actually touched by him... he would be buoyed for weeks, months by the thought...

It was silly to think this way; Triwathon had done his best to make it clear that he wasn’t free... but then, he had sounded so wistful when he talked about finding one’s forever love...

Could it be that the captain was a little envious of Canadion and Thiriston? Oh, not of one or other of them, but of their bond, their certainty? After all, was not it said that Glorfindel, whom Triwathon so admired, had a fëa-mate waiting?

‘Well, here we are, the King’s Office,’ Parvon said, opening the main door, ‘and my desk is there, if you would like to sit and wait, I will go to the message box and sign your letter as delivered...’

Triwathon followed, though, into the main office, and when Parvon held out the letter, glanced at it and opened it there and then, his eyes eager, his face avid, smiling, and then sad.

Suddenly, Parvon felt he was intruding, but really, this wasn’t his fault; he would have expected Triwathon to leave and read the letter privately, but since he was here, looking so downcast...

‘Forgive me – are you quite well?’ the advisor asked in unconscious imitation of Triwathon’s greeting to him, earlier. ‘Do you need to sit down? Not bad news, I hope?’

‘Oh, no.’ Triwathon looked up with a sniff, trying to smile. ‘No it is from a friend, from... from my dear friend, Glorfindel. He writes that he is well, and he knows it is the wedding today and... if they serve honey beer, to drink his health...’

‘Well, then you must come to the party,’ Parvon said encouragingly. ‘Since I know there are several cases stowed away just for that.’

‘No, you don’t understand. I... miss him.’

Parvon ducked his head away from the raw pain behind Triwathon’s admission.

‘It might be better not to be alone, don’t you think, if that is so, Captain? The heart can ache, but there are other things to enjoy; friends and comradeship may not be love, but they are a soothing balm to its sting.’

Triwathon nodded.

‘I will consider it. Thank you, Parvon. You have been very helpful... that is, most kind.’

‘You are welcome, Captain. And... if you are lonely...’

‘He will come back, Parvon. He is coming back, and we agreed to wait.’ Triwathon sighed and shook his head. ‘Forgive me; I sound ungrateful, but it is only that I would not be misunderstood and cause distress inadvertently.’

‘If he does not, though. If something prevented him... if you need a friend...?’

‘You are kind. Goodnight, Parvon. Thanks to you again.’

Parvon nodded and walked Triwathon to the door, waiting until the so-beautiful warrior had turned off at the end of the passage. He locked up, now needing to hurry, and set off to his next duty.

*

Arveldir tapped the side of a goblet and the clear sound rang out, quieting the room. He called for order for the king, and all were silent as Thranduil made a short speech about how love was love and should be honoured wherever it was found. It caused a stir in some corners of the hall, but Thranduil disregarded that as he raised his goblet and wished the newly-avowed health and joy before calling on Govon, as their commander, also to address the hall.

Govon rose and bowed to the king before speaking of Canadion's courage in saving his king from dragon fire, of both their daring in protecting Prince Tharmeduil. He spoke of honour and courage and loyalty, and went on to lift the mood of the hall by adding that if he had realised that one day he would be related, by marriage, to a cave troll, then he might have thought twice about marrying his own prince.

Gusts of laughter met this, but by now at least one elf had stopped listening...

Merenor was staring at his youngest son as if he'd never seen him quite so before...

Canadian had been hurt? Burned? Not... Not scarred...?

Why had not Cullasbes told him, it was part of their arrangement, he pretended work kept him away and she made sure he was fully informed about his son so he didn't need to come and see for himself...

But the delicious Govon was calling another drink, so Merenor raised his goblet and tried not to stare too hard at his son's happy face.

Thiriston stood up to speak, to thank his king, commander, and husband, his words almost lost in the gruffness of his voice, but there was no mistaking the joy in his eyes as he looked down at his spouse, the love in Canadion’s responding gaze. As Merenor watched, his youngest son tossed his hair and turned his head... no, if there were any scars, any marks of his encounters with fire, they must be where they didn’t show...

Placed as he was at the far end of the table, as far away from his wife Cullasbes as was physically possible, as Merenor lifted his goblet to drink to Canadion’s happiness, he was sure he could feel her eyes burning into him from all along the table. When the toast was done, he grinned across at his wife and lifted his cup again. She glared, her cheeks reddening, and he turned away to make conversation to his neighbours, pretending to be completely at ease while inside he seethed that she had chosen to disregard their agreement, hadn’t bothered to tell him his son had been hurt. Hadn’t even told him he’d found someone special, would have let him miss this day as he had missed so many of his son’s days...

Merenor caught himself on the verge of losing his smile, and that would never do! He was known in his village as a genial and happy individual, his name usually mentioned with a smile or a raised, amused eyebrow; he was not bad-tempered by nature and he was not going to let Cullasbes change that now... he would wait, he would find a moment and speak to her, perhaps in front of some of her friends, perhaps when someone important was present... but not tonight. Tonight was to celebrate how happy Canadion looked, how bright his eyes shone.

More wine came round, although the speeches seemed to have finished, and the meal was served, and presently Merenor found himself gossiping with one Merlinith, sister to the delectable-but-vowed Govon, an extremely well-informed and opinionated elleth, not unkind in her summaries but with a disapproving sniff she used to good effect. Thus he learned that he really had been away from the palace far too long and it sounded much more interesting than his quiet life down in the depths of the forest near the old road... he also realised he had better be very careful what he said to the lovely lady at his side, for not only was anything he said only two repetitions away from royal family, but probably would be all around the palace almost before he finished speaking...

‘Why so long away, you ask...? Work, sadly... it has not been a good time for travelling, and the constant reunions and partings would perhaps have been more painful for my family... but your brother is in the guard, I am sure you know what it is like...’

She nodded and took over the conversation, prattling on about how Govon could be away for months on end and then just turn up with a kitbag full of dirty clothes and muddy boots, and how she had hardly noticed the difference when he moved out to live with his prince.

‘So you are all alone? How does that suit?’

‘Oh, but I am not... my friend Araspen is staying with me... since we neither of us plan on marriage, it suits us rather well...’

Araspen, on the far side of Merlinith, looked down at her plate with a small smile, and Merlinith’s colour changed... really? Well, things had changed around the palace in the last twelve decades or so... he really did wish he could come back...

Except, he realised with a shudder, he might be expected to live with his wife and that was really not something he would find conducive to his well-being...  
Turning the subject to let the two recover from their blushes, he nodded towards the prince.

‘Something was said earlier; I did not quite follow it... can it be true, have our two older princes decided to sail so young?’

‘Oh, that wasn’t it at all, Master Merenor,’ the knowledgeable and well-connected Merlinith said. ‘No, you see, what happened was, my Govon was nearly killed when three dragons attacked, and only Prince Iauron’s quick thinking...’

Merenor nodded, and listened, and drew her on, and the rest of the meal passed in second-and third-hand tales of wonder from the Battle of the Three Dragons.

*

Thranduil sipped lightly at his Dorwinion and glanced around the table. From the looks of things, everyone had about done eating and the guests were mostly drinking, raising glasses to each other and towards Thiriston and Canadion. Good. The king beckoned Arveldir forward from behind his chair.

‘Yes, sire?’

‘There is an empty place next to Commander Bregon; is Captain Triwathon not present?’

‘He stayed for the speeches and drank our friends’ health, but then excused himself; I think he may perhaps have late duty.’

‘That was bad planning, then, as he served so long with our new-married captains... no matter. And where is Merenor quartered tonight?’

‘...Sire?’ Arveldir queried faintly. Merenor had been assigned a room away from the family home; it had been particularly requested, but to say so to the king...

‘That is to say, I hope he was offered guest quarters?’

‘Ah, yes, indeed, my king. Perhaps an oversight...?’

‘Indeed. Or, perhaps, foresight. Well, I will leave everyone to their celebrations.’ He turned to Thiriston on his right in place of honour. ‘Captain, congratulations once more on your wedding. Enjoy the rest of your evening. Incidentally, your flower children were delightful! Please compliment their parents on their behalf.’

‘Sire, thank you; Canadion and I are most grateful for the honour you have done us.’

‘Well, now you have him, you must keep him, and make sure you keep him out of mischief, do you understand?’

Thiriston grinned.

‘I intend to spend my life doing exactly that, sire.’

‘Arveldir? I will leave now.’

‘Yes, sire.’

The king rose, all around getting respectfully to their feet until he had departed and Arveldir addressed them.

‘His majesty wishes you all to continue your celebrations for as long as you wish. Please – make merry and be joyful.’

Everyone settled again to their food and their drinking, but Legolas tipped his head at his father’s advisor.

‘Arveldir? What was my father saying about the empty place?’

‘Captain Triwathon excused himself early, that is all, my prince. Late duty, we think.’

Legolas nodded.

‘And is everything else in train?’

‘Erestor is awaiting word from Parvon, but I think it was all ready, except for the last-minute matters.’

Presently Erestor signalled Arveldir, who in turn nodded to Thiriston. The big elf grinned and gave Canadion a gentle nudge.

‘Drink up, penneth. It’s time to leave.’

‘Oh?’ Canadion turned his blinding smile on his new husband, eyelashes fluttering. ‘Are you taking me somewhere?’

‘Probably. Later. Right now, we’ve a party to go to. Public party, that is.’

‘Oh... do we have to stay long?’

‘A little while. Unless you find you are having fun, and want to stay longer, in which case, we can spend as long as you like. Who knows, we might get to see Merlinith and Araspen dancing on the tables?’

‘Now, that would be fun!’

‘Well.’ Thiriston put his arm around his beloved spouse and helped him up. ‘Let’s go and have fun, then.’


	300. Private Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the celebrations move into a common room, Merenor meets new people, and Thiriston has more surprises for Canadion. And more bunting.

‘Oh, are we going somewhere?’ Merenor asked his neighbour as Thiriston helped Canadion up and bore him off, and others at the table rose and began to follow.

‘There is a private party in the barracks common room in Corridor West Three,’ Merlinith said. ‘For friends and family and those who helped with the arrangements.’

‘And you are both family and friend, by marriage, yes?’

She smiled. ‘And I helped with the preparations! I made lots of the bunting, and Araspen sewed the flowers the little ones gave out, so by rights I have three invitations to the party. Are you coming?’

Merenor was about to say he hadn’t been asked when none other than the prince himself was smiling at his side.

‘Of course Canadion’s Adar is coming to the party! Master Merenor, will you walk with us? Have you been introduced to my fëa-mate, Commander Govon?’

‘Not properly, although I know the name, you were pointed out to me as our prince’s spouse, Commander.’

‘I know I was,’ Govon grinned, linking fingers with Legolas. ‘It’s nice to meet you, all the same.’

*

‘Another surprise?’ Canadion smiled as he looked around the common room, festooned with all the decorations from the approach to the Sacred Grove and with ivory, white and blue crocheted bunting draped all around the walls, trestle tables waiting with wine and beer and drinking vessels. ‘How many more?’

‘Now, that would be telling!’ Thiriston grinned and turned to Parvon, waiting unobtrusively near the door. ‘Master Parvon, we are very grateful for you hard work.’

Parvon smiled.

‘The King’s Office was delighted to help, and...’

‘Well, I know. And all the work crews who gave up their time to organise this on top of everything else. But I meant you, personally. So you’ll stay?’

‘Well, I... you see, I bumped into Captain Triwathon and encouraged him to attend so if I am here, it will look as if I... oh, dear...’

‘What does that matter?’ Thiriston said, grinning. ‘I doubt he’ll think anything of it.’

‘Is that meant to help?’ Canadion asked. ‘But, Parvon, please do stay.’

Parvon capitulated with an attempt at a smile.

‘I am grateful, too, for your kind words. But it has been a pleasure to contribute to your vowing day. So, if you are ready, Erestor and Arveldir will bring in your guests.’

Thiriston and Canadion stood near the door and welcomed and thanked everyone; Canadion having asked Parvon who had made the bunting, who the flowers, the uniforms, he had a personal word for everyone. He hugged Merlinith – ‘For the bunting, it is so lovely, and in Thiriston’s colours, it is perfect and so much of it!’ and Araspen – ‘Those little flowers, they were so pretty, such a clever idea, my niece Mírien kept me one specially...' but placed his hand over his heart and bowed to Duinor. ‘The knife at my belt is beautiful, Master Duinor, the finest work I have ever seen...’

Thiriston noticed, and grinned; Canadion was being very restrained as to how he thanked the ellyn who had contributed to their wedding.

Merenor had hung back at the door, waiting for a word with Melion as he arrived.

‘Did you know about your brother and the dragon?’ he asked.

‘No, Adar. Not until I arrived and talked to Thiriston. He says he’s recovered well. And have you heard everyone? They can’t say enough of Canadion’s courage.’

‘Well, I never doubted his bravery,’ Merenor said with a grin. ‘After all, he lived at home with your naneth for how long?’

Leaving his third son laughing, and seeing Canadion for the moment on his own, he advanced.

‘Ada!’ Canadion hugged him as if they hadn’t already been reunited that evening. ‘I still cannot believe that you are really here!’

‘Well, I am, and I will be here for a little while at least!’

‘Come, let me find a drink for you...’

‘Presently.’ Merenor put a hand under Canadion’s elbow and led him away, looking intently at him.

‘Ada? What is wrong? Why are you staring at me?’

Merenor made himself smile.

‘Nothing, ion-nin, nothing. It is just that I heard all about your dragon encounter and I was worried... they say your king was very badly hurt and so...’

‘Ah, I am well of it now, really. Do you see here?’ Canadion tilted his head to the light, exposing the pink and white patch of still-fading scar tissue on his face. ‘It does not hurt at all, it is barely noticeable, and Thiriston says I am still... still beautiful so...’

He broke off as Merenor hugged him tightly.

‘Ada, did they also say I fell from a nursery nest and landed hard on the ground and another warrior fell on top of me and that I am still bruised?’

Merenor let go hastily.

‘No, I did not know that! Did I hurt you?’

‘Nothing hurts me today, Adar; everything is so wonderful. Well, I was a bit bruised, but that was all...’

‘And what about the dragons?’

‘Oh, the king killed the first two, then Thiriston killed the last one...’ Canadion waved an airy hand, trying to pretend he wasn’t bothered by his Ada’s concern. ‘And anyway, when we dress in warrior paint, Thiriston draws flowers around the marks on my face and on my shoulder. But that is really nothing. Now, a drink? We have some honey beer...’

‘All right, but... What? Has the old tradition of warrior paints been reinstated too?’

‘Indeed, Adar, it is very popular. And ceremonial fighting kilts. All because Commander Govon dressed in paint and kilt to spar with the king in honour of his fëa-mate.’

‘Ai, really, I have been away far too long!’ Merenor shook his head. ‘Did you see Baudh yet? Or Caraphindir?’

‘Just a glimpse and a wave in the Feasting Hall... did they arrive with you?’

‘I collected them on the way up, yes... Your health and your happiness, my son.’ Merenor raised his beer bottle in salute and drank from the neck. ‘Ai, that is good! I had forgotten... So, do you know everyone here tonight?’

‘Of course I do; it is our party!’

‘Oh, good. So, you can tell me then, who is that very, very lovely ellon talking to that stunning Noldo...?’

‘Ada! You are married, you know!’

‘Yes, I had not forgotten... but surely, I am your Ada, it is natural for you to introduce me to your friends?’

Canadion smiled. 

‘Of course it is! Come and meet one of those friends who helped me, after my fall... Celeguel! Do you know my Ada? His name is Merenor, and he has been working away for a very long time and so does not know many people here now. And my brothers Baudh and Caraphindir are here, and Thiriston looking in my direction...’

Celeguel was charming, and charmed, but it wasn’t long before she realised that the enchanting Merenor had a roving eye and it didn’t tend to rove towards ellyn.

‘Like father, like son,’ she breathed as Merenor’s gaze went to the door where a latecomer was standing.

‘My dear, who is that utterly gorgeous creature who’s just arrived?’

‘Ah, that is Captain Triwathon. He served with your son, sir, in the Court Guard, and is much liked by all who know him; he is as kind as he is attractive.’

‘Do you happen to know, is he...?’

Celeguel hid a smile.

‘Do you know Glorfindel of Gondolin?’

‘What, is he here too?’ Merenor demanded, startled, looking around. ‘What else have I missed?’

She laughed.

‘No, no, Glorfindel was visiting, but has lately left on duty; word is that he will return. He and Triwathon were friends. Special friends, if you follow me...’

‘I do indeed,’ Merenor said, although his eyes followed Triwathon’s lithe form as he went to greet the happy couple. ‘Well, if he was Glorfindel’s, he must be amazing...’

‘Triwathon is very much esteemed and he and Glorfindel have an agreement,’ Celeguel stressed.

‘You could introduce me anyway,’ he suggested.

‘Well, here is someone else for you to meet; this is Parvon, whose brother is a warrior and who himself is attached to the King’s Office. Parvon, have you met Merenor, the Ada of Canadion?’

‘No, not yet, although your name, sir, is familiar. Good day to you... might I get you some wine, or would you prefer beer?’

Celeguel took advantage of the moment to slip away, grinning, to sit with Amathel and smile and sigh behind Merenor’s back.

Merenor decided that Parvon was lovely, and charming, and just a little bit sad. He had a bright smile for the exquisite Triwathon when he came over, however, made introductions, said how glad he was that Triwathon had decided to attend, which made Triwathon look a little sad in turn, although he spoke gently enough... both seemed glad that Merenor was there as buffer, or chaperone, and it didn’t take long for Merenor to guess the problem.

‘Forgive me, Parvon,’ he began once Triwathon had extricated himself to attend a friendly summons from Legolas. ‘But you seem a little...?’

‘I beg your pardon, Master Merenor... I was attending, I think you were saying something about changes...?’

‘Oh, yes, but I am quite willing to move on from that!’ Merenor said. ‘And to talk instead about your sudden dip in spirits... I should imagine, with all you have had to do, you are tired now? Perhaps a quiet sit down... more wine...?’

‘No, not tired – forgive me if I seem out of sorts, it is just...’

He sighed and Merenor snaffled a bottle of wine and beakers from a trestle table while steering the advisor to a bench in a quiet corner. Granted, Parvon was not as exquisite as Triwathon, but he was still very fair... pretty eyes, too.

‘Would you like to tell me about it? I am quite good at being discreet, you know, well, my generation, we had to be... Here, have some of this rather good wine... is it something to do with Triwathon?’

Parvon hastened to assure him that Triwathon was kind, and thoughtful, and had not done anything to make him unhappy but... indeed, it was not Triwathon’s fault...

‘He has an arrangement with someone rather special, I think I heard? And you, perhaps, would have stood his friend...? Perhaps consoled him in his loneliness...? It is true, he is exceptionally fair but, Parvon, you do have pretty eyes, you know...’

‘You are very kind, Master Merenor, and I am grateful to have shared my burden with you...’

‘We could, perhaps, share more, if you liked?’

Parvon gulped at his wine and stammered and flushed that he was flattered and... and oh...

‘But you see, it is not a passing fancy for me; I would wait for a lifetime for him, if I must, and I would not seem fickle at the first breath of interest elsewhere although you are very handsome, and I cannot imagine why you would be lonely, sir, and... oh.’

‘Do not worry, penneth,’ Merenor said with his charming smile. ‘I am sure I can turn something up. And if I may advise you...’

‘Only if you do not tell me to give him up...’

‘Not at all, I was going to say only this; if he is the one your fëa wants, then it will be truly happy with no other. True, until one finds that burning, desperate, selfless love, one can play, explore possibilities, do one’s duty, perhaps... but when you find your fëa-mate, you can only be thankful that you are not still seeking. You may have to wait a very long while for him, though, and what of the long years between? If you can master your emotions enough to not let them get in the way, you may find yourself, in time, able to be his friend and it will bring you more comfort than sorrow. Now, can you tell me, is it really true that the rather fine Noldo over there is also taken?’

Parvon laughed and recovered.

‘I think it might not be wise to approach Lord Erestor. Not with Lord Arveldir in the same room. Or building. Or kingdom, quite possibly.’

‘So many happy couples here tonight. And so many of them non-traditional. It is really rather refreshing. Well, Parvon, thank you for your honesty, and your company, and if you would like to simply sit and talk, then that will do very well for now.’

*

Thiriston had his arm around Canadion’s shoulder, aware his husband was leaning more and more heavily against him as he sat and chatted happily with his two eldest brothers. They seemed not bad sorts, considering, Thiriston had to admit. Caraphindir had an eye for the ladies and Baudh... well, Baudh didn’t.

‘Are you here long, both of you?’ Thiriston asked. ‘Come eat with us one day, if you like. Perhaps not tomorrow, though.’

‘Most kind. We are staying with our naneth,’ Caraphindir said. ‘So I am not sure we will be here more than a few days.’

Canadion leaned a little more heavily and looked up at Thiriston.

‘It is all so nice,’ he said quietly. ‘But... I think the healers said I would need my injuries dressing...I am starting to notice the ache.’

‘Oh, we can’t be having that... Your pardon, I’d better get your brother’s injuries seen to for him. Up you get, husband... I’ll bid you both goodnight, honour brothers, and see you soon, I will hope.’

Using Canadion’s injuries as an excuse, Thiriston led Canadion on a quick circuit of the room. His penneth insisted on hugging Merlinith and Araspen again, and Gaelbes met them near the door with a pouch of supplies.

‘You have seen the application of the medication, Captain,’ she said softly. ‘No need to trouble the Healers’ Hall tonight. Take him home and look after him there.’

‘My thanks. Well, everyone, goodnight!’

A chorus of farewells and good wishes and slightly ribald comments, and a voice that sounded suspiciously like Govon’s called out ‘Be gentle with him!’

‘I shall,’ Canadion called back, and allowed himself to be swept out of the common room to cheers and laughter.

Thiriston swung him up into his arms and cuddled him close.

‘Ready to go home, husband?’

‘Ready for anything, my husband.’

Canadion nestled in, safe in the strong arms of his beloved, enjoying the sensation of his lightly giddy head, the warmth of the big body against his. It was a long way through from West Three to the guest quarters, so he might as well get comfortable...

‘We’re home, penneth.’

Canadion lifted his head, puzzled; surely only a few moments had passed?

‘But this is West Two,’ he said as Thiriston set him on his feet and unfastened a pair of ornamental gates across the entrance to a short corridor.

‘I know,’ Thiriston grinned. ‘Come on. So, this room to the left, that’s where the servant will live...’

‘Servant? We do not rate a servant...’

‘He or she will be on duty from before the breakfast hour until after the supper hour. After that, can be called at need. But not tonight. There’s a bathing room at the end for all the corridor, but we’re first residents so it’s just ours now.’

‘But...’

‘And this will be our new home. If you like it.’

There was a door, a key in its lock for Canadion to turn. Thiriston laced their fingers together. 

‘We walk in hand in hand, none of this silly threshold business. Well? Go on, I’ve had the tour already, had to do something to keep myself busy while you were off in the forest pulling bits off spiders...’

Canadion beamed and turned the key, pushing the door open with a gasp and tugging Thiriston in. Lamps had been lit in preparation for their arrival and a fire burned in the hearth. A settle covered with cushions was under a wide, deep window, flowers spread on the sill. A thick rug on the floor, a sofa... side table with a bowl of fruit, a decanter full of amber winter-wine, glasses... Canadion stared and tried to take it all in.

‘It is huge!’ he said in a whisper, turning. ‘Bigger than the guest quarters... Is there... is there a bedroom, too? Or are you going to lay me down on the rug?’

Thiriston laughed.

‘Shut your eyes,’ he said. ‘Let me lead you...’

‘It is a long way!’

‘Yes, we are going through the second room now.’

‘Second room?’

‘Yes. And over here... we’re at the door, and now I will cover your eyes and... there. Now in we go... behind the curtain... and...’ 

Thiriston swallowed hard. Although he knew what to expect, he had not seen the finished room and it was... well, he hoped it was what Canadion wanted. He thought it looked rather fine. He dropped his hands. 

‘You can open your eyes... and... Surprise!’

Whatever Thiriston had expected from Canadion’s reaction, it wasn’t the utter silence that followed. What, did his penneth not like the huge bed with the canopy? The candles in wall sconces all around to bathe the room in warm, soft light, sparkling off the glints of mica in the stone of the walls? Or was the bed too big, too imposing? Not soft enough, too masculine, even though the posts and the canopy were twined with the lilac and pink bunting Arwen had so painstakingly made? 

Did he not like it?

Canadion pulled away and walked to the bed. He ran a hand over the damasked bedspread and then turned to face his husband, his face wondering.

‘It is so beautiful!’ he said in a whisper. ‘And is this... this is our bunting, that Arwen made?’

‘Your bunting, that Arwen made, in the colours you like. Far too precious to be shared. Just like you. Will it do, do you think?’

Canadion smiled and reached out a hand to his husband.

‘I think it just might,’ he said.


	301. Good Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Triwathon tries to be social and Merenor flirts.

Triwathon hesitated at the entrance to Corridor West Three. 

After parting from Parvon, he had gone home to his cramped warrior quarters and cast himself down on the bed to read and reread his letter... but for the fact that Glorfindel had said to go and drink the newly-vowed couple’s health on his behalf, he would have stayed there, too.

As it was, presently he rose from the narrow mattress, tried to find a smile in his heart, and had set off for the party.

And now he lingered outside the entrance to West Two, wavering on the point of going home with only his loneliness for company or attempting to diffuse it amongst friends.

Friends? Yes, he had friends now, he, shy Triwathon who had only ever had that one special friend... but since Glorfindel had left, and since he had been adopted into the Black Dragons, he was making friends. At first they wanted to know about the Balrog Slayer, of course, but soon they wanted to know about him, the one the Lord of Gondolin had singled out, and he had been interested in their lives, also, and so now it took more than the fingers of both hands to name the friends who called out hello to him as he passed, or who sought his company at the day meal, comrades, respectful associates. Celeguel would be at the party, and Amathel, he could sit with them. 

Parvon, would he be there?

Probably. 

It was difficult to know how to deal with Parvon. He was a perfectly nice ellon – more than that, he had many good qualities, he was loyal and resilient, clever and subtle... but he had shown a decided preference for Triwathon’s company, in spite of knowing Triwathon was waiting for Glorfindel.

Perhaps it was best, wisest, to continue to speak with Parvon as he ever had done, but simply to ignore the infatuation and any of its manifestations... he knew it was not his fault Parvon had taken such a shine to him, and to notice the advisor’s infatuation, even in protest, would perhaps give it more credence than was wise. He had no wish to hurt anyone’s feelings and so would treat Parvon with dignity and respect and restrained friendship.

So prepared, he took a breath, reminded himself he was here to celebrate Canadion and Thiriston’s marriage, and headed for the party.

*

‘Triwathon’s arrived,’ Thiriston said, glancing down at Canadion. ‘Shall we go to greet him?’

‘Indeed... I did not think he would come tonight. He must be a little said.’

‘Possibly. Good fellow, though, wouldn’t want to make us worry about him.’

Triwathon approached and bowed.

‘Thiriston, Canadion, I wish you a future of joyousness.’

‘Thank you, Triwathon!’ Canadion nodded and then turned to smile up at his husband. ‘Indeed, I feel joyous!’

‘It is a pleasure to see two people so in love celebrate their union,’ Triwathon said. ‘Be happy forever.’

‘Our thanks to you,’ Thiriston said gruffly. ‘Must be hard, being here, for you. We’re grateful,’

‘Indeed, I am glad to share your celebrations. In fact, I had a message from... from Glorfindel, who said to come and drink your health in honey beer for him.’

‘In that case, we must find you a honey beer,’ Canadion said. ‘Come with me. How is your friend?’

‘He writes that he is well, and relates with joy the tale of an accident with the wheels on one boat which left Esgaron covered in river silt. He says also that Nestoril had decreed that they would all raise lanterns for you at the right time.’

‘So sweet of Nestoril! Did you see what she had her friends make for us? A lantern painted like her head-rail...’

If at first Triwathon had thought it was a mistake to attend, soon he changed his mind. Glorfindel had written as he spoke, the note was like hearing his voice in Triwathon’s mind, and he had said to have fun and drink honey beer, and it was almost as if the golden Lord of Gondolin were here at the party, whispering in Triwathon’s ear from time to time... he found it easier than he had expected.

Seeing Parvon, Triwathon made a point of joining him for a few minutes, to be polite, but he was glad of another ellon’s presence – Merenor, Canadion’s father. He was fun, entertaining and witty, with appreciative eyes, and if at first Triwathon had wondered why Cullasbes wasn’t present, he soon realised that it was probably for the best... from the looks of things, Merenor was quite taken with Parvon. It was good to know that the advisor need not be alone, unless he chose to be.

‘Triwathon!’ 

He looked up from the conversation at the sound of his prince’s voice. Legolas had his arm around Govon’s shoulders and was smiling, beckoning him over, and he nodded.

‘Would you excuse me? My prince summons me... Master Merenor, it was nice to meet you. Parvon, thank you for encouraging me to attend this evening. It is good to share in our friends’ happiness.’

*

Later in the evening, after the newly-weds had left to cheers and encouragement, and the party was starting to thin out, Triwathon was sitting quietly with his drink and thinking about Glorfindel, and how he used to always manage to spill honey beer all over the bedding, when he found himself no longer alone.

‘It is a fine thing, Captain, to have a wistful smile that makes one look mysterious and attractive... I would say, however do you manage it, but it sounds rude rather than complimentary... may I join you?’

‘Master Merenor, you are welcome. It has been a fine evening, has it not?’

‘Indeed, yes. Better for some than for others, I deem.’

‘Is it not always so? But the joy of some should be no reason for others to be sad, I think.’

‘Are you pining, perhaps?’

‘There is a friend who would have enjoyed this evening immensely, although in all probability he would have stolen your son’s thunder; he cannot help himself.’

‘I know the feeling...’ Merenor sighed and smiled. ‘So, the fellow who introduced us – Parvon...?’

‘I do not know him well, not really. His brother has a fine sword arm. Parvon is conscientious and diligent and spoken highly of by those who know him.’

‘He speaks very highly of you, too.’

Triwathon flushed. ‘He is, perhaps, too kind.’

‘He’s very true,’ Merenor said. ‘One of those fellows who will graciously decline anyone except the person he’s in love with...’

‘It is to be hoped, then, that he is not in love with the wrong person; it would be a pity for him to become unhappy.’

Merenor sighed to himself. Ah, well, he had tried... And so, obviously Triwathon wasn’t interested; he wasn’t even interested that Parvon hadn’t been interested... everyone else in the room was engaged in conversations and discussions with the ease of old familiarity and unless Merenor wanted to be charming to a group of ellith who had already realised they were not quite to his taste, well, he had better stay here. Triwathon really was exquisite, even if he didn’t need comfort while his good friend was away, and conversation with a beautiful creature like this was never to be sniffed at.

‘So much is different since I was last here,’ he said, by way of a neutral opening. ‘Two princes sailing, a new sense of acceptance for formerly neglected sections of society... and, in my guest chambers, several new devices... Including some terrifying contraption in the washroom the purpose of which eludes me...’

‘There is a new department of innovation.’ Triwathon said. ‘To date, its lead inventor Hanben has found a way to make a gwinig leak-proof, he has invented a contraption for moving injured warriors – Celeguel has tested it, she calls it a people-barrow... there is also the wheeled boat he invented...’

‘A wheeled boat? Whatever for?’

Triwathon explained about the princes’ journey to their ship, how it included of course river and land journeys both, and paddle wheels had been thought to be the solution; he even ended up reading out loud from Glorfindel’s letter concerning the incident with Esgaron and the river silt.

Merenor laughed delightedly, a charming, infectious sound, and many heads turned to see what was going on.

‘Esgaron... I know that name, yes, I remember him... was in charge of a guard division when I was here, had a reputation amongst certain people in certain areas... he was a bit like a twelve-year human burial, not so bad on the surface but if you put your foot through the coffin... inside was much less pleasant...’

Triwathon laughed; although he didn’t quite understand the metaphor, the meaning was clear enough.

‘Pardon me, excuse the liberty...’ Hanben came bustling over and bowed formally. ‘Did you say, a problem with the wheeled vessel, Triwathon? Do you have any details?’

‘Ah, Master Hanben... Glorfindel was more interested in relating an amusing anecdote than giving a technical explanation, I think. No doubt someone will have sent a full report, I understand the despatches were delivered late... Parvon made a point of releasing this letter especially for me, I am sure he would know...’

‘Parvon left a while since. Can you tell me no more...?’

‘I am sorry, no. But have you met Master Merenor? He is Canadion’s father, and was commenting on how much has changed in the palace...’

‘Indeed? Congratulations on your son’s avowing, sir.’

‘Thank you.’ Merenor brought out one of his better smiles. Hanben did look a little as if there was an unpleasant smell somewhere and he couldn’t work out where it was coming from, but he had lovely mahogany hair and the shape of his lips, halfway between a pout and a promise... ‘So you’re the innovator I’ve heard about? Is it you I have to thank for a strange device in my washroom?’

Triwathon smiled and murmured goodnights, easing himself out from the table. Within seconds Hanben had taken his place and begun explaining how he had come up with the idea for his hew inventions and detailing their intricacies, and Merenor listening with every appearance of rapt attention...

*

They had told Triwathon he could keep Glorfindel’s room warm for him, so to speak, and after he left the party, he decided to lie down on the bed they’d shared and, although he already knew the note by heart, he read it through again, lingering on the last paragraph.

_“I know what we agreed, but don’t be lonely if a friend will bring you solace; it’s no hardship for me to keep to it, there’s just no competition... in all of Middle Earth, in fact... So, go to the party, drink a bottle of honey beer to the newly-weds’ health, and don’t go to bed alone if you don’t feel like it. I’ll be back before you know it.”_

Triwathon smiled. Glorfindel’s note in his hand, Glorfindel’s words in his head... he wasn’t lonely.

Glorfindel would be back before he knew it.

And Triwathon would be waiting.

*

‘And this washing cascade?’ Merenor said, tipping his head. ‘Whatever is it for?’

‘Did not the servant explain to you?’

‘Something... I thought it sounded as if he was saying the roof leaked in the rain?’

‘Oh, no, nothing like that. Think of... well, yes, think of rain, on a hot day, warmed by the sun... lasting for as long as you wish...’

‘Intriguing... and you invented this?’

‘I did so. I have always been interested in new ideas, inventions and devices to make our lives more pleasant. I enjoy making things.’

‘I’m from an artisan background myself, so I understand that. Before I was married, my nimble fingers won much acclaim... Have you always been an innovator, Hanben?’

‘Oh, no; for most of my life I was a healer, but while I like being able to restore injured persons to health, I find I like creating things. They say I am good with my hands.’

‘You do have lovely hands, Hanben. Mmm. So, how does it work, exactly, this indoor rain storm?’

‘Well, it is quite simple and... Really, the servant should have demonstrated...’

‘You know, they do say, if you want something doing, do it yourself...’

Hanben stared at Merenor for a moment; it looked almost as if wheels were turning behind his eyes. Merenor kept smiling gently, very slowly allowing himself to lightly arch an eyebrow and tilt his head in an enticing, challenging invitation.

‘I suppose... if you do not mind going now... I could spare a little time...’

‘How very kind of you! Tell me, which do you prefer, wine or beer?’

‘At this time of night, generally hot milk with cinnamon...’

Merenor got to his feet and sauntered to a table, looking underneath and locating a half case of wine yet unbreached. He snaffled two bottles and glanced around the room to check whether there was anyone left he needed to say goodnight to... no, only strangers left, except for the ellith, and he waved and winked and they giggled and waved back.

‘It’s along here, I think... I do hope I can remember the way...’

‘Do not worry, sir. Granted I only arrived in the palace a short while ago, but as I did install the washing cascades in the guest quarters myself, I do know where we are going.’

‘Lead on then, mellon-nin. And there is no need to call me ‘sir’, not since we know each other’s names, yes?’

‘Are you making a long stay in the palace?’ Hanben asked, trying to make small-talk and distract himself from a growing awareness that Merenor had gleaming chestnut hair the same shade as his youngest son’s and a lilting, mesmerising gait that really should not be permitted... Canadion’s father favoured leggings and tunic rather than formal robes, too, and that added to the effect. ‘Since it has been so long since last you were here, that is.’

‘I am not quite certain yet,’ Merenor said, smiling. ‘There may be a few family concerns to sort out. So a little while, at least. I think... is this the main corridor to the guest rooms?’

‘In fact, it is the next one; this leads towards the administration centre; the King’s Office, to which the Innovation Department is attached.’

‘Of course; I was forgetting. Not that I ever needed guest quarters before, you understand.’

It was the perfect opportunity for Hanben to enquire why, but since they were still in public corridors, and perhaps it was a private matter, he decided not to pry.

‘Now, here is the corridor and I remember installing on this side...’

‘Ah, yes. Third door along.’

Hanben lifted down a lantern from the wall and carried it in as Merenor opened the door, set the wine down, lit the other lanterns, and smiled.

‘Would you like a drink first?’

‘I think not, my thanks. As I remember, the washroom is through here... Ah, yes, now, this one is special... you are close to the hot springs, so I was able to run piping off from them and divert the flow... which means you have constant access to heated water; other places require tanks positioned near the hearth of the room and only work when the fire is lit... so, yes, you see here... you would turn this, and after a moment, the cascade will descend from above...’

‘And what do I have to do...?’

‘As I showed you; this lever opens and closes the flow; it is quite simple.’

‘Let me see?’

The little area of the washroom where the washing cascade was situated was small and narrow, not quite roomy enough for two near-strangers and Hanben became very aware of Merenor’s presence as the ellon stood in the entrance, one hand braced on the wall, the other reaching past Hanben to operate the lever.

‘This thing here?’ 

Merenor’s voice was innocently sly as he turned the handle and after a brief gurgle, during which both looked interestedly up at the delivery system above, warm splinters of water needled down, soaking them both. Merenor made astonished noises and felt Hanben’s hand on his as the inventor sought to close off the supply of water. 

‘Oh, no! You are all wet, Hanben! Well, both of us, in truth, but it is my fault...’ Merenor reached for a thick towel, folded on a shelf. He stepped away for Hanben to exit the cubicle and was waiting to wrap the towel around him, over his garments, and press the fabric close against him, looking into Hanben’s startled eyes as he stroked a corner of the towel over Hanben’s wet hair. ‘Do let me help you... a seat by the fire, I think, and a glass of wine?’

‘I am... am not in need of... you do not have to...’

‘This is a wonderful invention! Perhaps a little unpredictable... but you are clever to have thought of it! I do like an ellon who is good with his hands...’

‘I do not doubt it,’ Hanben said a little stiffly. ‘Did you really not know how to use the cascade or was it an excuse to lure me to your quarters, sir?’

Merenor continued tugging the inventor’s towelling wrap until he had brought Hanben to a place at the fireside.

‘Ai, forgive me!’ he said, sitting cross-legged on the floor at Hanben’s feet and looking up at him. ‘I think I have perhaps been a little impetuous... You have such lovely hands...’

‘You said.’

‘Ah. And your hair, did I mention how your hair falls and shimmers like a glorious curtain of sensuous darkness?’

‘You did not.’ Hanben kept his voice stiff and strict, but the phrase reverberated enticingly in his mind.

‘Hmm. Perhaps I should have done so earlier.’ Merenor rose to his feet and crossed to pour two glasses of wine, handing one to Hanben who set it down untouched. ‘I should also have said, I am married, but my wife and I have – had – an understanding. I know how to be discreet.’

‘Really? All I have seen tonight is that you know how to flirt.’

‘Ah, thank the Valar for that! I thought I was losing my touch!’

In spite of himself Hanben was amused. And, he had to admit, interested; Merenor was really rather fine of face, not as softly pretty as his youngest son, but decidedly handsome...

And decidedly married. At least Merenor had spoken of it without prompting... Still, something in Hanben instinctively shied away from becoming involved with a married ellon; what about Merenor’s wife? What about his sons? Granted, said wife was Cullasbes, but even so...

He pushed the towel away and rose to his feet.

‘I hope the washing cascade functions adequately for you in the morning, Master Merenor. Should you have any problems, send to the King’s Office.’ 

Merenor sighed and looked at Hanben with resigned longing.

‘I need to apologise, I think. This very good Dorwinion has made me too bold... Thank you for your company home, in any case, and for your help with the washing cascade.’

Suddenly it was Hanben who felt he should be apologising. Just for a second Merenor had looked so lost, so alone...

‘I quite understand,’ he said. ‘I will bid you a good night, sir, and leave you to your fireside.’

Nodding, Merenor held the door, admitting defeat, relinquishing hope.

‘One thing,’ he said, as Hanben was about to turn away. ‘Would you mind telling me... had I not mentioned my wife, would that have made any difference...?’

Hanben raised a startled brow.

‘You are a father of four; their mother lives in the palace, and you are here for the avowal ceremony of your son. It would be ridiculous to assume your marital status would go unnoticed.’

‘True.’

‘And yet... yes, Master Merenor. It would have made a difference. Had you not drawn my attention to the fact that you are married, I would have thought you a scoundrel, as well as a rogue.’

‘Ai, lovely hands, glorious hair and a fine turn of phrase... we could have been such good company for each other... Goodnight, Master Hanben, my apologies once more.’

‘Master Merenor, it has been... interesting. Goodnight to you.’

*

Merenor shut the door with a sigh and rested his head against the cool stone of the wall.

Yes, he had started off the evening looking everyone over – that was his way, and he never looked at a person and saw the flaws, only ever the fine things about them... he had always done so and, who knows? Had he not been the sort of person to see the weaknesses, he would never have married Cullasbes, and would not now have four fine sons, would not have seen his brave and lovely Canadion married today... And while Parvon had been sweet, and slightly sad, and Triwathon exquisite and delightful, really, it was Hanben, the one he talked to last, Hanben had been the one to really capture his imagination. How the distasteful expression fell away when he had talked of his inventions, how he had enthused about new projects and concepts, how animated he had become! The thought of spending time in his company, perhaps in his bed, had been really quite enticing...

But Merenor had overplayed his hand, had pushed too quickly, too soon.

Ah, well. He would make use of the washing cascade again (it had worked perfectly well earlier, no need to ask Hanben for help at all, of course...) and he would go to bed. Alone.

Tomorrow would be another day.


	302. Cascade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Candion and Thiriston explore the possibilities of one of Hanben's innovations...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PWP, shower scene, sandalwood scene... it's Thiriston & Canadion's wedding night, probably better not read in public... fluff...

Canadion’s eyes were wondering, happy, and Thiriston hid a sigh of relief. He’d hoped to get it right; indeed, everything had been done with his husband’s probable wishes in mind, from the bigness of the bed to its dangling crocheted hearts.

Canadion had taken a seat on the bed while he took in the simple arrangement of the room, and after giving him a moment to fill up his gaze, Thiriston came to sit beside him.

‘I thought, we could get you out of your clothes...’ he said, putting an arm around his spouse. The penneth settled in against him.

‘I like that idea, my husband.’

‘I can wash you and dry you carefully.’

‘Yes, please...’

‘Then I will anoint your injuries...’

‘And where are your clothes, meanwhile?’ Canadion fluttered his eyelashes. ‘You did not mention your own undressing, and if you are going to wash me...’

‘Yes. Nice new dress uniforms, wouldn’t do to spoil them.’

Thiriston slid off the bed to kneel at Canadion’s feet, gently tugging off his boots one by one, uncovering his feet and stroking over his exposed skin. Canadion wriggled his toes.

‘Ticklish?’

‘In a nice way.’

Thiriston stood up and unbuckled his knife belt, removing it. His dress coat followed, the tunic and his own boots so that he was clad in just leggings and shirt, holding out his hands to pull Canadion to his feet and begin to unfasten his garments.

‘I can manage my own shirt lacings, husband!’

‘I know, but why should you have to? Why don’t you untie mine?’

Thiriston stood for his husband’s ministrations, watching the long and clever fingers undo the knots of the lacing on his shirt. His own hands were still now, currently holding Canadion’s waist lightly and feeling the warmth of his skin through the linen. His groin ached, his heart ached...

Canadion stilled his hands, resting them against Thiriston’s chest, and kissed the corner of his mouth tenderly.

‘Married.’

‘Yes, penneth. Married. I am yours.’

‘We are each other’s.’ Canadion smiled and slid his hands down to begin on Thiriston’s other laces. ‘Oh, these leggings are so tight-fitting...!’

Thiriston chuckled while desire danced and jittered and pawed at him. 

‘Not when I put them on, they weren’t. You have this effect on me.’

‘I am pleased to hear it.’

‘And it looks like you’re in several sizes too small yourself... however am I going to get you out of these...?’

‘Oh, I am sure you will think of something...’

Thiriston slid his thumbs inside the waist of Canadion’s leggings and pulled, slowly caressing him with his fingers as the fabric edged towards the floor. Soon Canadion was resting on Thiriston’s shoulders for support as he stepped out of the clothing, his undergarments following so that he stood naked and leaned in to embrace his husband while his own hands were busy at Thiriston’s leggings, urgently fighting to free his husband from the fabric and feel skin on skin.

‘I love you, love you Thiriston,’ 

‘Love you too, my Canadion. Are you done?’

‘Except for my token.’ He lifted his wrist to smile at the interlaced heart-shaped dragon scales. ‘I hope it is waterproof, for I am loath to take it off.’

‘It will be fine,’ Thiriston assured him.

‘Good. Yours, too, the water will not spoil it.’

‘Glad to hear it. Because, well... it’s just... everything about it, love, what you had to do to get it... and it’s clever, and perfect. Just like you. Now, come on.’

‘Are you sure you would not like a little lie down first? Bits of your body would, I can tell...’

‘You’re looking in need of a little attention yourself, sweetheart. But I’ve been thinking about getting you in here all day...’

‘Really?’

Leaving the rest of his clothes where they had fallen, Thiriston took hold of his husband’s hand and led him through the bedroom to another door. 

‘You’ll like this. I hope. Hanben installed it for us, specially. It’s been checked, it’s quite safe...’

‘And what is it? Up there, that spout... it looks like... like the fitting from a watering can that the gardeners use...’

‘So, there is a lever, and you turn it slowly until the...well, the rain starts...’

‘Really?’

‘Go on, turn it.’

Canadion did so and let out a little shriek as water tinkled down.

‘Ai, look! Somewhere behind the wall is a giant watering can just for us!’

Thiriston laughed and adjusted the lever so there was a better flow. 

‘Get in, then. I asked specially for a nice, big area so we could us it together.’

‘Oh, I... this is... Ah, Thiriston!’

Warm water rained down, noisy as it hit the stone walls and floor, splashing off faces and shoulders, hair and arms. Thiriston found the soap and lathered his hands, smoothing them over Canadion’s beautiful skin, stroking and washing and the water from above doing interesting things, dropletting on his husband’s face, sprinkling his eyelashes, demanding to be kissed away. Silky water and loving hands, sighs drowned out by the sound of the reverberating rain and warmth all around... Canadion relaxed under Thiriston’s sure touch, delighting in the new sensations and, pushing his body close against his husband’s erection, rose into a kiss.

Thiriston plied the soap and tried to find space between their bodies without breaking the loving contact of their lips and tongues. He turned his hips slightly and was able to find the long hardness of his beloved’s arousal, toying and playing gently, savouring the slide of soap on skin, stroking and lingering and sweeping and all the while Canadion was moaning into the kiss and pushing hard against him, shuddering and clutching until he jerked and spasmed, spilling across Thiriston’s hand, their close-held bellies.

The kiss continued as Canadion sighed into Thiriston’s mouth and softened against him, his hands caressing as he relaxed and calmed and felt himself being gently washed where he had ejaculated across his own body.

‘You are so amazingly good to me,’ he whispered as Thiriston rinsed him clean.

‘Well, I love you, of course. It’s my job.’

‘Only I splattered you, a bit, I think... give me that soap?’

Thiriston chuckled.

‘What do you have in mind, penneth?’

‘I do like this watering can,’ Canadion said, washing over Thiriston’s belly and allowing his hands to dip and fondle and brush and squeeze. 

Thiriston tipped back his head and gasped. Both Canadion’s hands were busy, his touch silken and smooth, and Thiriston’s senses swam with love and desire. The touches changed, became briefly more business-like, and then Canadion was moving, pushing at Thiriston’s thighs and lowering himself to sit on the wet stone floor, his hands sweeping around to fold about Thiriston’s buttocks and pull towards him.

Canadion nuzzled and kissed and licked and sucked, Thiriston dropping a hand to stroke his hair, brush an ear-tip with his thumb and with a soft little sound, Canadion took him fully into his mouth, tongue working, hands caressing, pulling away and sliding forward and all the while the hot needles of water hissing and dancing and adding to the sensations until the fire in Thiriston’s loins was too much and he groaned, and thrust, and Canadion’s mouth filled with the heat of his need, swallowing, relaxing the pressure, slowly releasing to rest his face against Thiriston’s groin and snuggle in while the big hands softly stroked his wet hair.

‘Married, then.’

‘Married, maethor-nin.’

‘Let’s get you up of that wet floor. Got your bruises to attend to.’

‘All right... Can you help? I am a little wobbly, of a sudden.’

Thiriston shut off the flow of water and scooped Canadion up from the floor, helping him over the raised edge of the washing cascade. There were towels waiting and he set him on his feet and swathed him in them in them, steadying him.

‘Just lean there a moment.’

Letting Canadion rest against the wall, he wrapped a towel around his own waist and squeezed out the excess of water from his hair. He lifted his husband in his arms once more and carried him out into the bedroom.

‘I thought you were going to lay me down on the rug by the fire?’

‘If it pleases you, of course. You keep your eyes open this time, you’ll see the second room on your way through.’

‘I will look at our new rooms properly tomorrow. I just want to look at you.’

The fire had been banked, and it only took a moment or two for Thiriston to wake it up once he had Canadion placed on the rug and with cushions from the settle to pad him. The flames crackling brightly, he settled at Canadion’s back and curled around him, holding sweetly close.

They lay quietly together for a few moments, savouring the quiet of the room, the play of the firelight... Thiriston realised that if they didn’t move soon, Canadion would fall asleep where he was, and that would not do, not before his injuries had been tended.

‘Thank you for a fine day, penneth. For marrying me.’

‘It has indeed been wonderful.’ Canadion sighed and snuggled. ‘But so much to take in. Married.’

‘Married, indeed.’ Thiriston sat up carefully and pulled Canadion up to rest against him, lifting the strands of his wet hair and letting them fall so the warmth from the fire could begin to dry them. ‘I think you are tired out, my beloved, and I still have your bruises to tend.’

‘I am comfortable and warm.’

‘But the floor is hard, and after an hour, you will ache... but I can tend you here, I suppose. Lie down again, then; I will fetch the pouch Gaelbes gave me.’

Canadion drifted, gazing into the fire until Thiriston returned. Gentle hands removed the towels, adjusted his position, the soft, gruff voice of his husband-lover-fëa-mate soothing and relaxing him. The squeak and pop of a cork pulled free of its bottle and the sweet, heady fragrance of lavender expanding into the room. He smiled to himself.

‘Oh, good, for I am not that tired, my thalion...!’

‘For your bruises, my beautiful one,’ Thiriston said with a smile in his voice. ‘Let me know if it’s sore.’

Canadion tensed as oiled hands fingers contact with his sore shoulder. But there was such tenderness that there was no pain, just a sense of ease as the lavender soaked in.

‘That is wonderful. I can feel my body sighing with relief.’

‘Fading now. Day or two, these will just be shadows, penneth.’

‘I am glad; it must look awful.’

‘It looks like you were hurt, and that I don’t like to see. But it reminds me you’re brave, and you’ve gone through all this just to make me a token. I don’t deserve such sacrifice, believe me. Beautiful, always, more beautiful for all you’ve done for me. And this here...’ Thiriston stroked a finger lightly over a blue bruise above Canadion’s knee. ‘Same colour as one of the bands on my token. Amazing.’

He paused to drop a kiss on Canadion’s cheek.

‘Caul silk on top, now, two pieces, one for your shoulder, there, another over your hip. Does look sore your hip, looks too painful even for me to kiss it better...’

‘If you want to try...’

Thiriston chuckled and smoothed out the caul silk so that it adhered lightly to Canadion’s skin.

‘Come on, I’ll carry you through.’

‘No, not yet. Not if there’s any of that oil left. It’s very pleasant on the skin, you should try some.’

Canadion wriggled slowly onto his back, his eyes flirting over his beloved’s body.

‘It is wonderful to be married, but I want to feel more married,’ he said softly. ‘I want you inside my body, not only in my mouth. I want our two separate selves locked together, to feel you as close to me in body as we are in fëa... and I can see that you like the thought, it is obvious, my love, let me stroke lavender scent smoothly over you, take me and claim me and let me feel you deep inside...’

‘My sweet love, you’re tired; I fear to cause you discomfort. I...’

‘But I want you.’ 

Canadion lifted up onto his elbows, his eyes appealing. Thiriston sighed. Such glorious temptation... but the marks of his fall were everywhere on Canadion’s skin and to risk causing him pain...

‘I know what it is,’ Canadion said, his voice growing small and lost. ‘It is that I am... and you do not like to say... I am currently hideous, I look...’

He dropped back onto his back and turned his face away, his throat convulsing.

‘No, no, oh no, how can you think that, you are beautiful, always beautiful...’ Thiriston gathered him up into his arms, holding him carefully close. ‘It is only... you are injured... I would not hurt you...’

‘It would hurt me more to go unloved tonight,’ Canadion said, his shaking voice muffled against Thiriston’s chest. ‘And we didn’t last night, just touches and kisses in the bathing room which were lovely, but I hoped we were just waiting until we were married...’

Thiriston pressed his lips to Canadion’s silken hair, stroked his shoulders gently.

‘If you can think of any way that you will be comfortable...’

‘Lie on your back, and let me ride you. Or I will lie on my unbruised side, and you behind me that way,’ Canadion said. ‘I have been thinking about the how. I was hoping...’

‘Want to go to bed, then? It will be softer for you.’

Against Thiriston’s chest, Canadion clung and shook his head.

‘All right. We’ll stay here, by the fire. We’ll take our time and...’

Canadion moved suddenly, interrupting by fastening his mouth on Thiriston’s and pushing him down onto his back, his kiss demanding and hungry and his hips working against Thiriston’s pelvis to push and wriggle and demonstrate that he was in no condition to take his time, his desire palpable and insistent and Thiriston felt any wavering resistance fading in the heat of his husband’s urgency.

And, really, he wanted to. He was as desperate to bury himself in Canadion’s sweet body as his penneth was to be taken, it was only the fear that in the heat of the moment he might hold too hard onto his sore shoulder, grasp too tightly his bruised hip...

Canadion relinquished his mouth, changed position so that he was straddling his husband, looking down into that strong, fearless face. He reached for the oil, tipping a few drops into his hands and spreading it over his fingers and lifting up onto his knees to free Thiriston’s erection and anoint him. The soft and sensuous scent of the lavender brought a relaxed, dreamy quality to Thiriston’s senses and he felt those wonderful hands caressing him and took charge of the oil to smear it on his own fingers and reach around to delicately explore and toy with Canadion, easing a digit into the heated, willing body and watching his husband’s expression turn from desire to delighted hunger.

Canadion pushed onto the pressure, his hands busy.

‘Steady on, penneth, or there won’t be anything left for you to sit on.’

The seriousness of the mood fractured, and Canadion laughed and leaned over for a kiss.

‘I love to touch you,’ he said. ‘To fill my hands with you. And... Ooh, yes, my love... more, please... I’m ready...’

‘Another kiss first.’

‘I am ready now!’

‘And I really want a kiss...’

Somehow Canadion managed to arrange his body so that while he was kissing Thiriston, he was also able to position himself over his husband’s arousal once the teasing fingers had slid free. With delicate precision and slow care he inched himself downwards, savouring the moment when his body was breached by his lover’s, rocking to pull Thiriston further and further into himself, feeling his flesh expand and grasp around the steel hardness inside. He ended the kiss, grasping Thiriston’s lower lip between his teeth and tugging lightly before releasing him and moving to sit up, impaling himself further with a delicious moan that had Thiriston gasping at the sound.

‘Ah, you feel wonderful,’ Thiriston said, reaching out to trail his fingers over Canadion’s chest and down his belly to take hold of his erection. Canadion around him, Canadion inside his hand, he was just full of Canadion... ‘You are everywhere, in my heart and my fëa, in my grasp, in my dreams...’

‘Support me,’ Canadion said and grabbed Thiriston’s free hand, linking fingers and bracing against him. With some reluctance, Thiriston released Canadion’s erection to join that hand, to push as Canadion pushed, steadying him as he began to lift and lower and twist and thrust, every movement sensual, potent, every gasp and sigh connecting in Thiriston’s groin and racing his heartbeat as he felt himself pulled deeper and deeper, feeling the change as Canadion threw back his head and wailed as he moved, crying out chaotically and surrendering to bliss as he tightened suddenly around his beloved and dropped down to press his arousal between their two bodies, to release with a moan and a surge and the pulsing in time with his cries dragged Thiriston with him to a shuddering climax as he let go of Canadion’s hands and wrapped his arms about him, pulling him close and speaking his name, all his names, and the things he called him, brave and wonderful and lovely and love, love you, love, and Canadion whispering back forever and yours and only love you and so grateful...

It was a long while before either of them had the will, or the energy, to move, but finally Thiriston sighed as he slid free of Canadion’s body and sat up, pulling his husband against him.

‘Quick rinse off and time for bed, beloved penneth. Want me to carry you?’

Canadion sighed and kissed Thiriston gently on the cheek.

‘No, just help me up. Then I can manage.’

Canadion put his arm around his husband and permitted himself to be led through to the washroom. He allowed Thiriston to prop him against the wall of the washing cascade and gently clean him, but made only a token protest when Thiriston performed his own ablutions. Patted dry, he was led out again feeling relaxed and loved and fresh and wanting only to cuddle up against his spouse.

‘Stand a moment. Let me fold the covers back for you. There. In you get.’

‘Would it be all right if you left a candle burning in here, my Thiriston? Just the one? I always think, it feels like the end of a day, when all the candles and lamps are out, and...’

‘And you don’t want today to end. I know what you mean. Back in a minute, I need to bank the fire again, and lower the lamps in the other room. Don’t fall asleep yet.’

‘I won’t,’ Canadion said, watching his fëa-mate exit the room. He heard the sounds of the fire settling, Thiriston moving about.

‘Got something to tell you before you go to sleep, penneth,’ his husband called. ‘Stay awake a minute.’

‘Not going to sleep without you in my bed. Lovely bed, Thiriston. Soft and nice. Come join me.’

‘Good. Lamps are done. Just a minute, now.’ 

One by one the candles were extinguished, the smell of the smoky tallow heavy for a moment, until just one was left alight, standing on a broad stone ledge and lending a gentle reminder of light to the room. 

Thiriston slid into bed next to his husband.

‘Wanted to say, love you, husband, penneth, Canadion, love you,’ Thiriston said and kissed his young husband goodnight, lying still against the soft pillows while Canadion got comfortable against him with a happy sigh. ‘Beautiful, inside outside and everywhere else I can think of.’

‘Love you, my hero, my warrior, my Thiriston-husband. Thank you for every moment of today. And the bunting. My bunting... from Arwen, and...’

Canadion’s voice faded into a murmuring sigh.

Satisfied that his beloved had enjoyed his wedding day, Thiriston smiled and drifted into blissful reverie with his heart full of thankfulness and his arms full of love.


	303. 'Like Shouting Into The Wind...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor tries to talk to his wife...

There was a sense of hush around the palace complex the morning after the wedding. Its celebration coinciding with the Festival of Balancing, many of those who had not attended the private party had, instead, gone to the open-air festival of singing and wine that had lasted well into the early hours of the next day and had left more than one elf in need of another to prop them up on their way home.

Merenor, taking the morning meal in the area of the feasting hall set aside for the purpose, grinned at the jaded faces and heavy eyes around him. Ah well. They were elves, a drink, some food... they would be better by the middle day meal and ready to party again tonight.

Lucky them.

His thoughts drifted back to the night before, his mistaken pass at the innovator Hanben... what was it Hanben had said, a scoundrel as well as a rogue...?

Merenor quite liked the idea of being thought a rogue; in his village he was described as quiet and respectable, friendly and helpful and the sort of ellon your wife would be safe with.

True enough, of course. 

At the far end of the table, Caraphindir and Baudh were about to settle into seats. Merenor waved; they would be welcome company – but Baudh cast a glance over his shoulder and there was Cullasbes, sailing across the hall like a full-rigged ship, studiously ignoring Merenor and turning her seat as she reached the table so there was no possibility of eye contact with him.

Well, she was going to have to talk to him sooner or later. He would wait. 

The need to angrily confront her about Canadion was fading; it never did any good to rage at Cullasbes, she just looked at you as if you were something found beneath a rock and ignored everything said in a loud voice unless it was her own...

No, he would do what he had always done when Cullasbes had let him down; take her failure and mould it into his own success.

That was usually much more fun.

Of course, with Cullasbes, it was inevitable that there be an argument at some point, but it was so much more satisfying when you’d already achieved your aims and there was nothing she could do about it...

Still, in the interests of fair play, he owed to Canadion to try to settle things amicably, if possible.

For to his mind, it was quite simple; Merenor had agreed to live discreetly away as long as Cullasbes kept him informed of what was happening in Canadion’s life. This she had singularly failed to do, obviously more than once (he wondered what else besides promotions, dragons and finding true love had been kept from Merenor’s notice) and so he didn’t see why he should stick to his part of the bargain...

He finished his meal – oddly enough, he was losing his appetite – and rose from his seat to go across to his wife’s table.

Although she was pretending not to be able to see him, Cullasbes knew he was on his way and turned her back even more firmly. Merenor fixed his smile in place.

‘Good morning, family!’ he said brightly. ‘Was not yesterday the most perfect day for our Canadion?’

His sons greeted him, Caraphindir looking alarmed, but Baudh, more easy-going, looked ready to enjoy a conversation with his father.

‘Adar, yes, he looked so joyous! I like his spouse, I am sure they will be happy together.’

‘Cullasbes, good day to you...’

His wife set her shoulders even more implacably towards him. Ah well. He hadn’t thought it would be easy.

‘Something I need to talk to you about, Cullasbes,’ he said. ‘I know we...’

Her chair clattered loudly and she sailed off, somehow managing to do so without looking in his direction. Merenor sighed and sat down next to Baudh.

‘I’m truly not seeking to annoy your mother – but there’s something I should tell her before she finds out elsewhere.’

‘Ada?’ Caraphindir asked carefully. ‘Are you in trouble again?’

‘What? Me? Whyever would you think...? And, for your information, I have never been in trouble... except with your honoured Nana... Tell me, though. Did either of you know about these dragons?’

‘Just what was in the dispatches to the village. Nothing about Canadion, Ada, really,’ Caraphindir said.

‘If there had been, I would have tried to find out more,’ Baudh said with a shrug.

‘But your mother knew, and she didn’t let you know? Never mind that she didn’t let me know, that’s entirely like her... still, I hoped she might have said something to one of you... she didn’t?’

‘No, Ada.’

‘Because if there was a chance she did, and you’d forgotten, when I call her to answer for it, your Ada’s going to look pretty silly, isn’t he?’

‘We’re not that afraid of Naneth that we wouldn’t tell you,’ Baudh said. ‘Well, I am not.’

Merenor nodded.

‘Forgive me that I felt I should make sure. I will try once more to talk to her, for Canadion’s sake, for the sake of peace. But...’

‘Let me see if I can talk her round,’ Baudh suggested. ‘Although she will hardly listen to me, I am her joint-least favourite son...’

‘I’m not far ahead of you,’ Caraphindir said. ‘Melion, now, he’s the charmed one...’

‘Not fair to ask it of him,’ Baudh said.

‘Well, I’m not talking to Naneth when she’s in one of these moods!’

‘Lads, lads...’ Merenor made placating gestures. ‘It’s enough that she and I disagree, without disturbing our sons’ peace of mind, too. I’ll give her an hour, and then wander along and knock on her door. And then we will see what we will see. If neither of you are home, then you can’t get caught up in the mess, can you?’

*

Thiriston was warm. Very warm, and aware of a level of utter contentment he’d rarely felt before; he had an armful of Canadion and although it was no different from waking up yesterday morning, at the same time everything had changed.

As he blinked his eyes clear he saw the dangling pink and lilac hearts wrapped around the bedposts and suspended from the cross beams overhead; after weeks of Canadion’s fretting about Arwen’s blessed bunting, the penneth had tried so hard yesterday not to mention it that Thiriston had almost felt guilty about keeping it a surprise. But that was Canadion; the little things, the small kindnesses seemed to matter to him. 

Thiriston realised he was going to need to move soon and possibly disturb his lovely armful. A comfort break, ordering breakfast (such a luxury, a servant for the corridor, to bring their meals and take away their laundry and light the outside lamps) and helping Canadion get ready for the day... for which, of course, his armful of delight would have to be awake anyway.

Thiriston slid his arm free of the bedding and lifted it high so he could once more look at his token.

In the soft light of the dim room it had a lovely gleam to it, the colours glossy and almost vibrating. It fitted snuggly, the pivots (mithril, actual mithril holding it together!) smooth and elegant. Amazing, the work, the imagination that had gone into it.

‘So you really like it, then?’ a sleepy voice murmured and Thiriston grinned.

‘Good morning, husband and yes, I really do.’

‘Hmm. Look at me, waking up next to a married ellon...’

‘And as I’m the married ellon in question, penneth, you’re excused. Kiss me, then.’

‘Gladly.’

Presently, disengaging from the kiss, Thiriston eased out of bed.

‘Comfort break. Back soon.’

Returning from the washroom, Thiriston reached for leggings.

‘If you want to play with the washing cascade this morning, I will need to get the fire going and make sure there is enough water in the tank. Or we could go to the bathing pool along the corridor.’

‘That sounds like fun.’

‘Well, you get some towels together for us and I’ll bespeak our breakfast. What would you like?’

‘Everything. And if there is food, then I am really hungry.’

‘Back soon.’

Once Thiriston had left, Canadion stretched delightedly and eased out of the bed. The candle they had left burning was down to a stump now in a little puddle of melted and hardened wax... the night of the wedding was over, but the first day of married life had begun with kind words and a kiss. It was a nice thought.

And now Thiriston was not here to draw his eye, Canadion looked around... so much space! Just the bedroom was huge, perhaps seeming more so as there was no furniture in other than the bed and a shelf or two hewn into the walls. A window there was, cut deep into the rock at chest height and covered by a blind that folded up out of the way and let in a soft light when you pulled a string; Canadion wondered who had thought of it but lost interest as he found himself looking out at the dappled morning of a glade in the forest.

He went to explore the washroom which he now realised was divided in two; the washing cascade took up most of one end with a wall dividing it off and a heavy curtain of the same water-repellent fabric used for tents rigged to prevent splashes. Their own cubicle for personal needs (that was another thing they had liked about the guest quarters, no need to trot through the corridors to the latrines in the night). Washbasin and ewer on a stone table hewn from the rock, clean towels stacked at the side.

He gathered several and carried them through, leaving the sleeping chamber and at last exploring the rest of his new home. The bedroom was separated from the passage with a fabric hanging at its near end, an opening let into one side of the corridor similarly screened. Another window (just for the passage!) and a door to lead into the big living room. He set the towels down on the settle, backtracked to look at the second room.

By no means was it small, and a shaft of brightness indicated a lightwell above and illuminating a pair of beds pushed close together; warrior issue, and from the looks of them, not just any...

‘Are you there?’ Thiriston’s voice called from the outer room.

‘I am in here.’

‘Ah.’ Thiriston arrived and put his arm around Canadion’s shoulder. ‘They said we could bring the beds from our old rooms. Some joking about them not being fit for anyone else after us two, I pretended it was funny anyway...’

Canadion headed for the nearest bed, pulling Thiriston onto it.

‘This was yours, the way it creaks!’

‘Yes. Mind, yours wasn’t much better, I remember. Squeaked a bit.’

‘This was a good idea, to bring them.’ Canadion wriggled to bring himself on top of his husband. ‘It will remind us how things used to be. A new home to go with our new status, how exciting!’

‘Still work to do, of course. Moving our things. We’ll need a couple of trunks, somewhere for our uniforms...

‘The weapons chests could go over there...’

‘Yes. Maybe we could have this for our work room – uniforms and weapons and kit – and the big bedroom just for not-work stuff.’

‘Just for sleep and love and cuddling. That would be nice. But what is all this, why...?’

‘New initiative,’ Thiriston said, holding Canadion lightly and taking a moment to kiss him. ‘This area’s being refurbished. They’re renaming it the Dragons Wing and it’s for the warriors of the three companies. Bigger rooms – these are married quarters, and they picked us out the best as we’re first in... there’s room for another couple and three singles in this corridor, shared bathing pool, shared common room. None of the other rooms are ready yet, there’s going to be an announcement and things.’

‘And we are first in?’

‘Wedding present, I think. Or unwitting volunteers to test the system. Or to encourage other... what are they calling us now? Ah, that’s it... ‘modern couples’ in the guard to be less shy about their attachments.’

‘Oh. Are we... are we fashionable?’

Thiriston shuddered.

‘Hope not. Let’s get to the bathing pool. Breakfast will be here in a half hour, and then one of the healers will come to look you over later.’

‘Half an hour will not be long enough.’

‘They’ll leave the food outside on a tray. If it’s cold, it’s cold. Come on, then.’

*

Merenor found his way to the gardens and walked in the fresh air for a while, marshalling his thoughts. There were a few elves about, some of them looking as if they had enjoyed the previous evening a little too well... people greeted him, he spoke pleasantly in turn, but he did not seek to engage in conversation; he was too busy running through his upcoming confrontation with Cullasbes in his mind.

He had to confront her, of course; she had broken their agreement and he could not let her get away with it.

Perhaps that was the trouble; over the centuries he had let her get away with too much, trying to make things easy for her and instead making them hard for everyone else, it seemed...

Better not to start with a row. Better start with the results of her neglect and move on to the main point before she could begin screeching... 

He found his way to their old rooms easily enough even after so long away... if a part of him was surprised she still lived there, now all the children were living away, another part of him wasn’t surprised at all... these were prime quarters, apparently, much sought after.

Well, that might change soon. Before he’d ruined his chances with Hanben last night, he’d been listening to grand schemes for new quarters, better homes, more pleasant living. Washing cascades for all who wanted them.

No doubt there would be some who didn’t want them, who would insist instead that rain should come from the Valar, not from a spout in the wall.

Taking a breath and reminding himself to be pleasant and gentle, he knocked on the door.

Baudh opened it with a grimace. ‘Ada...’

‘Ion-nin, hello again. You know why I’m here. I need to talk to your mother.’

‘Adar, I’m sorry. She said she had to go out.’

Did she really go out, or was she making Baudh say that? But to ask would be to put Baudh in an awkward position. Something about his son’s wording though... why not say ‘she’s out’, why...? Merenor slid his eyes past his son, peering into the rooms. He raised a brow enquiringly and Baudh gave the smallest of nods. Aha...!

‘What time will she be back, my son?’

‘I do not know.’ Baudh grinned suddenly and raised his voice. ‘Naneth, when will you be back?’

A startled expletive from somewhere inside the rooms and Merenor grinned delightedly. He bowed his head in acknowledgment to his son who stood aside for him to enter.

‘Do not worry, Adar, I will stay to make sure things do not get too heated.’

‘No, I don’t want you drawn in, Baudh. Feel free to leave. Run away. Hide; it’s really fine.’

‘Wouldn’t miss it for anything!’ Baudh grinned.

Cullasbes was in her sitting room, standing by a door in the far wall.

‘I have nothing to say to you, Merenor! Turning up here and setting all in an uproar with your...your behaviour...’

‘Well, that sounds like quite a lot to say, really. But I haven’t come for an argument, I just want to tell you something...’

‘I am not staying to listen!’ she said, and stalked through the other door, fastening it behind her.

Merenor sighed. ‘I tried, Baudh; you will note, I tried, I did not come in shouting or being unpleasant... so that’s twice I’ve made an attempt to talk and been pushed back. It is like shouting into the wind, except at least that’s refreshing... I will leave, but thank you for trying.’ 

‘Ada – what was it you wanted to say to Naneth?’ 

Merenor shook his head, managing to find a chuckle.

‘Oh, no. If she won’t hear it from me, I’m not going to make you pass it on. I’ll see you later, I hope. Try not to mind your mother too much; I suppose I was a bit of a disappointment to her.’

Outside in the corridor, Merenor gave himself a little shake and had to admit, it could have been a lot worse. As it was, he’d managed not to have to tell Cullasbes his intention and so she would be in for a lovely surprise...

So. Next stop, King’s Office.

He wondered if that stunning dark-haired Noldo would be on duty there today...


	304. Seeking Employment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor has an interesting talk with Arveldir...

Arveldir looked up at the knock on his door to see Erestor there, smiling slightly but with a rather dazed expression on his face.

‘Erestor? You do not need to knock, mellon-nin!’

‘I do today. There is a person in need of advice and I do not have enough knowledge of the ways of the palace yet to feel confident to speak on the topic... Master Merenor is waiting in the outer office...’

‘Merenor?’  
‘And he has already invited me to lunch with him one day, if I am free. I told him, I was most certainly not...’

‘I hope you were not inconvenienced; it seems to be his way. At least he has good taste. But no, you most assuredly are not free to lunch with Master Merenor! If you are ever free for the day meal I would wish you to take it with me.’

Erestor gave his small smile and inclined his head, his eyes amused.

‘I did hint that I was happily occupied elsewhere. But may I show him in?’

‘Yes, you had better do so. And stay, will you? I wonder what he wants... other than to disrupt the entire palace with his flirtatious ways?’

Presently Erestor returned and announced the visitor. Arveldir inclined his head in greeting.

‘Master Merenor, good morning. How may the King’s Office help you today?’

Erestor eased a chair out and Arveldir waved Merenor to sit. The ellon smiled as he took the seat.

‘Well, as I’m sure you remember, once my sons had reached their majority, I moved to a village to the far south of the forest to be closer to the focus of the business. Charming though the place is, I now feel I have spent long enough, bringing my skills to bear on my wife’s trading interests, and now I would really like to return to the lifestyle I formerly enjoyed, and I will need something to do...’

‘A moment, Master Merenor... do I understand you aright? You are seeking a postition?’

‘Oh, I have private funds, I am happy to make whatever contribution to my keep is required if I cannot find gainful employment, but I do like to be busy... if you happen to know of any openings...?’

‘Indeed, I am sure it would be better for the entire palace to have you occupied...’ Arveldir muttered. ‘Did you have something in mind, or shall I just guess what you might be good at?’

Merenor smiled broadly.

‘Now, that might be interesting! Well, if you recall, in my younger days I was loosely attached to the Royal Elk Tamers.’ Merenor’s smile twinkled out. ‘There are peculiarities to elk temperament, they are easily bored... I designed and made the more specialised equipment for them; training harness, environmental stimuli... that sort of thing. Mind you, I’m not sure the Elk Tamers would want me back and, really, I’d rather be based in the palace nearer to my son.’

‘But what of your current enterprise?’

‘Mistress Cullasbes is fond of saying any fool could run it. I actually left rather a good elleth in charge; it will be fine.’

‘There is nothing I can think of... only serving work, and I would not expect... or labouring, there is much construction and adaption taking place as some of the rooms are refurbished... or the guard... but...’

‘But if Master Merenor is clever at design...’ Erestor put in, ‘did not Hanben say the Division of Innovation really needs more staff, and he couldn’t be relying on the guard to assist with testing his inventions all the time?’ 

‘It is a possibility... Do you know Master Hanben?’

‘Hanben?’ Without wishing to cause any embarrassment to the innovator, but delighted at the prospect of working with him, Merenor framed his answer with care. ‘We met at the party last night, he was interested in something Glorfindel’s sweetheart said about a boat failing... yes. Very helpful fellow, went out of his way to explain how to get the washing cascade working in my quarters... it went awry unfortunately and the poor chap had to walk home with his coat all wet...’

‘Dear me! But could you work for him, perhaps? Would you be content in what is effectively an assistant’s post?’

‘Oh, I think you’ll find I’m pretty much used to being told what to do... If he thinks I’m suitable, of course.’

‘Very good; I will speak to him later and we will be in touch. One thing more... I wish to clarify a point with you, Erestor and I have a private understanding. But just because it is not widely known does not mean I will not enact extreme reprisals on anyone who behaves inappropriately or disrespectfully towards him, I do hope you take my meaning?’ 

‘Indeed, and I beg Master Erestor’s pardon. I will keep my admiration private in future, my lords.’

Preparing a proper smile of dismissal, Arveldir was surprised to see Merenor still seated. ‘Was there something else?’

‘Yes... it is awkward, but I do not know who else to ask... wonderful though yesterday’s wedding was, and much though I approve of Canadion’s fëa-mate – it was not the union I was quite expecting...’ Merenor frowned. He really did like the big, bluff elf who so obviously doted on his son, but... ‘You see, when I left for the southern posting, I thought all my sons were settled and happy or on the way to being so. Canadion had been of age some four decades and had a friend in the guard. Canadion was in the guard, too, a good idea, I thought, even if it was to spend more time with this new friend... I liked the lad in question, though, he was clever and thoughtful, not afraid to be himself, discreetly; I would not have minded in the slightest had it ended up being more than a friendship, one day. So to learn Canadion was marrying another ellon... I don’t see how I can ask my son in case it causes distress, or makes things uneasy between him and his spouse...’

Arveldir’s face closed down as Merenor spoke and so he fell silent.

‘Master Arveldir?’

‘I know who you mean, although sadly I cannot speak his name...’

‘What?’

‘I do not know how you did not hear; dispatches were sent afterwards, although... Well. Whilst you were in the south, you must have known there was trouble from orcs and spiders, yes?’

‘Some distance from us but, yes... I got back from a trading trip and heard that the guard came out and took care of them... one poor fellow died and the archer left with him was screaming when they found him, they said, and... No. Sweet Eru, no...’

Merenor suddenly looked old, haggard.

‘Your son was very brave and stood guard over his friend for days. But his recovery from the horror of his experiences was slow. In cases like your son’s, it is policy to allow family members to break the news once the closest relative has been informed...’

‘That bright young fellow, lost, and my son, ill...? and Cullasbes never told me...? I wonder if my other sons knew or...?

‘Melion was a constant source of strength, I understand. He and his wife both supported Canadion afterwards.’

Merenor took a breath, visibly gathering his energies together.

‘Forgive me, my lord; I am grateful to you, but it is a shock. I was expecting to hear perhaps the other had left, or even married – sadly those were still the days when many such sons were expected to marry to please their parents, I hope we know better now... I should have been told, I would have come home... I should have been here...’

Arveldir nodded sympathy.

‘I think perhaps the King’s Office will look into the possibility of official notifications should such a need arise in future; it will not make matters better for you, Merenor, but you may find comfort in knowing that, in future, others will not find themselves in your position.’

‘Yes, I think that would be a comfort, of sorts. Would you happen to know, is there somewhere in the palace where I might swear copiously without annoying anyone?’

‘Nelleron,’ Erestor suggested, drawing an enquiring glance from Merenor. ‘That is, Master Merenor, the stables where his majesty’s riding elk, Nelleron is housed. He is a very astute listener. And, since you said you were attached to the Royal Elk Tamers...’

‘My thanks,’ Merenor said, and with an effort tried to resume his previous light-hearted manner. ‘I do not suppose you would like to show me the way, my lord?’

‘I rather think you already know the way, Master Merenor,’ Erestor said with a glance at Arveldir that showed his friend was enjoying this. ‘But I will see if someone is available... I think Parvon is around somewhere...’

*

It was almost time for the day meal when Healer Gaelbes presented herself at the end of West Two where she had been told Canadion and Thiriston had their new home. A servant came out from a room near the gates and took her along to the right door, knocking on it for her before departing swiftly.

Gaelbes had never attended a newly-wed at home before, and wasn’t quite sure of the proper protocol for such things. She felt a sudden surge of inadequacy; Nestoril would have known, she was sure, exactly how professional to be, how friendly, whether or not to allude to the wedding... All told, Gaelbes decided, it was probably better if she pretended it was just another home visit. After all, Canadion and Thiriston had been acknowledged as a couple for a while now.

‘Healer, good day to you.’ Thiriston opened the door and held it for her to enter. ‘Our thanks for attending him here.’

‘It is a long way through the corridors to our halls, Captain, and I understand your husband didn’t want another trip in Hanben’s person-barrow.’

‘Can’t say I blame him. This way.’

Gaelbes’ eyes widened as she followed Thiriston past the sitting room and along a passage to the bedchamber beyond. She felt a little uneasy as he held back the curtain for her; surely they had spent their wedding night here, was it fitting that she be in this room? And yet all seemed tidy, which made her then worry that matters might have been difficult, with Canadion’s injuries... not her place to pry, however.

Canadion was resting on the bed and smiled at her.

‘Good morning, Healer Gaelbes!’

‘Canadion, hello. How are you feeling... your injuries, that is?’

Thiriston, in the doorway, hid a smile. 

‘Will be in the sitting room when you’re done.’

Setting out her healing kit on the foot of the bed – there were no sidetables or surfaces to hand – Gaelbes smiled and helped Canadion uncover his injuries. The scent of lavender was strong on his skin and beneath the caul silk pads, the bruises were beginning to fade.

‘Thiriston has been diligent with the treatment I sent with him, I can tell.’

‘Indeed, Gaelbes, it was lovely.’ Canadion’s grin was rather too broad, and he flushed slightly. ‘That is, the healing properties of lavender are well known and I found it very soothing.’

‘Well, it is working, your bruises are fading fast and you should be much more comfortable soon. I would advise against a return to duty for a little while, though.’

‘We have both been granted ten days’ married leave, so that is not a problem.’

‘Good. How is the pain in your hip when I manipulate the joint like this...?’

‘Sore. Very sore, but no longer such that I would bite your fingers off to stop you prodding...’

‘I beg your pardon, Captain; I am done. You may begin to walk more now, if you are comfortable to do so, too... If you are happy to have your husband tend you, I will see you at the halls in two days, yes? You will have enough lavender oil left?’

Canadion tipped his head, almost as if shy.

‘Well... I think Thiriston did not know how much to use so he used... lots. Perhaps if you have more...?’

‘Really? Well, I will send along another bottle. And I will leave you to your rest. Congratulations again on your wedding, Captain.’

Thiriston showed the Healer out and went back to the bedroom to find Canadion wearing nought but his smile and patting the rich blue bedspread invitingly.

‘Since Gaelbes is sending along another bottle of oil, thalionen, we have plenty to spare... should we make sure we have the way of applying it correctly?’

*

‘You wish me to do what?’ Hanben asked, his voice incredulous. ‘My lord Arveldir, you cannot have thought...’

‘I wish you to consider whether Master Merenor would be a useful addition to the Office of Innovation; he has experience in...’

‘No, and no, and again, no. I will not! You cannot compel me! I will complain to the king if you try!’

‘Why, whatever is the matter, mellon-nin?’ Arveldir said calmly. ‘You have been saying more help is needed with your projects, and this ellon is in need of occupation...’

‘Because he is... did you not hear the tale of last night, my lord? He lured me to his quarters under false pretences, saying he did not understand the washing cascade, and then provoked it to malfunction so that I was drenched...’

‘Well now, Hanben, Merenor did say there was an incident... but he spoke most respectfully of your willingness to help and general kindness... If I may speak freely, Merenor was loud in his admiration of several ellyn last night, and seemed keen to... ah... make new friends... he even invited Erestor to take the day meal with him... if there was any little awkwardness, a misunderstanding perhaps... he is as one new to the palace, after all... would you care to tell me what happened...?’

‘He... Merenor... after I got soaked, he bundled me up in a towel – and offered me a drink, and then...’

‘Yes?’

Hanben deflated. Without going into every nuance of Merenor’s behaviour, his tone, his expression, there really was not that much to tell... and he found he did not wish to spoil Arveldir’s good opinion of the ellon... after all, no harm had been done.

Nothing had come of it.

‘He apologised and I went home.’

‘I see. And is it his ineptitude with the washing cascade which makes you reticent to employ him? Perhaps it was simply the end of a long and exciting day which held much wine and beer making Master Merenor a little less able than, perhaps, when he is sober?’

‘It is...possible,’ Hanben conceded.

‘When it was suggested to him that there may be an opening in your office, he seemed most interested. He said he would not have any difficulties being told what to do... would you not, at least, consider a trial period? A week, perhaps, no more to begin?’

‘...you see, I...’ 

Hanben paused. Arveldir was wearing his friendly take-no-prisoners expression and, besides, the innovator was beginning to feel just a little wistful about the good-humoured married ellon with the laughing, glinting gold-edged eyes...

‘You could, perhaps, find some of the least-pleasant jobs for him to start with? Make sure he is committed...?’ Arveldir suggested. ‘And while I have you here, you were enquiring about a possible incident with one of your boats... Erestor has a full report waiting for you in his office.’

‘Oh, good, the report... Very well. One week, I will see how well we might work together. He may present himself at my door after the breakfast hour tomorrow. But the Office of Innovation is no place for a clash of personalities.’

‘Good, thank you. But as to that – Merenor is used to difficult personalities...’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Not that I intended to imply you were at all difficult, Hanben, quite the opposite, in fact. But Merenor has been married to Cullasbes for more than a millennium. And there has still been no kinslaying.’

‘One can only admire the lady’s restraint...’

Arveldir laughed.

‘Ah, Hanben, I am sure you two could work well together... thank you for your help. And for your time.’

Hanben nodded and exited the room, holding the door on his way for someone approaching from outside, so Arveldir was unsurprised when Parvon, back from his escort duty with Merenor, made his entrance.

‘Your pardon, but there has been another complaint; it was handed to me in person as I made my way through the palace.’

‘Another? That makes... nine so far?’

‘This is more in the nature of a petition; it has been signed by many persons; the total is now upward of a score, my lord.’

Arveldir held out his hand for the note and scanned it, shaking his head.

‘This is ridiculous! Who would have thought...? Does this sort of mind-set still exist? It is no good, the king will have to clarify the situation publicly... it is two days to the next open audience, he will be mobbed if something is not done...’ He shook his head, sighing. ‘It is no good; swamped as I am in the aftermath of the wedding, I will have to meet with his majesty again today. Please arrange to send a note to our king begging the honour of a meeting with him during his normally private hours. And let me know what response there is.’

He sighed again as Parvon exited the room... and he had only just made tentative plans with Erestor for the day meal... 

Well, it looked now as if it was going to have to be a working lunch.


	305. Elk and Interview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor is not the only one seeking Nelleron's company...

Merenor, Parvon noted, was a very different ellon today than the one who had first flirted, and then spoken kindly to him the previous night; he was subdued, his good mood apparently forced. It did not look as if overindulgence in the good Dorwinion was to blame, either. It seemed a shame that so bright a spirit should have been somehow dulled.

‘Your pardon, sir, but is all quite well?’ he asked, concerned.

‘Parvon, forgive me. It has been brought home to me again, this morning, how much I have missed while work kept me away... perhaps I have a guilt-hangover, in much the same way others today are suffering from an excess of wine... But never mind me! You are much more interesting! Tell me, have you worked for the King’s Office for long?’

‘Since my majority; I was apprenticed first as a scribe more than twenty decades ago, but then worked my way up to be assistant to the chief advisor’s assistant... I have been in my present role, attached directly to Lord Arveldir’s office, for several decades now. In fact, he left me in nominal charge when he went away with the king recently.’

‘That’s a lot of responsibility for one so young; by which I mean, of course, that you must be very good at your job. Has the arrival of Master Erestor changed things for you at all?’

‘Indeed, matters are far more interesting now; Master Erestor is working as advisor to the prince, and I have the opportunity to watch first-hand the shaping of a good working relationship from a master. Also, the workload is a little less. Not that I am complaining as to how it is generally, you understand.’

‘Of course not. Do tell me, how long has there been an Office of Innovation?’

‘A few months; it could be less.’

‘Really? And in so short a space of time, Master Hanben has invented all these things?’

‘It seems he has been inventing all his life; he has simply not had the resources allocated to him before to make them reality, I understand. Here is the path to the stables. Nelleron’s housing is the block to the right, with the paddock attached. He is partial to both dried strawberries and dried blackberries, but his handlers prefer him to have the blackberries, I understand, at least those who have the mucking out to deal with.’ Parvon bowed. ‘And so, I will leave you here and return to my duties; we are busy today in the wake of the celebrations.’

‘Well, Master Parvon, my thanks for your assistance.’

‘The King’s Office is glad to be of service to the father of one of our heroes, Master Merenor.’

The stables were quiet at this time of day, the morning routine having been completed. Merenor found his way to the food store and pocketed a handful of dried blackberries from the container before heading to Nelleron’s housing.

The elk was presently in his stall, rubbing an antler idly against the wall of his stable, it making a satisfyingly loud hollow grating noise which was accompanied by an unexpected chiming and tinkling. This caused Merenor great puzzlement until Nelleron looked up at his approach, displaying several bells hanging from his antlers.

‘And they said I was being disrespectful, wanting to make toys for you fellows!’ Merenor said. ‘Just look at you with your bells on!’

The elk tossed his head and came over hopefully, perhaps scenting blackberries.

‘Are you like to spike me, if I do not treat you with courtesy, my fine fellow? Or can I tempt you to a treat?’ 

Presenting the morsel on his flat-held palm, Merenor waited for Nelleron to decide whether or not he was in the mood for a snack... apparently so, and soon Nelleron was allowing his muzzle to be stroked and his neck scratched.

‘You know, when I asked if there was somewhere I could go for a good swear, I really did not think there would be somewhere... now, of course, I am calmed down, and swearing will do no good, besides... but what is this, what has happened to your points, here? It looks like a broken tip... Ah, was this where you fought off the dragon? Yes, I have heard that tale...’

Merenor held out another morsel.

‘Truly, I had forgotten how much I liked being around you and your kin. There is something very dependable about an elk. Unlike me, I am not to be depended upon, a dreadful husband, so I am told... I always thought I made up for that by being a loving father, well, and what use is that if one is from home when one is needed? And nobody sends for you because they are sure you will be equally useless to one’s son as to one’s wife... and I suppose I have only myself to blame... my poor littlest one...’ Merenor broke off to sigh and rest his forehead against Nelleron’s neck. 

The creature bore the intimacy with stoic disregard.

‘You are right, I am being silly and self-indulgent! Last night I saw him happy, shining with delight, and loved, and I know he will be cared for and has someone to love... but I should have been here. I never wanted to call him Canadion, you know; it sounded to me as if we had given up, as if we were just counting, but Cullasbes said, well, after Melion, what else should we call him? If only he’d been a girl, she said. But he’s beautiful, I said, perfect, and he still is. I only had the naming of Caraphindir, and she didn’t like that, oh no... so poor Baudh... a judgement? Yes, Cullasbes, a judgement on you for being so blind as to want what you can’t have and not delight in what you’ve got... I would have called them all something joyous and delightful... perhaps they would not have thanked me, I may have got carried away... I always liked the idea of a son called Hwinneron... to be one who is giddy, whirling... now, that would suit my Canadion, I think, he was a little maelstrom of delight, when he was very small... I should have stayed my ground and been home more. But work... Well, fool that I am! Perhaps Cullasbes would have gone out to do the work and left me in charge of the elflings... it would not have been so bad, we waited for each to grow up before we asked for the blessing of another...’

*

On his way to visit his riding elk and perhaps shake off some of the drag of the day in fresh air and the forest, Thranduil halted. There was a voice from Nelleron’s stall; his elk had company.

Was not that Merenor’s voice? But why was Canadion’s father talking to Nelleron? And what right did he have to do so? 

Torn between anger and curiosity, Thranduil approached quietly.

*

Nelleron chimed softly, head-butting Merenor in the hopes of more snacks. 

‘I don’t suppose you get much say in your own love life, do you? Not if I remember right, bloodlines and breeding and all that. Cullasbes would have had another, did you know that? A fifth child, just in case it was a girl... and, do you know what she said? She had the gall to say that, if I had married her instead of just making short vows, if I had done it properly, the Valar would have given us the daughter we wanted... We wanted? We? No, she wanted, I only ever wanted happy elflings... I suppose I did get that, some of the time. And they are all such fine sons...’

Nelleron threw up his head and gave a raspy call; it gave Merenor warning enough to school his face into a semblance of its usually pleasant expression before he turned and dropped to his knees, bowing his head to his king.

‘And what secrets, pray, have you been sharing with my elk? My personal riding elk, that is?’

‘Your majesty, good day to you! Ai, Lord Erestor said he was a good listener, this fellow, and so he proves! But your pardon – nothing was said of needing permission, or of course I would have asked...’

‘Get up, please, the floor of the stable and clean breeches do not mix well! Since I could not help but hear, forgive my asking, but did I hear you aright, Merenor? You are not formally married to Cullasbes?’

‘Strictly speaking, no. Since ours was a union to please others rather than ourselves, and neither of us had found our fëa-mates... we vowed just until death or circumstance divide us...’

‘And presumably, Master Merenor, living away in the south was division enough for you?’

Merenor smiled politely. 

‘In fact, sire, I behaved with the all the propriety demanded of a married ellon with several sons. Cullasbes has nothing to complain about there. Although, of course, that does not stop her... And, yes, I like to look, and all these new and fine faces...’

Thranduil did not seem to be listening; there was a hint of a frown around his brows.

‘You took lighter vows than I, and yet you call her your wife?’

‘I will admit to calling her many things, your majesty, including that. She felt that as a parent, it was her due; it sounded better to her friends. It became a habit with her...’ He broke off with a sigh and a shake of the head. ‘...and I now realise, belatedly as has been the case with so much these last few days, that this might have caused offence, sire, since you were never able to call your own lost lady so and if so, then I beg your pardon, that of you and she both, and I promise I will not call Cullasbes by the title again if I can help it...’

Thranduil’s eyes tightened.

‘It was considerate of you to bear Nelleron company, Merenor. Do feel free to depart about your business now, however.’

‘Thank you, your majesty.’

Dismissed, Merenor fed the last of the blackberries to Nelleron, made his bow, and returned to the palace complex.

The short conversation with the king – his king, and my, how beautiful Thranduil was, with his shining silver-blond hair and eyes like bright jewels in that fine Sindar face, the perfect mingling of haughty, delicate bones and strength of character – had given him much to consider. Merenor had spoken only the truth – he’d not broken his vows; they had not been made to Cullasbes, after all, but to the Valar and he had lived, and slept, alone all the time he had lived away... 

And he seemed to remember his vows being quite specific, too – that he would not seek another elleth...

Of course, Cullasbes was not going to be best pleased to realise he now considered himself free to flirt where he chose once more... so whomever he took up with had better not be afraid of potentially vocal objections... perhaps someone in a place of significant power need not worry about such as Cullasbes...? 

Someone who was exquisite and lonely and probably very, very discreet...

If you were going to aim, you might as well aim high...

Except...

Hanben’s mouth, halfway between a promise and a pout and all the way to perfection and back...

Merenor found himself sighing again, and hurried back to his quarters to sit and hope for word from the King’s Office.

*

Against his better judgement, Hanben had offered to deliver the news to Merenor in person. 

It would be awkward, perhaps, but, considering what had passed between them the night before, he felt it wise to establish the tone of their working relationship before any of the working began. If it seemed likely that Merenor would have a problem with such, then it was going to be a very difficult week...

What was more, it was not far from his workspace attached to the King’s Office to the Merenor’s room, so by the time he had finished worrying that this was a bad idea, there was no time left to work out what he was going to say.

Finding the correct door, he knocked and took a step back, folding his hands together defensively.

‘Master Hanben, good day to you... this is a surprise...’ Merenor inclined his head politely and tried to rein in his smile. Best not let his delight show; Hanben might run away if he did... no, best now to hold back, to show courtesy and respect. ‘Would you care to step in?’ 

About to decline, Hanben instead nodded.

‘Most kind. I have come to deliver some news...’ 

‘I have just finished my day meal and they sent along a couple of bottles of the most excellent light beer... I was about to breach one, I am sure there is enough to share, if you would...?’

‘Thank you. Just a little, perhaps.’

Merenor poured beer and handed a beaker over, gesturing to a chair and himself taking a seat a restrained distance away.

‘Your health, Master Hanben.’

‘And yours, Master Merenor.’ Hanben raised his drink and sipped politely. ‘I hear that you intend to remain in the Palace for a while?’

‘Yes; it is time I came home. Lord Arveldir suggested you might need an assistant, if I prove able enough... are you come to dash all my hopes?’

It was said with a light and self-deprecating smile, and Hanben could not prevent a small smile in response.

‘Perhaps not quite all of them,’ he said, startling himself so that he needed to glance away for a moment, and therefore not seeing how Merenor’s eyes fixed on his mouth with more than polite interest. ‘But if you would like to come to my office after the morning meal tomorrow, we can see if you think we could work together.’

‘I would like that very much indeed, Master Hanben.’

‘Good. The basic terms are this: It is a one-week trial during which time I will put you to use on whatever project I have to hand, and while we nominally stop for meal breaks, if there is something urgent, we do not pause until it is done, do you understand?’

Oh, good, lots of late nights working together, problem solving under pressure... two ellyn alone, relying on each other... possibility of mutual congratulations, slaps on the back, perhaps commiserations, shoulders to cry on, well, didn’t that go well, let’s have a glass to celebrate...

‘Oh, yes, I think I see.’

Hanben finished his drink and set down his beaker.

‘Was there anything you wished to ask me?’

Oh, so many things, suddenly... have you always been alone? Have you ever loved? How did you end up here? What else can your pretty mouth do besides pout...?

Could you, would you, ever consider...?

Merenor forced himself to focus.

‘Yes – the boat... did you find out what was wrong?’

‘Excuse me...?’

‘Last evening, you were very interested in Triwathon’s letter and its tale of a silt-spraying paddle wheel...?’

‘Yes, yes of course... you remembered about that...?’

‘Well, it sounded like an interesting concept... a land and river-faring craft...’

‘I have examined the report but I am still not quite sure what went awry... I suspect error on the part of the one in charge of the boat, but until I can carry out tests on my prototype...’

‘Would you let me help tomorrow with it, perhaps, Master Hanben?’

‘In fact, I was going to take a look at it this afternoon... besides which, it could be messy; there is the possibility of an unexpected soaking...’

‘Ah, well, you could consider it retribution for last evening... for which, once more, I am deeply sorry...’ Merenor swirled the beer in his beaker. ‘I happen to be at a loose end myself this afternoon...’

His words fell into a sudden, startled silence as Hanben considered this unexpected response.

‘Are you volunteering, Master Merenor?’

Merenor shrugged and smiled.

‘It would seem so, Master Hanben.’

‘Then meet me outside the King’s Office in an hour. And make sure you are not wearing your favourite clothes.’ Hanben rose to his feet. ‘It will be a good measure of whether or not you will be able to work for me.’

Merenor smiled as he saw his guest – his perhaps new employer out.

‘I think you will find I am quite used to taking orders, Master Hanben. I will see you presently, then.’


	306. Private  First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the newly-wed receive a visitor...

Canadion was sitting on Thiriston’s lap amongst the settle cushions and looking out of the window at the autumn sunshine when an odd little sound, halfway between a chime and a tap, drew his attention back into the room.

‘What was that, my love?’ he asked.

‘Notification sound,’ his husband said. ‘Don’t know if you noticed that little bell above the table outside when we arrived last night...’

‘Of course not! I was too busy holding you up!’

‘Ha! Well, it’s for if there’s messages, or when the food arrives, so we won’t be disturbed...’

‘Thoughtful of someone!’

‘Practical, too – if the servant – today we’ve got a nice friendly elleth, Edwenith – has a lot to do and doesn’t want to be knocking on doors and waiting...’

‘What do you think it is, then? Not the day meal, not yet?’

The ching! sounded again.

‘That doesn’t sound like a message, Thiriston said. ‘Let me up, and I’ll go and see.’

Canadion shuffled out of the way and toyed with the heart-shaped dragon scales on his token while Thiriston dressed quickly and went to the door.

‘Make yourself tidy, penneth, it’s not so much a message as a visitor or two... Flora’s come to see us.’

Thus warned, Canadion reached for his shirt and made sure his leggings were properly tied.

‘All tidy!’ he called out, and Thiriston stood aside to allow Flora and Belegornor into the room. ‘Flora, this is a surprise!’

‘Healer Gaelbes said that you needed some medicine bringing,’ Flora began in a prattle of Westron, ‘and I thought I could do that, for the boat goes back up the river tomorrow and I did not know when I might see you... and I wanted to see come this afternoon, but Granda is coming to play with the baby, so...’

As she spoke, Flora had advanced into the room, passed the baby to Thiriston, and fumbled in the pocket of her skirts for a large phial of oil. She set it down on a shelf set into the rock wall, and then went to take Belegornor back, only to find her son smiling gummily as Thiriston pulled faces at him.

‘How nice of you,’ Canadion said, answering Flora in the same common tongue. ‘Come and sit here, near me, and Thiriston can bring Belegornor when he is ready... but who did you say was going to play with Belegornor?’

‘Granda Thranduil, of course! And his honour-uncles Legolas and Govon are visiting later, too, I think.’

Thiriston left off his gurning to glance at Canadion.

‘What was that about the king?’ he asked.

Canadion translated into Sindarin, keeping his face carefully neutral; Thiriston turned away to hide a grin.

‘Oh wouldn’t he just love to hear his royal self called that?’

‘So why do you need medicine? It is not being married, is it? Or did you drink too much last night? But you look happy and well...’

‘It is for bruises; I fell, that is all,’ Canadion replied, holding out his arms to have a cuddle of the baby. ‘Your gwinig is very fine, Flora! He has grown, of course, for that is what they do...’

‘Yes, they say slower than they expect, but he is not a human baby, and the healers here say he is just perfect.’

Thiriston watched Canadion with the baby, talking easily to Flora, and briefly regretted that he had no more than a few words of the common speech... really, though, he was happy to think Flora had come to visit his husband, was grateful she’d made the journey for the wedding, and wondered if he could use her presence as an excuse to slip out for a little while.

‘Will you and Flora be happy here while I go back to our old rooms?’ he asked. ‘I don’t quite feel easy, not having any of my weapons to hand...’

‘There is always the poker, of course,’ Canadion said with a grin. ‘We will be fine, if you want to wander off for a little while. But do not be too long; even with Flora here, I will miss you.’

Ignoring the fact that there was a baby in the way, Thiriston leaned in for a kiss from his spouse, earning a tug on the braids as Belegornor’s questing fingers made contact. Wincing, the big elf withdrew carefully.

‘Won’t be long,’ he said, and headed out of his new home and back towards the guest quarters that had been his previous one.

Today had been meant to be their day, their first married day, and whatever vague hopes he’d had of spending it exclusively with Canadion had faded as soon as Gaelbes had arrived to tend the penneth’s injuries... They were fortunate, though, he supposed; when the Commander and Legolas took their vows, they had only a few hours before the entire court rode out to meet with Imladris... he and Canadion did, at least, have the luxury of ten days off and privacy to celebrate in.

There wasn’t really anything he desperately needed from their old rooms. He just needed a destination, a purpose that would seem reasonable, if anyone asked what he was doing away from his husband of less-than-a-day. He couldn’t really admit it hurt a little, to hold a gwinig and know he wasn’t ever going to be an ada... and, anyway, he didn’t know the first thing about it. And, besides, they were warriors. Child care would be an issue, even if...

Canadion would have been a wonderful adar, he was sure. Parent, a wonderful parent. Yet he had sounded happy enough to make the sacrifice and, seeing how things had become between Merenor and Cullasbes, Thiriston had to admit it obviously didn’t work to marry just so you could have elflings.

Besides, it was only a very little hurt, and compared to the happiness of being married to his fëa-mate, to be sworn forever to his beloved Canadion, it melted away entirely.

He was smiling to himself as he went into the old rooms – left surprisingly tidy, all things considered... spent a few minutes gathering together his throwing knives and his honing oil... he added a flask of the other sort of oil, too, just in case the lavender ran in short supply... a few clothes for both of them – they would need them at some point, other than for just answering the door... the picture little Mírien had made for him, he rolled it carefully as he stowed everything else into a backpack. 

He had just finished and was slinging the pack into place when a passing figure paused in the doorway and grinned at him.

‘I feel I should ask, what have you done with my son?’ he said. ‘I’m pretty sure you won’t be bored of each other already – even Cullasbes and I managed a couple of days before I suddenly found I had to be about my work... tired him out, have you?’

‘Merenor.’ Thiriston nodded a greeting. ‘We’ve visitors – Flora and her babe. But Canadion has the common speech, I don’t. I left them playing with the gwinig and came to get a few things.’

‘I see. It’s a troublesome task, to learn another language, but I found it to my advantage. I’m sure Canadion would love to teach you...?’

‘My Naneth was teaching me, when I was an elfling. Then she died, and I didn’t have the heart for it.’

‘I... Ai, my dear lad, I am so very sorry!’

Thiriston shook his head. ‘No, you weren’t to know. It put me off learning Westron, that’s all.’

‘Can I help you with anything?’

The big elf held back a smile.

‘It’s good of you, but I’m fine. Better be getting back to him, though. Are you liking the palace?’

‘Very much so! I was saying last night how much had changed but, as well as that, a lot of things are still the same.’ Merenor smiled as he turned away to seek his own room. ‘I think I’m going to enjoy it here.’

*

‘Arveldir!’ Thranduil swept back into the palace, snapping his fingers at the guards on nominal duty at the doors. ‘Get me Arveldir at once. My study. Now. Hurry, one of you!’

Reaching his study, he shut the door behind him and threw himself into a chair by the window, propping his head on his hand and staring out as he tried to master his mood. He could feel a slow burning itch around his heart, was aware of a building heat in his face, yet why he was so outraged at a few simple words spoken in innocence, without intent... and Merenor had apologised as soon as he had realised...

Perhaps that was what irked him so – the apology, the fact that Merenor had realised, had noticed how wrong it was that he called Cullasbes ‘wife’ and Thranduil could only speak of his dead beloved consort...

The heat began to subside, and Thranduil released his long-pent grief and sorrow. Which was the more tragic? That he had loved the mother of his sons but had never called her wife, or that Merenor, obviously trammelled in an unloving relationship, had been all but forced to use the title in referencing one who had no right to it?

By the time Arveldir knocked and made his bow, Thranduil had recovered enough to have removed himself to his proper chair behind the desk and was apparently busy making notes. He looked up as Arveldir spoke.

‘My lord king, if it is about the complaints, Erestor intends mentioning the matter to Legolas at their meeting tomorrow; we are certain it was an honest slip...’

Arveldir left his phrase hanging; Thranduil had that expression on his face which suggested he had no idea what Arveldir was talking about but was never going to admit it.

‘Do we know from whence issue these complaints? Are they numerous, ought we to deal with them in a declaration, or will it suffice to have the injured persons in and address their issues privately?’

‘They are split into two factions, really, sire, although I think it is more that one group are attempting tact... mostly they are from the... ah... more pedantic and rigid amongst the varied individuals serving in the palace...’

Thranduil waved an impatient hand for Arveldir to get to the point.

‘While there are some who deplore the use of the Sacred Grove for an avowing of a modern couple, sire, most of the protests concern Commander Govon’s use of the terms ‘marriage’ and ‘marrying’ in his speech since, in the opinion of the offended persons, marriage ought to be just between ellon and elleth... regrettably, several used the word, ‘afflicted’, in their complaints...’

‘Have we invited Thiriston and Canadion to the high table tonight?

‘We had not, as yet... since it is their first day married...’

‘They will still need to eat. I understand the rest of their dress uniforms has been completed?’

At a loss to follow the king’s train of thought, Arveldir nevertheless nodded as if it was a perfectly reasonable question.

‘Sire.’

‘Delivered?’

‘Delivered to the King’s Office but an hour since, your majesty.’

‘Good. Have the garments sent out with the invitation, and ensure there is a full pack of warrior paints with them. Moreover, when you word the invitation, make it plain that we are doing so to honour them. Make sure they know I want to see them in their traditional warrior garb at the table... we will not permit these... these prideful, self-righteous naneths to rule our palace with their sly comments and autocratic judgements and their misinterpretation of the marriage vows!’

‘My king, may I presume to ask, is there something which has been brought to your attention, perhaps, but not directly to the King’s Office?’

‘Indeed, yes. I have this day become aware that some persons who took short vows have been referring to themselves as husband and wife... this is by far more disrespectful than persons who have vowed themselves forever speaking of being married... so tonight we will make plain what the difference is.’

‘Sire, it will be done... shall I write a speech for you, perhaps?’

‘If you like, Arveldir. You will also look through the records and find those pertaining to persons who entered into arrangements of convenience... you might start with Cullasbes and Merenor... Mistress Araspen’s parents, too...’

‘I see, sire,’ the advisor said, although he absolutely did not.

‘But that is for another time; tonight we will honour our married modern couple, and make sure my son and his husband are present, too. Also invite Mistresses Merlinith and Araspen, Canadion’s brothers... if you can think of any other modern pairings, they should be placed prominently, too. And make personal invitations to each and every one of the complainants.’

‘As you command, my king... if you wish, Erestor and I would be happy to be present, also, in a show of solidarity...’

‘Are you being flippant, Arveldir?’

‘Not in the least, sire.’

* 

When Thiriston got back to his new home, he found himself addressed by the very friendly and efficient Edwenith as he passed through the gates.

‘Captain, there has been a delivery for you; it is on the stand. And it is near time for the day meal, would you like extra for your guest?’

‘My thanks, Edwenith. No, I think she’ll be leaving shortly; I know she’s got other people to see this day.’

There was indeed a large bundle, a small package, and a folded missive on top of the table outside the door. Thiriston scooped them up and let himself into the room.

Canadion was already looking towards the door, his happy expression growing even more delighted as he saw his husband.

‘You are back!’ he said.

‘Indeed I am, and these were outside...’

Flora interrupted with a little bustle, getting to her feet and retrieving Belegornor from Canadion. She smiled and asked Thiriston an incomprehensible question.

‘She asks may she kiss your husband goodbye? And she has asked me the same question, but feel free to decline...’

‘It is fine; it’s Flora.’ Thiriston smiled stoically as Flora kissed Canadion on the cheek, and then repeated the gesture with him. ‘Most kind, Flora. Thank you for visiting. Be well.’

This last ‘be well’ he was able to say in Westron, earning him a blinding smile of approval from Canadion as Thiriston set down his bundles and showed their visitors out.

He returned from the door to find Canadion on his feet and walking towards his arms.

‘Alone at last,’ the penneth said, snuggling his face into Thiriston’s neck and hugging his shoulders, Thiriston returning the embrace gently. ‘It was lovely to see Flora, today, but today...’

‘Well, she couldn’t visit tomorrow.’

‘I know. Only... Only... this was meant to be our first day, our private first day and it seems unfair to you... and it was already not private, because of Gaelbes’ visit...’ 

‘Well, think of it this way; we can lock ourselves in tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after. And, besides, Flora shared her first day with Belegornor with us, didn’t she? We were first to see him really. I held him first. So, no, I didn’t mind Flora coming here. We’ll still have plenty of time to be private together.’

‘True. But... what is in the package?’

A ching! from outside the room.

‘Ah, well, we’ll have to wait and see! Because that sounds like the day meal arriving and you need to keep up your strength.’ Thiriston stroked the hair back from Canadion’s face. ‘We both do, for that matter. So why don’t you go and lie down on the bed, hmm? I’ll bring the food through.’

Canadion smiled happily.

‘That sounds like a wonderful idea,’ he said.


	307. New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion and Thiriston finally get round to opening their deliver, and Merenor begins his work as Hanben's new assistant...

Thiriston carried the tray of food through and set it on the bed. Canadion, now just wearing his leggings, shuffled over to make room for the tray, smiling as he settled the banked pillows behind him.

‘This is nice,’ he said as Thiriston selected morsels to feed to him. ‘Decadent.’

‘And fun. I suppose we’ll have to think about a table to eat at.’

Canadion nodded around a mouthful of cream cheese and blackberry paste on biscuit.

‘Because some dinners may be a bit messier than this,’ he said, when the crumbs had subsided.

‘Well, I was thinking more that we might have guests, one day. More?’

‘Mmm... what are you going to have?’

His husband grinned. ‘You. But a bit of that bread first, I think.’

*

Arveldir dropped his head in his hands. Not fully realising what Thranduil’s intentions might be, but worried that he might be going much further than simply reminding the populace of the difference between short vows and marriage vows and the titles that went with them, he had come to a momentary halt as he wondered what the possible repercussions would be.

Erestor, who had quietly moved his papers, and his day meal, onto a spare desk in his friend’s office, heard the soft sound of work stopping and looked across.

‘Is there anything I can help with, mellon-nin?’ he asked calmly.

‘No – you have your own matters to attend for the prince, and... But my thanks.’

Leaving his seat, Erestor came to stand behind Arveldir’s chair, stroking his hair back and gently massaging his temples with his slight, strong fingers that were nevertheless gently firm and comforting. Arveldir leaned back with a sigh, his eyelids falling closed so that he missed the tender expression on Erestor’s face.

‘Our king is up to something again,’ Arveldir said. ‘To begin, we need to invite Thiriston and Canadion to the places of honour at the high table tonight. The rest of their uniforms have been delivered to their rooms, with warrior paints and instructions no doubt they will interpret freely... it will either be magnificent or horrible... and there is a speech to write for the king, which I am sure he will discard and say what is on his mind instead... the rest of the top table, I am instructed, is to be filled with modern couples – although very few have gone so far as to take vows together – I think I may be able to find some, but whether or not they will wish to be acknowledged so openly... but then, they will be amongst the Grey Dragons, whom I must also invite...’

‘Fortuitously, the uniforms for all the Grey Dragons are complete, too, including the Argallor’s... if you wanted to diffuse our newlyweds... Legolas is always happy to dress Commander Govon up and paint him, and to have all the Greys in their regimentals and warrior paint would surely show support for the couple and legitimise the effect...?’ 

Arveldir opened his eyes, looking up into Erestor’s face.

‘That is very true, my friend! Thank you, most helpful... you are truly inspired!’

‘And what of this speech you must write?’

‘Oh, that... it is to do with the complaints... and I must also go through all the avowal records and find out who is married and who only made short vows but as to why, unless to do with the misuse of titles...’

Erestor’s fingers stopped.

‘Short vows? I do not understand...’

Arveldir turned in his chair and eyes his friend thoughtfully.

‘I suppose it may be a Silvan concept... they are taken generally if one suspects one has yet to meet one’s fëa-mate but has decided to enter into, perhaps, an arranged union... or, in the instance of our king, when one party declines full vows; the mother of Prince Legolas did not feel herself worthy to be queen, or wife.’

‘I see... I think...’

‘One is expected to behave with as much integrity and fidelity as if one had taken full forever-vows, naturally. Those who have complained that Commander Govon should not have spoken of ‘marrying’ are wrong, for he and our prince vowed ‘now, tomorrow, forever’, and Thiriston and Canadion swore ‘not death nor ships’ would sunder them...one could wish they had sought to be more grammatically correct, but they vowed forever, not until the death or sailing of one or other. And it is that which makes one a husband, or a wife, not whether they are the same gender as each other.’

Arveldir did not see how Erestor twisted the betrothal ring on his finger; his attention was turning back, now, to the work before him.

‘Ah, now I thought so... this is interesting... Cullasbes and Merenor took only short vows... I wonder if... they are always spoken of as married, this may well be why our king is in such high rage...’ Arveldir glanced up and saw the shadow in Erestor’s eyes, finally saw his hands twisting. 

‘My dear friend,’ he said softly, reaching out to still those elegant fingers, to fold them in his own hands. ‘I suggested to Thranduil that you and I might take a place at the table together... he had the temerity to assume I did not mean it... true, we have been discreet, and I do not know how you would feel about what would be tantamount to a public declaration of intent but...’

‘I think... I think I could brave it, if you could,’ Erestor whispered.

Turning his chair, Arveldir tugged lightly to pull Erestor onto his lap, pressing his lips against his cheek.

‘I think together we could brave anything,’ Arveldir said. ‘But – I warn you – I have not waited this long to find my perfect love just to make short vows. When we marry, beloved friend – and marry we will, however long it takes, it will be forever. I hope, when that time comes, that will be well with you?’

Erestor sighed and relaxed against Arveldir’s shoulder.

‘That will be very well with me,’ he said.

*

After they had finished eating, Thiriston went to fetch the delivery from where he had left it in the sitting room. Canadion rolled onto his knees, his face excited.

‘So... what is in the bundle?’

‘Shall we see?’ Thiriston reached for the small packet.

‘I meant the big bundle...’

‘I know you did, penneth; you can open that one in a minute. Hmm... Warrior paints?’

Canadion smiled, a little flush reaching his eartips.

‘What a lovely idea! If we should happen to get bored, we can practice our designs... and then have fun cleaning them off after!’

Thiriston smiled a slow, delighted smile in return.

‘Good thinking. So. Let’s see what’s in the big package.’ Thiriston brought the bundle to the settle. ‘Your turn.’

Canadion grinned and set about the wrappings with zeal, the coverings soon giving way to his curious attack. 

Inside, two more packages in further wrappings, the mark of the sewing rooms on the outer covers, one with Canadion’s name on, one with that of his husband.

‘This is for you!’

‘The rest of our dress uniforms, to judge from the colours...’

‘Indeed, thalionen, and it is...’ Canadion said, shaking out the garment from his bundle. ‘It is... Ai, it is wonderful! How I wish these had been delivered yesterday!’

Thiriston gave a laugh.

‘Oh, that is indeed a very fine formal fighting kilt! You will look splendid, penneth...!’

‘Well, I want to try it on... help me with the buckles, my hip is stiff...’

Canadion pushed himself free of his leggings and into the kilt, Thiriston assisting.

‘Hmm... and not just your hip...’

‘Ai, you noticed...’

‘Now, how am I going to adjust it properly if you’re doing that...? You’re knocking it out of line, be calm! Are you insatiable today?’

‘For you, I am always insatiable!’

‘Good job we’re married, then, isn’t it? Come, behave!’

Canadion giggled and tried to stand still and contain himself properly while Thiriston buckled the kilt carefully in position; it was a different design to the traditional warrior kilts, as the charcoal-hued fabric was pleated at the back and crossed over neatly just above the line of his hips, a little higher than the old style. It had an over-layer of dove grey leather bands, studded at the lower edges to weight them to fall over the line of the pleats, each finished with a decal of mithril in the shape of grey dragon scale at the point of each band.

‘Walk to the far wall and back, penneth... yes, that’s lovely. Mmm. Just the perfect amount of swing... how does it feel?’

‘Wonderful! The leather over the fabric makes it lighter than the all-leather kilt, freer somehow...’

Canadion had strutted around the room three times to Thiriston’s enthusiastic encouragement before he faltered and looked down at his legs.

‘What is it, penneth, what’s the matter?’

‘The bruises... how much do they show?’

‘Don’t care. They’re your bruises, part of you, and I’ve seen them before. Or had you forgot I stroked them, kissed them and put lavender oil in them for you? And they’re fading now. Someone would have to get really close to you, and be staring, to see. And if anyone gets that close just to stare at your legs, I will have something to say on the matter...’

Canadion managed a smile and came back over to Thiriston, casting his arms around his husband’s neck and kissing him.

‘You say the perfect things! Well, can I see you in your kilt, then? And then... after... can I see you out of it?’

*

Merenor arrived outside the King’s Office a few minutes before the time appointed... it was silly, he had wanted to put on his nicest raiment and instead, here he was in his tired and stained travel clothes...

‘Master Merenor? You are the new assistant?’

He found himself addressed by a young ellon with a wary look to his eye. He, too, appeared to have dressed for a meeting with the river.

‘That’s me... I don’t think we’ve met...’ Merenor appraised the tall and decidedly attractive ellon appreciatively. ‘I’m sure I’d have remembered you...’

‘My name is Feren, and I am an under-assistant here...’

Merenor refrained from asking under whom, instead nodding politely.

‘Today, I am helping Master Hanben with one of his projects; he told me you would be helping, also. If you will come with me...’

Following Feren, Merenor found himself soon outside the palace enclave and on the edge of the forest. Feren looked him over and it was then that Merenor noticed the other had bow and quiver at his back.

‘You did not think to bring your bow, Master Merenor?’

‘Ah, well, you see, my tongue has always been my weapon of choice.’

Feren stared but Merenor maintained an innocent, friendly smile.

‘Is it far, to the boat, Master Feren?’ 

‘No, indeed, there is a tributary of the river about a mile hence, where Master Hanben conducts his boating experiments.’

‘Lead on, then. I must say, I have missed this part of the forest; it has a much different air to it than the southern reaches, fine though they are.’

‘I have never been further than two days’ ride south, alas,’ Feren said. ‘Although Master Hanben says travel is not necessarily good for the fëa. But, perhaps that sounds rude, for if you are a traveller...’

‘Not in the slightest; I have travelled for business, and, yes, my fëa has perhaps had more good done to it than I would wish, if that is what journeying does! I hope to settle, now, back in the area of the forest I knew before.’

Presently they turned a corner in the trail and Merenor fell silent as he was presented with the sight of Hanben tinkering with something on the wheeled boat, crouching down, his face a study of concentration, his hair falling against the restraint of his braids, his clever hands busy with intricate manoeuvrings. Merenor admired the profile, the backsweep of ear, the muscles taught under the fabric of his working breeches... nice thighs... Ai, but this fellow could dress in rags and still look perfect...

‘Master Hanben, we are here,’ Feren announced.

‘Good.’ Without looking up, Hanben waved towards an unfurled canvas tool roll nearby. ‘Pass me the square section needle file, would you?’

‘The what?’ Feren asked.

‘Let me, lad,’ Merenor said, crossing to the tools and finding the relevant file. ‘Master Hanben?’

‘Thank you... not a bad chap, but a pen-pusher, cannot tell his adze from his elbow... and if I said a number seven wrench...?’

‘I would say, why not a six? A seven would be a little loose, perhaps.’

‘But I want it for an internal adjustment you cannot see from over there. Bring both, if it makes you happy. I may need the six anyway.’

Hanben adjusted an internal fitting, tightened another, requested other tools and found the right one placed in his hand within seconds... it was a pleasant change, to find someone who knew what he wanted, and Merenor seemed to have thrown off his disconcertingly personal turns of phrase as he focussed on the job in hand.

‘That’s good, can you reach in and steady the flange for me? It’s the round bit with the raised edge...’ 

‘My good Master Hanben, I do know what a flange is!’ Merenor reached in and held the ring of metal in place while Hanben secured it in place.

‘Keep it still, can you? Oh, you are... I do not know what is wrong... there must be a misalignment...’

‘Your hands are trembling. Perhaps too much precision work without a break, the small muscles easily become fatigued... I can do this, if you wish, Master Hanben.’

Puzzled by his sudden lack of fine control, Hanben nodded and held the flange in place for Merenor to work. The piece in place, Merenor nodded, and sat back on his heels with a friendly smile at Hanben.

‘Well, that’s done. Is not teamwork a wonderful thing? And what is next?’

Hanben clasped his hands together in a furtive attempt to still their unexpected trembling.

‘I think the initial problem was with the fixing pin which I had added to prevent the wheel being turned accidentally in the wrong direction, thus causing... causing backlash from... from the river...’ Hanben lost focus on his thought, suddenly away of the intensity of Merenor’s interested, amber-ringed eyes. He cleared his throat and tried to continue. ‘Thus... thus, if Commander Esgaron had turned the wheel, and the pin had come lose... it would explain his unfortunate incident with... with the silt... carried up on the paddles in the wrong direction...’

‘I see. So what is next?’

Hanben turned his head.

‘Feren! It is time you made yourself useful! Get in the boat.’

‘Oh, but Master Hanben...’

‘Get in the boat, Feren! Merenor here already understands more of its workings than do you, thus making you the ideal test subject...’

‘Except, sir, if Master Merenor were in the boat, would not he be best placed to see what the problems might be...?’

Merenor’s mouth twitched and his eyes danced at the furtive expression in Feren’s eyes.

‘I have to admit, he’s right,’ he said. ‘And, yes, I suppose I may know my way around a tool-kit, but technically, I am the junior member of the team...’

‘Would you...?’ Hanben asked, cautious.

‘For you, Master Hanben, anything!’

Ai, just when he thought he’d got his wayward flirting under control, he had to go and spoil it... Merenor hid his annoyance at himself by pretending to be engaged entirely in boarding the river craft. It bobbed against its moorings, oddly buoyant from the two sets of paddle wheels, yet somehow it felt stable.

‘The idea is that, seated between the wheels, one turns the handles towards one’s body... one cannot see where one is going, unfortunately... Feren, cast off the bow line but keep a hand to it...’

‘Turn the handles towards me... I see...’ Merenor located the handles, settled himself, and leaned into the work, pulling smoothly. ‘Does it have to be simultaneous? It feels easier to cycle the hand movements so...?’

‘I am sure that is fine,’ Hanben called out as Merenor’s boat began to move off with a splashing of waters. 

‘It makes for a better rhythm, somehow; it is easier to keep the momentum even.’

Merenor was progressing well now, Feren having to hurry to keep up and not drop the rope. Hanben followed more sedately. The trembling of his hands had subsided, but there was now a strange fluttering in his stomach and his heart rate was faster than it should be. And the sight of Merenor’s strong body working, the muscles of his arms bunching and flowing beneath the fabric of his shirt, his hair lifting and drifting...

‘Stop, stop!’ Hanben shouted, not sure to whom he was speaking, but needing to say it, somehow anxious...

‘How?’ Merenor called out, slowing his movements. 

Feren, nearest to him, shook his head as he loped along beside the craft.

‘I do not know! There is no stopping mechanism! Turn the prow to the bank, or turn the handles the other way...’

Turn the handles the other way? Merenor had a pretty good idea of the possible consequences...

But the current was picking up just here as the tributary rushed towards the pull of the main river...

Merenor held his breath and turned the handles the other way.

Immediately the boat bucked and slewed and the wheels threw their scooped waters at him. Drenched, but relieved that the speed of the river meant little silt had accumulated and therefore most of the load had been comparatively clean, Merenor laughed and shook water from himself as Feren, red-faced and apologising, made fast the boat to a tree and came to steady the stern.

Hanben hastened up.

‘My dear Master Merenor, are you unharmed? What happened?’

‘Trying to stop, I back-wheeled...’ Merenor grinned and shrugged, preparing to stand. ‘It seems your theory is right; turning the handles the wrong way...’  
Hanben reached out to assist Merenor to disembark. Just for a second, before their hands clasped, Merenor noticed Hanben’s gaze locked on his, and then he was being hauled from the boat and onto the bank.

‘Oh, no! You are all wet, Merenor...’ Hanben whispered, so softly that Merenor strained to hear.

‘Ai, I will survive it, Hanben.’ Merenor replied almost as quietly. ‘We are even now, I think? And this was my fault, you warned me that it might happen...’

Hanben stared at him and then realised he was still clasping Merenor’s hand. He swallowed hastily, tore his gaze away, and called out to his other assistant.

‘Feren, bring the boat back to its housing; I am going to make sure Master Merenor dries off properly.’

Oh, was that a promise? Behind Hanben’s back, Merenor smiled to himself. He could still feel the tingle from Hanben’s touch... perhaps the soaking would prove to be worthwhile...

*

Thiriston having duly demonstrated his own kilt to Canadion, and agreeing about the lighter, freer feel, they had set their kilts aside and spent a pleasant hour making sure their marriage was properly enshrined in traditional consummation. Again. Both of them. Just in case there was any doubt. 

Presently, however, Canadion shook of his post-afterglow languor to tip his head to one side, spying something as yet unopened. He snuggled against Thiriston for a moment to see if he was awake.

‘Penneth? You need something?’

‘We forgot about the letter... what’s in it, do you think?’

Thiriston was reached for the missive even as Canadion spoke, looking up as he took in the seal of the King’s Office on the outside.

‘Well, this is unexpected...’

‘What is it, thalionen?’

‘It is an invitation to the honour-place at high table tonight... formal warrior dress... so we have to pretty ourselves up and eat our dinner in public again!’

‘Oh... well, there must be a reason...’

‘To ensure we are honoured as befits us. Apparently.’ Thiriston tried not to sigh too heavily. 

‘Well, isn’t it a good thing we have nice, new kilts to wear?’

Thiriston grinned.

‘And a full pack of warrior paints to go with them... now, what were you saying about practising our designs...?’


	308. Of Hope and Hervinn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor has an interesting invitation, Hanben is annoyed, and Canadion is decorated...

‘Here we are,’ Hanben said, coming to a stop outside a plain doorway off one of the corridors near the King’s Office.

‘So we are,’ Merenor said. ‘Where might ‘here’ be, may I ask?’

His garments had just about stopped dripping, but were starting to feel unpleasantly clammy against his skin. Moreover, since they were his old and tired travelling clothes, unlaundered since his arrival, the river water had refreshed their stains and he was beginning to fear he was becoming rather pungent.

‘My quarters,’ Hanben said, uneasily aware that for some reason he was speaking a little too quickly. ‘I have towels, a rather superior washing cascade... it is the least I can do...’

Ai! An encounter with a washing cascade certainly would be pleasant... Hanben’s expression, almost fearfully polite... the shape of his lips, slightly pursed as if about to ask for a kiss...

Merenor steeled himself, already regretting what he must do. But he would not make the same mistake twice, not with this lovely ellon

‘You are very kind, Master Hanben, but I do have a washing cascade at my disposal, and I would not wish to intrude...’

‘It would not be an intrusion. I... there may be wine, even, to warm you from your immersion in the river...?’

What, was this an invitation for more than just use of the facilities? Oh, my, and those eyes...

‘Master Hanben, thank you but... before I do, before anything more... I... I need to be absolutely clear about something...’

‘If you must.’ 

This with a sigh and an impatient eye-roll, indeed! Ai, every second made this harder... Merenor made himself focus on the words in his mind.

‘Today I was reminded that I have unwittingly been transgressing the formal codes... I had been speaking of being married, of my wife...’

‘Yes, yes, Mistress Cullasbes, I know whom you mean...’

‘And that is what I need to clarify. Strictly speaking, she is not my wife; we are not married. She is mother of my children, erstwhile consort... we took short vows only.’ Merenor paused for a moment. ‘I may have vowed my life away, but if I die or sail, I am free. That makes me no less a rogue, of course, but perhaps less of a scoundrel... it is simply that, after our previous misunderstanding, I would not wish there to be anything that might seem like deceit between us.’

‘I see. I appreciate your candour, it is good to be clear with one whom I...’

‘...will be working.’

‘As well, yes.’

As well? What was this, was there perhaps a glimmer of hope...? Not merely Merenor’s optimistic, and very keen, imagination?

‘Well, are you coming in?’ Hanben asked, his tone exasperated.

Merenor had just taken breath to phrase a delicate, tentative acceptance when Parvon’s voice called out from along the corridor.

‘Master Hanben! Master Hanben, you are wanted in the Healers’ Halls, the person barrow has collapsed...’

‘Ai, is there never a moment...?’ Hanben muttered.

‘You see, when you are the only one who understands a thing, you are the only one who can help. Good day, Master Hanben. Thank you for your kind thoughtfulness; I will present myself at the King’s Office after the breakfast meal tomorrow, as arranged.’

‘Until tomorrow, then, I suppose... Yes, Parvon, I am coming!’

Merenor bowed his head and turned away for his own quarters. Had that been disappointment in Hanben’s voice? He had to admit, he thought he might have enjoyed examining Hanben’s rather superior equipment... but at least there was work to look forward to on the morrow.

And besides, now he knew where Hanben lived...

Merenor headed back to his own washing cascade in a much better frame of mind.

*

It was only after they had used the washing cascade again (the water beginning to run out but just lasting long enough for fun and hygiene) and Thiriston was patting Canadion’s bruised hip gently dry when he sensed his beloved’s mood dip again.

‘What is it, sweetheart?’

Canadion sighed.

‘Do not mind, but I can’t help it... thinking, if we wear our kilts and paint, my bruises...’

Thiriston pushed the wet hair back from Canadion’s shoulders and tenderly touched a newly-blue spot on his throat.

‘Do you mean this one?’

‘What? No, of course not, that was a gift from you...’

‘And am I similarly gifted?’ The big elf tilted his neck. ‘I am sure there is at least one...’

‘Yes. Ai, I have marked you... several times...’

‘For which, I am grateful. So these bruises, marks of love, they are acceptable?’

‘Yes, they are fine! I am proud of these marks you put on me...’

‘But you got your other injuries to make my token. Are they not, therefore, also marks of love...?’

‘Well...’

‘Don’t worry about it so, beloved penneth. By the time I have finished with the warrior paints, nobody will be able to see the bruises beneath.’

*

Hanben strode into the Healer’s Hall as if he still had the right to be there.

‘Very well, what has been happening here?’ he demanded, taking in the scene.

Commander Govon sprawled on one of the seats, nursing his left elbow while Prince Legolas stood behind him, holding a wet cloth to his fëa-mate’s left temple. Young Celeguel was dithering over the collapsed remains of the person-barrow nearby, and Healer Maereth was looking utterly bewildered and trying to make helpful suggestions as she waited for one of the other healers to arrive and assist.

At Hanben’s voice, all attention centred on him. Celeguel stood to attention and saluted as per Captaincy Training in the face of a potentially superior officer.

‘Sir, there was an unfortunate incident, Master Hanben, sir!’ she said smartly.

Commander Govon winced.

‘Not so loud, Celeguel, if you please!’

‘I still want to know what happened,’ Hanben said. ‘Commander Govon, have your injuries been attended to yet?’

‘Oww...’ the commander uttered.

‘I see. Someone? Anyone?’

‘We needed to speak to the Grey Dragons on the parade ground. Govon was fine all the way there, but then managed to twist his knee again. Celeguel volunteered to fetch the person barrow and bring him across, as she claimed to know how to drive that thing,’ Legolas said.

‘In fact, Captain Celeguel proved herself most competent in all the tests,’ Hanben said stiffly. ‘I do not know what you are suggesting...’

‘On our way back, Govon turned to speak to Celeguel, upsetting the balance, I think. He ended up on the floor and the person-barrow in bits.’

‘It was also his walking stick,’ Celeguel put in. ‘As the Commander twisted to speak, the stick slipped and fouled the wheel. Our prince tried to stop everything toppling, but by then he had no chance and Commander Govon ended up on the floor, banging his elbow and bumping his head.’

‘Yes, yes, but what about the conveyance? Ai, look at the state of the wheel assembly! It will take hours to set it to rights... and the front supports are splintered... And the undercarriage...’

‘You know, it really is quite dangerous,’ Govon protested. ‘What about my undercarriage?’

‘It’s true, if this had happened out in the forest, it could have been much worse,’ Legolas said. ‘What will you do about it, Hanben?’

‘Straps,’ the innovator said. ‘I will add straps so that the person being conveyed cannot fall out.’

‘Straps? You would...would tie a person in...?’

‘if they cannot keep still, yes! Better for the ones moving the conveyance as well as for the one conveyed... I am not at all sure this was not a preventable accident, you look like three naughty elflings caught in mischief.’ Hanben shook his head. ‘Maereth, is anyone coming to attend to the Commander or shall I do it myself?’

A chorus of protests that Hanben need not trouble himself, and Celeguel took hold of the front handles of the wrecked person-barrow.

‘Please, Master Hanben, let me help you back to your workshop? And we are very sorry...’

‘I certainly am,’ Govon said glumly. ‘We’ve got a formal banquet to attend later and...’

‘Good day, then,’ Hanben said, taking the other handles. ‘Celeguel, lead on.’

Behind his angry façade, he was really not too distressed. At least now he had a nice, long project to work on with Master Merenor in the morning...

*

‘We really should get a looking glass for in here,’ Thiriston said. ‘No point me telling you how lovely you look when you can’t see for yourself.’

‘I can see what you’ve done on my knee... you are clever!’

‘Just working with what’s there, penneth... now...’

Thiriston stood back and eyed Canadion with loving appraisal. Work on decorating his marks of battle had only just begun and he shook his head as he took in his husband’s beautiful body...

‘I am not sure, you know, that turning up just in kilts, boots and paint will be quite right,’ he said. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to show you off... Can I try something, before we carry on with the painting? I’ll show you on me what I mean – disturb you less, and you can see what I mean, too...’

‘What have you got in mind, thalionen?’ Canadion tipped his head curiously as he watched his husband don the dress kilt and then select just one other item of uniform.

‘With boots, of course...’

‘Of course!’ Canadion watched as Thiriston slowly turned, demonstrating his idea. ‘I think... I think if it is possible, you will look more magnificent than ever like that and with your scars decorated...’

‘You’re going to look amazing too, don’t forget,’ Thiriston said. ‘How long before the meal is called?’

‘Just over an hour, I think.’

‘Then we’d better get on with it; there’s a lot of work here, you know.’

*

Arveldir’s desk was finally looking as if it belonged to him again, ordered and with two neat stacks of papers. Thranduil’s speech had been drafted, polished, and Erestor had read it aloud, mimicking Thranduil’s stately inflection to perfection and causing Arveldir to struggle not to laugh.

‘Ah, you are so clever!’ he said, when Erestor had stopped, even copying Thranduil’s minimal hand gesture at the end. ‘And so, yes, the notes to each of the complainants... what do you think of this...? ‘To... whomever... greetings. His majesty Thranduil our king, being most distressed that you felt it needful to complain, and, hearing your unease, invites you to the formal banquet this evening when your concerns will be answered...’ Formally signed, King’s Office...’

‘You set just the right tone, mellon-nin; they will not know whether to be reassured, or worried...’

‘Ah, good, that is just what I was hoping... So, I will have these sent out, and...’

A knock at the door and Feren, recovered from his exploits on the river and returned to duty, bowed politely.

‘Your pardon, my lords, but Master Merenor is here with a query about the banquet tonight...’

‘Very well, show him in. And have these missives hand delivered – do it yourself, I want to know they went to each individual named.’

Feren took the folded envelopes and ushered Merenor in with a bow as he left.

‘Master Merenor... is anything amiss? I heard an incident with one of Master Hanben’s inventions...?’

‘It’s not that.’ Merenor held a letter loosely between his fingers. ‘It’s this dinner invitation. Now while it is very kind of his majesty to think of me, it seems to suggest I and my... that is, I will be expected to sit with Mistress Cullasbes...’

‘Yes; it is to show support for your married son, surely you will be there?’

‘Oh, for any of my sons, anything...! But, you see, I’ve twice tried to talk to the lady today and each time she has turned away from me... it’s going to be a fine show of support if we’re sat there like the harbingers of gloom... can you not at least rearrange the seating...?’

‘And just whom would you like to sit, Master Merenor, given the choice?’

‘I’m not that fussy, not really... be happy next to the king...’

‘No doubt. The prince will be on our king’s right, Canadion his left.’

‘Master Hanben, then? Since we are to work together...’

‘You are called to top table, however, and Hanben prefers to sit lower, on those occasions when he does dine in the hall.’

...Well, it had been worth a try...

‘Simply, please, do not put Cullasbes and I next to each other. Last night was fine, we were as far apart as the table was long...’

Arveldir thought for a moment.

‘I can quite see that we can do without more tensions at the table... perhaps you could have your three oldest sons between you and their mother, Erestor and I to your other side... if we place Cullasbes next to Commander Govon’s sister, she is a sensible elleth and her friend is considered to be from a very good family... I think Mistress Cullasbes takes note of such things...’

‘Sadly, yes.’

‘I think that is the best we can do.’ 

Arveldir was getting to his feet to walk Merenor out when from outside came Parvon’s voice and that of an elleth... the advisor had time to see Merenor blanch, and swallow, when a swift rap on the door was followed by Cullasbes’ tall and stately form, her face set in a scowl. Disregarding Merenor after one swift stare, she accosted Arveldir with brief civility.

‘I have been invited to dine with the king tonight,’ she began, freely interpreting the wording on her invitation. ‘But there has been a mistake; it says I am to sit with my husband...’

Arveldir and Erestor exchanged glances and the senior advisor held out a hand towards Cullasbes.

‘May I see...? Dear me, you are quite correct! I hope you are not offended... Erestor, who was it penned this invitation, do you know?’

‘I believe it was Master Feren... but he was busy elsewhere when the new instruction came down... I am sure it was a simple mistake, Misterss Cullasbes; you need not fear being titled ‘wife’ again... an unfortunate oversight...’

‘That was not what I meant! And how dare you...’

‘Cullasbes, now we happen to be in the same room together, there was something I wanted to say...’ Merenor said, inserting himself in front of his not-wife and emboldened at the prospect that he might have allies in the King’s Office. ‘Now I am here, I...’

‘Oh, yes, I am not surprised to find you mixed up in this, I am sure it is entirely your fault...’

‘Possibly, for once, you’re right. But I have a similar invitation; we need to be there tonight for our son’s sake...’

‘What?’

‘Canadion. People are saying...’

‘Oh, more talk about Canadion! I had thought that getting married would have silenced the rumours...’

‘Madam,’ Arveldir said firmly. ‘The best way to quash any talk about your son is for you, and Master Merenor, to attend this evening to support him. And if you could pass the time with a semblance of not wishing to murder each other, that would be particularly helpful. If you can spare me a few moments, I will endeavour to explain...’

‘Very well,’ Cullasbes said with another glare at Merenor. ‘I’m wearing blue tonight. Don’t wear brown, or we’ll clash. What did you want to say to me?’

But Merenor had already lost his courage and was already at the doorway.

‘Perhaps tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Let’s just focus on the boy tonight, yes?’

*

Thiriston was putting the last touches to Canadion’s paints when a knock, a proper, gentle knock sounded at the door. 

Edwenith dropped a curtsey.

‘Oh! That is, if you please, Captain, there is an honour escort waiting for you to march you and your Captain to the feasting hall. And... may I say, Captain...? You do look very fine!’

‘My thanks. Wait until you see my Canadion, he’s just... he looks a picture. Tell them we’ll be there in a minute.’

His arm around Canadion’s waist to support him, Thirstion proudly led his husband down the corridor towards where he could see the rest of the Grey Dragons waiting. They wore new uniforms, leggings under the kilts, tunics over shirts and dress coats over. 

Legolas was there too, bearing two new long knives, white-handled and dangerous just from the shape of their sheaths at his hips and standing close to his fëa-mate as if to support him, his own uniform mostly grey and silver but with decorative hints of red and black to reflect the other dragon companies’ colours.

‘Ai, Dragon Hearts! I think we are overdressed!’ the prince said as cheers and whistles echoed down the corridor. ‘Arveldir came and lectured us until we agreed to wear the leggings under the kilts... you look magnificent, both of you!’

Commander Govon, sporting a new blue bruise on his temple and with his arm in a sling, grinned and limped forward.

‘Well, indeed, I cannot wait to see what Arveldir will make of you two!’

The newlyweds were booted and kilted with their sleeveless jerkins over their bare torsos, lightly laced to expose throat and neck, a hint of belly, their arms bare but for their tokens, hair braided with each other’s clasps in place. But the most striking thing was the Canadion’s warrior paint.

‘Canadion, that is just gorgeous!’ Amathel enthused. ‘May I see? Properly?’

Canadion nodded.

‘I cannot see it for myself, though, not all of it...’ he said.

‘It is just beautiful,’ Celeguel said, stepping forward to look.

A tiny collection of flowers covered the small area on Canadion’s face where he was still healing from his burns; they trailed down, getting larger and more colourful until they reached his neck, where one flower was a particularly rich blue over a mark of love, the discolouration of his skin used as shading. The same floral design emerged at the arm of the jerkin, covering the remnants of burn scarring on that shoulder. Lines of foliage wove up and around from the where once skin had been missing from his hand, leaves entwining, separating around his dragon scale token and bracketing it for emphasis.

The truly magnificent work, however, was on Canadion’s upper arm where his skin was bruised in yellow and brown and purple patches; these Thiriston had disguised as flowers of similar shades to the bruises, masking them and softening the edges. A rich yellow rose next to a large purple daisy, leaves drawn in, even a few shooting heads of long-stemmed lavender peering through. The gap between boots and kilt were similarly decorated.

‘Oh, Thiriston, did you do this?’ Celeguel asked. ‘It’s incredible; I could swear I can smell the lavender.’

‘That is from the healing salve from Gaelbes,’ Canadion said without a blush. ‘Although I am surprised you can smell it over the aroma of sandalwood honing oil...’

‘Ah, well, there is always a weapon or two that needs a good polishing,’ Govon said with a grin. ‘And besides, Legolas has some new knives that needed attention... Thiriston, that is indeed wonderful work with the warrior paints! But we are forgetting you have your own decorations, and very cleverly done, too! Canadion’s doing?’

‘Indeed; he worked hard but I have no idea how well it looks...’

‘Well, we must find you two a looking-glass before we go in to dinner... is there not one in your old guest quarters?’ Legolas suggested. ‘If we hurry, it need not take us long, and, besides, they can’t start without us tonight.’

Setting off to an impromptu chorus of ‘Heroes Coming Home,’ the title words changed to something about ‘Husbands’, the Grey Dragons led their honoured escort through the palace, startling all who heard them on the way and waiting outside while Canadion and Thiriston went to look at their reflections.

‘It is odd,’ Canadion said. ‘But saying how fine you look is like praising my own work... but you do look fine, my husband, magnificent.’

Thiriston’s mirror-image nodded. ‘Just little lines, so simple, but the way you have arranged them and used different colours... it is exquisite... soft curves all around those love marks... Is that writing on my arm? What have you said about me...?’

‘Husband, hero, heart-mate... my thalionen, maethor-nin... beloved hervenn...’

‘It’s lovely.’ Thiriston dropped a kiss on Canadion’s temple, careful not to smudge his flowers. ‘Thank you.’

‘As for what you have done here... I am not an injured ellon, I am a garden! I am a floral display and if I were to go out of doors like this, all the bees and moths and butterflies would be flocking to me!’

‘Feel a bit more confident, then?’

‘Yes. The bruises are still there, still ugly, but... where they do not show, hidden.’

‘Transformed. Well, come on. They’ll be wondering what we’re getting up to if we linger any longer.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation: 
> 
> hervinn = husbands


	309. Clarification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil makes a few things clear...

‘...”Do not wear brown lest we clash...” who does she think she is?’ Merenor muttered as he sorted through his meagre collection of garments. ‘As if we have not been clashing for centuries already!’

Initially intending only a brief visit, he had not brought much in the way of formal garb and, having worn his preferred dark green shades to the wedding, he was now left with the choice of casual garments or a dark red formal coat.

Sadly, there was no brown, or he would have worn it, just because it would clash with Cullasbes’ garments.

He changed quickly, noting that the red shades of the knee-length coat went will with dark grey leggings and boots, wishing his mood felt as bright as his shining chestnut hair looked...

Left with half an hour before dinner, he went to knock on Melion’s door.

‘Adar... I wondered if you would come today... I hear you had an interesting meeting with Mother this morning... you know, if you had asked, I would have tried to help...’

‘And why do you think I did not ask? Melion, too often you lads have got drawn into the mess she and I have made of matters, and it is not fair to keep embroiling you...’

‘Baudh said it was fun. Do you mind watching Mírien while I change for dinner?’ 

‘Gladly, I came for just such a purpose, of course, not to see you at all!’ Merenor took a seat and opened his arms for his granddaughter to climb up for a cuddle as his son went through to ready himself. ‘I have had a much busier day than anticipated; I have met the king’s riding elk, and managed to get myself a job...’

A clatter from the other room.

‘Ada? What was that?’

‘I have been itching to tell someone all day... sadly Mistress Cullasbes would not stay still long enough to hear me and when I did get the chance, we had just agreed to pretend to like each other for the duration of tonight’s feast and I did not wish to push my luck... and that is not a hint that I want you to tell her, far from it! This is my task and I will pick my moment. What is happening with the little one tonight? Is she coming to the feast?’

‘No, she is going to a special story time in the Healer’s Hall; it is a service organised by Healer Gyril, little Inwien – Canadion’s husband’s little niece – she is going. The two are good friends. Bronwenith, Thiriston’s sister, she is coming to collect her shortly. So I will not be able to linger after the feast, but I will be there to show I honour my brother’s wedding... but, Adar? A job? With the king’s riding elk, did you say?’

‘Yes, a job, no, not with the elk, but with the new Office of Innovations. But it does mean I shall be moving back to the palace.’

Melion came to the door, fastening his shirt, staring at his father.

‘I will miss you!’

‘Ai, we lived two villages apart, we never saw each other from one moon to the next...’

‘But I always knew you were there, Adar.’

‘You will have Baudh and Caraphindir just a day’s ride further out. And you have your wife, and her family.’

‘Yes, but... Adar...!’

‘I am really not much further away, it was only, what, four day’s journey for you?’

‘Five.’

‘Five, with an elfling. When she is bigger, you will be able to do it in three.’

‘I know it is none of my business, but... but why?’

Merenor sighed.

‘It’s more a question of why ever did I leave in the first place,’ he said. ‘Your mother blamed my influence on Baudh’s tastes in... friends. She had this idea in her head that if I was away while Canadion was growing up, he wouldn’t be...’ He broke off. Trying not to use emotive, evocative words which might sound as if he was trying to get his son on his side was difficult. ‘Well, that he wouldn’t take after me. So I worked away as much as I could, took over the business in the south once he was of age... and it didn’t work anyway, and now I feel I missed all those years, and I’ve found out there were... things... I should have been told and I wasn’t... So I’m going to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I want to be here.’

‘You mean when Canadion was with the healers, don’t you? And nobody told you?’

Merenor sighed.

‘Go and finish getting ready; I suppose it doesn’t matter now. He’s happy now, he’s found his fëa-mate, he’s loved.’

Melion came into the room and sat next to his adar, trying to read his eyes. But Merenor looked steadfastly neutral, kind, even.

‘Adar, I should have written to you. But...’

‘I heard you were very good to him, ion-nin,’ Merenor said quickly. ‘That is the best thing you could have done; it was not your place to let me know and I expect you were too busy looking after everyone...’

‘Ada...’

A tapping at the door broke the moment. Melion sighed and got up to answer it; Bronwenith, here to collect Mírien, little Inwien bustling into the room to look at the stranger there, and the little ensuing flurry swept away the tension of the moments before their arrival so that once she had gone, taking Mírien with her, Merenor was able to smile at his son and together they walked to the feasting hall, talking lightly about the palace and how it had changed.

*

Thranduil swept into his place, glancing around the High Table at the assembled guests waiting for him. At his side, Thiriston and Canadion had been marched into the hall by their fellow Grey Dragons, all looking rather magnificent... the new dress uniforms eliciting stares of admiration and, perhaps, shock when the newlywed’s interpretation had been properly seen... kilts and tunics and bare, decorated arms... he had to admit, he approved.

But as for the rest of it...

What was Arveldir playing at? 

Yes, Legolas and Govon were properly at his other side and, yes, wisely, Merenor and Cullasbes were separated by their three other sons... but Arveldir had seated himself with Erestor between the newlyweds and Merenor, having placed Mistress Merlinith and Mistress Araspen next to Cullasbes at the end of the family group... This left Parvon officiating in his place, a responsibility Thranduil was not certain the assistant advisor was quite ready for yet, although, he grudgingly admitted, Arveldir would be near enough to intervene if necessary.

Moreover, seated amongst the dress uniforms of the Grey Dragons were the formal uniforms of one of the Forest Companies, worn by two brace of ellyn who looked overwhelmed and bewildered at the honour to which they had been elevated.

Thranduil clicked his fingers for Parvon’s attention.

‘My lord king?’

‘Who are those two, on the left, there? And their fellows?’

‘They are Captains Larornor and Tawon, and Lithon and Doronor, my king. Known fëa-mates, but they are as yet unavowed...’

‘I see. These are the very sort of persons we should encourage to feel able to declare their intent... take a note.’

‘Yes, your majesty. Is there anything more before you sit, sire? Only I think Commander Govon is in some discomfort with his injured knee...’

Thranduil shot him a withering glance and lowered himself into his seat.

‘We will take a moment to settle the hall and then get them all back up to drink the health of our guests of honour,’ he said. ‘Which you should know without being told, Parvon.’

‘I beg pardon, sire.’ 

Parvon signalled the servers forward with the wine jusgs and clattered a knife against a goblet; it took longer for him to calm the hall that it did for Arveldir, but the chief advisor was busy looking at Erestor and so was able not to see.

‘All give notice to his majesty the king,’ Parvon said, stepping back behind Thranduil’s chair.

‘We meet tonight to honour two of our Grey Dragon warriors,’ Thranduil said. ‘Yestereve we celebrated their wedding, the first marriage of two ellyn over which I have presided as Witness... it was held in the Sacred Grove both because one of the husbands here tonight is related to the Royal Family and because their courage merited such an attention.’

Thranduil rose to his feet and turned towards the startled newlyweds, gesturing them to remain seated as the rest of the hall also stood to follow their king.

‘Canadion, and Thiriston, we drink your health and we honour you.’

Arveldir raised his glass and swallowed hard, needing the hit of the alcohol. Thranduil had already abandoned the carefully- prepared speech, one which delicately talked of changing attitudes and the need for adaptation, the inclusive nature of the forest traditions... instead he had used the pivotal, disputed words wedding, marriage, husbands all in one fell swoop...

But it was done, Thranduil had sat down once more and accepted the bows of thanks from the warriors at his side... surely now all would be well...?’

No. Thranduil’s eyes were sweeping the hall, lingering here and there and Arveldir knew he had alighted on the complainants.

‘It has been brought to our attention,’ the king began softly, his voice nevertheless reaching every corner of the room, ‘that there has been some confusion as to the proper use of the terms associated with avowal protocols. Clarification in detail can be sought from the King’s Office, but in brief I will outline them for you. A wedding is the public sharing of an avowal ceremony overseen by a Witness. A marriage is that avowal where the two participants use words to indicate they consider themselves bound for all time, beyond the death of the body, beyond the shores of the sea.’

Thranduil paused to sip from his goblet of rich, red Dorwinion, making his audience wait before drifting an idle hand in Legolas’ direction.

‘My son and his husband vowed now, tomorrow, forever. Thiriston and his husband vowed that neither death nor ships would part them; these are marriage vows. The gender of the parties involved has no bearing on the validity of their mutual affection...’

Another sip. Some persons in the hall shifting uncomfortably, aware of the implacable gaze of their king.

‘It is common knowledge that my consort and I were not married. She would never let me call her wife, nor ever named me husband. It did not interfere with the fact that we were fëa-mates, nor that we had sons together. Some amongst you also are not married – Merenor, you and Cullasbes took short vows, as they are known. Notably, so also did Ninnor, Anunir, Glíben... you three, you who deemed it your duty to inform the King’s Office that you did not approve the words ‘husband’ and ‘married’ in context of two persons who had sworn their forevers to one another. And yet you three call yourselves husbands, do you not? You claim you have wives? You are, of course, mistaken, and you will be given the opportunity to apologise in due course. But for now, let us celebrate marriage, and love, in all its forms and the courage of those whose mutual affection makes them unafraid to instigate change.’

With relief, Parvon, called the servers forward with food and retired to his place behind the king’s chair, clutching the back of it to still the shaking of his hands... he looked anxiously towards his superior, saw Arveldir nod in resigned acknowledgement... there was not a thing one could do, when Thranduil had decided on a course of action, except try to get out of his path...

‘Well said, Adar,’ Legolas raised his goblet in salute, his eyes laughing from behind it. ‘So may I properly call Govon my husband now? In public?’

‘Yes, I suppose you may... but have a care, change comes slowly. You know this. And... you and Govon, you were the first ellyn whose marriage I attended. Yours was the first modern marriage to be held in the Sacred Grove...’

‘You can’t think I mind that you gave our warriors the glory?’

‘I have regretted not making more of your avowal ever since I lifted my lantern for you both.’

‘It was what we wanted. No fuss, just our vows. You were there, that’s what mattered.’

Thranduil inclined his head and turned the subject.

‘Do you approve your Argallor’s uniform, ion-nin?’

‘Yes, I do, it’s very fine... I like that it echoes all three of the companies. And the knives, Ada, they are wonderful! Duinor’s work...’

‘I am glad you approve. I hope you will fare better with them than with twin swords...’

‘Ah... I am working on that, Adar, but now Govon has been injured we will not be able to spar for a time...’

‘No matter; there needs to be something he is better at than you are; let it be twin swords.’

Legolas smiled to himself while Govon protested he was better at many things than Legolas was.

‘Including becoming injured?’ Thranduil asked mildly. ‘No matter. Legolas, if you wish to put your blades to use, perhaps we can pitch ourselves against one another?’

‘If you like, Adar. We wouldn’t want you getting soft, after all...’

‘Tomorrow, then.’

‘Ah, perhaps not tomorrow, I...’

‘But we would not want you to get soft, would we? I will send a messenger for you. Early.’

Thranduil turned his attention back to his plate, but it was not long before Canadion whispering ‘...Naneth...’ under his breath to Thiriston drew his attention down the table to where Cullasbes was apparently making polite conversation to Merlinith, placed on her other side. His interest piqued further when Cullasbes attempted to introduce the son next to her to the lady... the son, Baudh, nodded politely, Merlinith dipped her head... Cullasbes said something more that had Araspen looking mildly outraged and Merlinith shaking her head, her words falling into a little lull in the talk as she replied.

‘Indeed, I do not think Baudh would enjoy my company as much as you imagine,’ she said. ‘Nor would I his, for while he is very nice, I prefer to spend time with my elleth, thank you.’

Araspen leaned forward to look Baudh over.

‘I could introduce you to my far-cousin Orchaldir, if you wish. I think he would like you...’

Legolas also hearing the exchange, he grinned and turned to his fëa-mate.

‘Do you think your sister’s going to be taking vows soon, perhaps?’

‘I would be quite happy for her to do so,’ Govon said. ‘But she will have to make her own bunting...’

*

Thranduil did not linger over his meal. As soon as he had finished eating, he waved Parvon forward.

‘Encourage them to stay as long as they like; I have to be up early for a sparring match in the morning. Legolas, so do you. Are you ready to leave yet?’

Legolas hesitated only for a fraction of a second.

‘Yes, Adar, we’re ready; Govon’s injuries...’

‘Exactly.’ Rising from his feet, Thranduil left the Hall of Feasting, Legolas and Govon following more slowly. ‘Parvon, I will need an early call, the practice room must be readied, I will have Master Merenor and Mistress Cullasbes attend me directly after my morning meeting with Lord Arveldir; I will also need his list, he will know the one I mean. That will be all for the moment, attend the feast.’


	310. Beyond the Shadows of the Last Lamp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor has something to say to Cullasbes, and Master Hanben hears a noise outside his rooms...

After standing respectfully for the exit of the king, Merenor took his seat again and continued with his meal. Around him the hall relaxed, conversation grew easier – everywhere except in the little area around his family. Canadion and Thiriston seemed happy enough, from what he could gather eager to escape the hall and return to the business of being married... presumably, all that paint would take a lot of getting off.

Parties were beginning to form, tables breaking up and new configurations of guests, friends, families, mingling together. Although nobody dared sit in the king’s seat, several persons came over to congratulate the newlyweds again, including the exquisite Triwathon.

‘Oh, who might that be?’ Baudh asked, perking up.

‘That’s Glorfindel the Balrog-Slayer’s special friend,’ Merenor said. ‘Best of luck, for you’ll need it; he seemed quite determined to wait for Glorfindel’s return.’

‘Ai, trust you to know that!’ Baudh protested.

Merenor laughed and got to his feet, passing behind his family to insert himself next to Araspen.

‘Good evening, my dear Mistress Araspen,’ he began. ‘I couldn’t but overhear earlier – please forgive Cullasbes, but you know naneths, ever-hopeful... try not to mind her.’

‘Indeed, even my own naneth used to be much the same, if more discreet. But things look set to change, Master Merenor, thanks to our prince and Merlinith’s brother, and to your Canadion and his husband.’

‘Let us hope so, but let us hope folk are not frightened by it... do tell me, my dear... which one of these lovely ellyn in the hall might be your far cousin Orchaldir...?’

Cullasbes’ sharp voice called Merenor to behave with propriety. He rolled his eyes and sighed, but resolutely disregarded her, encouraging Araspen to reply with his winning smile.

‘The central table of the second order, third from the end, he has dark red hair and is wearing brown,’ Araspen said, trying not to laugh.

‘Oh, he is indeed a very handsome ellon... but perhaps more in Baudh’s line than mine. Wave him over, why not?’ 

‘Because he, too, has a naneth, and she is glaring at you,’ Araspen said, her eyes dancing mischief. Emboldened, she turned towards Merlinith ‘Dearest... if I invited Orchaldir to lunch tomorrow, perhaps you might invite Baudh...?’

‘I am sure it would be very kind of us, to make welcome Canadion’s family,’ Merlinith said.

‘And your kindness will be greatly appreciated,’ Merenor said, before Cullasbes’ voice intruded again.

‘Merenor? Merenor, who is that fellow staring across at us?’

‘Where?’ 

Looking where Cullasbes was pointing, just for a moment he locked eyes with Hanben. It took his breath away, the more so because the look in Hanben’s eyes was strangely pained, as if he didn’t approve what he was seeing. Merenor attempted a smile, but in an instant, the innovator had turned on his heel and left the hall.

‘He’s gone now, but he was looking while you were talking to these... these ellith,’ Cullasbes said.

‘But was that not Master Hanben?’ Merenor said. ‘Do you not know him? He is attached to the King’s Office, in charge of a new division...’

‘Oh, and trust you, a stranger in the palace, to know more about him than I do!’ Cullasbes said loudly, causing Arveldir, an unwilling eavesdropper, to raise an eyebrow at the belligerence of her tone. ‘What is it about this one, his eyes or his hair or his voice or...?’

Merenor found himself able to smile.... Here he was, with a hall full of witnesses... was there ever going to be a better moment...?

‘In this case, my dear not-wife, there is a perfectly innocent reason; I am going to be working as his assistant.’

‘Whatever do you mean?’

‘I mean that Master Hanben has agreed to give me a try-out. If all goes well, I look forward to working under him in the Office of Innovation for the foreseeable future. On which topic, Lord Arveldir...’ Merenor leaned forward to catch the advisor’s eye. ‘I think I heard I am required for a meeting in the morning which may delay my arrival at Master Hanben’s office... please could you have someone explain to him?’

‘Naturally, Master Merenor.’

‘I’m grateful; I would not like him to think me tardy, not on my first day.’

‘What do you mean, working for him?’ Cullasbes demanded.

‘Strictly speaking, Mistress Cullasbes,’ Arveldir said, inserting himself into what looked as if it might otherwise deteriorate into a public argument. ‘Merenor will be working for the King’s Office, but in Master Hanben’s division. It is where his talents seem to lie.’

‘Thank you, my lord, but that was not what I meant... I want to know what he is doing working here at all...?’

This last was said in frosty tones. Merenor smiled, or at least, bared his teeth.

‘Do you really want to do this here, and now?’ he asked softly, sliding his eyes towards Canadion and Thiriston, determinedly not noticing the embarrassing parents. ‘Because I will, if you will. If it’s what you want.’

Cullasbes sniffed.

‘It’s not as if you’d have to live with the gossip if we did...’

‘In as much as I probably wouldn’t care, you are right. But I’m moving back to the palace, Cullasbes, as soon as I can get it sorted.’

Cullasbes drew breath and gathered herself to turn her full ire on him, but Canadion, not having ignored quite everything outside the circle of himself and Thiriston, gave a sudden squeal of joy.

‘You are coming home, Adar? You are staying?’ He extricated himself from his seat as swiftly as he could and headed for his father to throw his arms around him. ‘Ai, thank you! It is exactly what I needed to make everything perfect!’

‘Really, ion-nin?’ Merenor laughed and hugged him gently back. ‘Then I am pleased to make everything perfect for you! Now, you and your husband go and get out of your paints, yes? Oh, and did I tell you, you look glorious in that uniform?’ Merenor disengaged gently, holding his son at arm’s length, the better to look at him. ‘Well, you do. So does your husband... Mmm... can I give him a hug as well, do you think...?’

‘If you really wish to, Adar,’ Canadion said with a laugh that was almost a giggle. ‘I know I can trust one of you, at least!’

‘I will thank you for the thought, Adar-in-Honour, but I will let Canadion have my share of your fatherly affection as well as his own,’ Thiriston called placidly.

‘Well said, honour-son... You know, I think I might just be tempted to enrol in the guard, if I can’t settle to innovation...’

‘Master Merenor, be assured, if Master Hanben cannot use you, the King’s Office will find something for you to do,’ Arveldir said hastily.

‘Thank you, my lord; actually, I think I will enjoy being attached to the new office.’

‘Well, if I have anything to say on the matter...’ Cullasbes began.

Merenor leaned over the back of Cullasbes’ seat to speak softly to her.

‘I do not think you even have the right to an opinion, not after all that has passed. But we can talk about it tomorrow, perhaps. In presence of the king, why not?’ He straightened up and glanced around, smiling at Canadion. ‘Well, I will bid all of you a good night. Busy day tomorrow.’

*

Once clear of the hall, Thranduil slowed his pace, aware that Legolas and Govon were not keeping up.

‘Can you manage, Govon?’ he asked, seeing his honour-son being supported by his husband’s arm around his waist. ‘Is there not a device, a... wheel barrow for the injured?’

Govon scowled.

‘Not any more, there is not! Celeguel tipped me out of it earlier and it broke.’

‘Which is why my poor husband has a new bruise to sport tonight,’ Legolas said.

‘I see. Well, I was going to invite you to come with me, but, Legolas, you had better take your husband home, I suppose...’

‘Yes, Adar, I take your point – we can use the words now, we are grateful...’ Legolas grinned. ‘Where had you in mind?’

‘Ah. It is still relatively early; I am going to visit Flora and the child again, and take Belegornor into the gardens to show him the stars. I am not sure Flora will have the leisure, or the inclination to show him the stars... I would tell him of the Silmarils, of Eärendil... he will not remember, of course, but, nevertheless... I shall also attempt to persuade Flora to wait for the next barge home...’

‘Don’t try to be too persuasive, Adar,’ Legolas said. ‘When I spoke with her earlier, she was full of how changed it all was without Nestoril and...’

‘Quite. Well, I would not wish to alarm her and if she feels uncomfortable here...’ Thranduil let out a sigh. ‘Goodnight, ion-nin, honour-son... oh, and Govon? You may present yourself at the main doors of the sparring room in the morning to watch your husband fight – it would be unkind of me to make you tread the steps to the balcony, with your current injuries.’

‘Thank you, Ada-in-honour,’ Govon said. ‘I think.’

Thranduil sauntered off, waving an airy hand.

‘Take him home, Legolas,’ he said. ‘You have an early start tomorrow.’

‘Yes, Adar.’

Legolas and Govon continued on to their rooms, Govon’s arm around Legolas’ shoulder, Legolas’ arm around his waist.

‘Are you all right?’ Legolas asked as they disengaged to enter their rooms ‘You were quiet, tonight... is your head hurting, still?’

‘A little.’

‘Well, come, let me help you with your coat and then you can sit down. Would a bath help?’

Govon closed his eyes and ghosted a sigh as Legolas slid the formal jacket off his shoulders and helped him to the sofa.

‘That sounds nice...’

‘It’s been good not to be the centre of attention, for a change,’ Legolas said, taking off his Argallor’s coat and taking it, and Govon’s, to put them away in the bedroom. ‘Still, Canadion has just been lapping it up!’

‘Ai, and that father of his... I thought I had a difficult Ada-in-Honour, but Thiriston’s is like to be even more of a challenge...’

‘Oh, I don’t know... I think you deal quite well with Adar.’

‘Thank you. A bath, you said? Only it seems a very long way to the bathing pool...’

‘Should I carry you? Would you like that?’

Govon sighed.

‘You are very good to me...'

Legolas grinned as he noticed Govon’s eyes open just a sliver, just enough for him to know he was, perhaps, being played a little.

Nevertheless, making sure he was out of Govon’s line of sight, he quietly undressed before coming to work on his fëa-mate’s lacings, freeing him from boots and leggings, tunic and shirt. Govon’s eyes flickered open at the attention and he co-operated, his eyes filling with the sight of his beloved’s body.

‘Husband,’ he said. ‘Your father said we may call each other husband, now.’

‘Indeed. Well, husband, shall I really carry you?’

‘If you insist, my fair husband elf.’

‘Come then, friend husband captain... although that is a rather a mouthful...’

Govon sighed and smiled as Legolas lifted him carefully into his strong arms and bore him away to the bathing room.

‘That’s what you always say,’ he said. ‘But you seem to manage.’

*

Hanben paced. He did not know why he was so angry, so... so out-of-sorts... there was no reason for it.

He had not really intended to dine in the great feasting hall tonight. He had almost not gone.

He rather wished, now, that he hadn’t.

But the allure of possibly catching a glimpse of Merenor had drawn him to the feast and he had been rewarded by the sight of his new assistant, wearing a smart coat that was a shade too red to go with his hair... and, yes, it was true, he was not a married ellon, Hanben had heard the king say that Merenor was not married... but then later, seeing him amongst all his family, talking lightly to Mistress Merlinith and her friend, and looking at someone pointed out to him, another ellon, and him seeming to smile, but then the glare from Cullasbes, the full weight of her warg-eyed stare and how, how could he even be thinking that he and Merenor could ever have more than a working relationship? Even if that had been what he had been thinking, except he hadn’t been thinking, but there, Cullasbes, and the four sons, family, and how could it possibly be, so many people to consider and... and Merenor, looking at some ellon, some random other ellon, and smilingly talking to Mistress Araspen and who had it been? Why was Merenor looking at another ellon and smiling so, and...

There was a sound, not a knock, or a tap, but a noise from outside, not loud, but enough to break into his circling, anguished, barely-articulated thoughts and make him stop pacing long enough to really he was perhaps a little overwrought.

The sound did not come again, but he thought he heard... imagined, perhaps... footsteps.

Cautiously, mostly because he wanted something to distract him from the destruction of his peace of mind caused by these runaway notions, he went to the door and opened it, looking out.

There was no-one in the corridor, but a soft, sweet scent assailed him.

On the small table in the hall was a tray bearing a mug of spiced hot milk and a small plate of sugar cakes... 

It was exactly what he needed, but... but Hanben had not requested such a drink from the corridor servant; it was generally a winter’s indulgence, and, besides, he would never have requested sugar cakes, either, but...

Not that it mattered.

He carried the tray into his room and settled in his favourite chair, inhaling the spiced from the milk and sipping slowly.

Soon he began to relax, his jumbled emotions settling, his odd distress dissipating in the warmth and comfort of the drink... it was ideal, exactly what one wanted at this time of night...

A fragment of conversation from the night before came back to him...

_‘...which do you prefer, wine or beer?’ Merenor had asked._   
_‘At this time of night, generally hot milk with cinnamon...’_

Merenor...?

Suddenly his calm was lost again in the thundering of his heart.

Setting the mug down, he rose hastily and looked out into the corridor, up and down, hoping to find that the dark shadows pooling beyond the last wall lantern concealed a figure in a dark red coat, trying to make a shape out of the dimness.

‘Merenor?’ he even called out. ‘Master Merenor, was this you?’

No answer.

He sighed, his head dropping.

‘Thank you, in any case,’ he called out into the empty halls. ‘It was thoughtful of you to remember and... goodnight.’

Returning to his fireside, Hanben sipped the rest of his milk thoughtfully, savouring it so long that it was almost cold by the time he had finished while outside, the shadows beyond the last lantern shifted, stirred, became the shape of a chestnut-haired ellon in a dark red coat who sauntered off quietly with a satisfied smile on his roguishly handsome face.


	311. Knives Against Swords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Govon gives Legolas a warrior's send off, and the prince and the king have their sparring match...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandalwood alert: not for public reading, perhaps...

‘Come on, my fair elf, it’s time you were stirring...’

Legolas felt the soft pressure of lips against his temple, fingers stroking his hair. He gave a small, comfortable sigh, the sound encouraging his tender assailant to move from temple to ear-tip. A kiss became a lick, became a nip, jolting him to full awareness in the most pleasant of ways as the hand left his hair and wandered lazily down his shoulder and arm, curved over his hip and gentle fingers grasped him, began circling and stroking.

A body, hot and hard against his back, a tongue working his ear, lips on his earlobe and he wriggled back against the hardness, pushed forward into the promising, encompassing hand.

‘Good morning, friend captain. What are you up to?’ 

‘Can you not guess?’ Govon bumped his hips forward into Legolas’ buttocks, causing him to gasp at the sudden spike of lust and love promised by the gesture. ‘I’m about to give my husband a warrior’s send-off...’

‘Now, that sounds like a wonderful way to begin the morning.’ 

Legolas eased onto his back, his arms reaching for his fëa-mate, husband, lover, to kiss his fine, laughing mouth and clasp him gently close, feeling the contrast of hard against soft against hard as desire and promise rose in him. But Govon only let him lie for a moment or two, allowing the kiss but then sliding out of it to reach for oil and turning his husband, rolling himself underneath.

‘You will have to help me, my knee...’

‘I could take you in the bathing pool, perhaps, like last night? The water supported you. And it was fun.’

‘More than fun, indeed... But now I want to be doing the taking...’ Govon worked his silken fingers around Legolas’ body, teasing, touching, feeling the jerk and jitter of response. ‘I can see you this way, too, see your lovely face change and grow more beautiful in your passion...'

‘And yet I will need to be fighting within the hour, and if I have tender places...’

‘...you will be all the more aware of your body and so your responses heightened...’ Govon used the magic of his hands to make the most of his argument and pulled at Legolas’ hips until his fair elf was astride him, resting over his lower belly. ‘Besides, if you need an excuse for losing...’

‘Ha! It will take more than an episode of marital bliss to make me lose a fight...’

Govon allowed himself to smile. 

‘So I think I must have won the argument, then?’

‘Well... you do look lovely from up here. The way your hair pools on the pillows...’

‘And you, sunbeams on your shoulders... Ai, but I want you...’

Legolas leaned forward to capture Govon’s mouth in a kiss, eased back to surrender to him, pushing himself onto his husband’s erection with slow ease, his hands braced on Govon’s shoulders as he felt himself expand and his senses swirl with pleasure at the sense of perfect fullness. Govon’s hands on his hips, angling him, encouraging him, the beauty of those stunning hazel eyes, half closed with delight and his breath coming fast, the pushes of his hips beneath Legolas already growing erratic, and, careful not to lose the perfect friction, Legolas slowly lowering his body to slide his arms beneath and hold his husband close while he circled his hips and pushed into him, pulled against him, hearing Govon’s breath suddenly harsh now, his own arousal trapped against Govon’s hard abdominals and the build of tension, the contrast between within his body and outside it, and he gasped and shuddered and Govon jerked and thrust up into him and locked together still, his body filling rhythmically with Govon’s heat, his own body emptying, spilling between them and that perfect burning moment when both were one, sharing the same ecstasy of love, the same release into bliss.

Govon’s lips found his in a soft and loving kiss, sighing into his mouth.

‘I hate to tell you, melleth-nin, but Erestor will probably be here in less than twenty minutes...’ Govon said, stroking Legolas’ hair out of the way. ‘So we will need to wash, I suppose...’

‘What?’ Legolas disengaged with as much haste as was comfortable. ‘You should have said, earlier...’

‘And then we would have decided we didn’t have time...’

‘I am not certain we do... do you need me to carry you to the pool, this morning?’

‘Ai, it would be sweet but... no, just your arm will do.’

‘Come, then.’ 

Legolas slid out of bed and supported his husband through to the bathing room. They were done, and dressed, barely, by the time Erestor knocked and waved the servant in with breakfast for three.

‘It will be a full day for your royal father,’ Erestor said, once they were all served and eating. ‘Currently he is in his first meeting with Arveldir, after which, of course, you will meet with him, my prince...’

‘Not quite sure ‘meet’ is the right word here,’ Govon said with a grin.

‘Quite. His majesty has extended an invitation to the weapons-smith who made your knives, ernilen...’

‘Duinor will be watching...? Well, I will have to win, now, to show his work to its best advantage...’

‘I am sure we hope you do well, highness. Whatever the outcome, after the bout, your royal father will hold an audience with Master Merenor and Mistress Cullasbes... Arveldir pales at the thought, since his majesty will not be clear why he wants them...we hope it is simply to impress upon them the need for discretion in any disputes they may have while both are resident in the palace...’

‘Both resident?’ Legolas asked.

‘Yes; I believe you had already left when Master Merenor informed Mistress Cullasbes that he has taken employment with the Office of Innovation...’

Govon grinned.

‘Well, it should keep him out of mischief. And I don’t think Hanben is one to put up with any nonsense.’

‘One would hope so. I know very little of the history of these two, but I gather not all has been smooth between them.’

Erestor paused to gather his thoughts, taking small mouthfuls of food with delicate precision.

‘We expect another meeting between Arveldir and the king after the day meal. Later again, the barge upriver leaves this afternoon, and Mistress Flora is determined to be on it; his majesty will spend some time with her, and her child before her carriage comes to convey them to the dock.’

‘As you say, full day, then. For me... Adar, then I will make sure Govon gets back here after the sparring, and then I will go on to the parade ground. A little practice on the ranges. I’ll try to look in on Flora as well, say my goodbyes.’

‘Very well, my prince. His majesty does not expect to dine in the main hall tonight... do you know whether you will be doing so...?’

‘No, I think we’d quite like a quiet evening at home, perhaps. Thank you, Erestor. Govon, have you done with the butter?’

After the meal was finished and cleared, Erestor inclined his head.

‘Shall I walk you round, ernilen?’

‘No, I need to get changed... if you want to wait, though...’

‘Change, my prince?’

Legolas indicated his boots, leggings, shirt and tunic.

‘Well, you don’t think I’m going to turn up for a display fight with Adar dressed like this, do you?’

*

‘...And that is another thing, Arveldir...’

Thranduil paused in his warm up exercises to hold his advisor’s gaze. Like this, bare-chested and gleaming with exertion, the twin swords resting on the ground, the king looked more than usually dangerous and Arveldir was not entirely sure he liked the steel in his king’s eyes... 

Having just, briefly, discussed the possible disruption attendant on Cullasbes and Merenor both residing in the palace, though, Arveldir had been thinking that any other topic would be light relief by comparison... until he met that implacable icy gaze...

He was wrong, of course.

‘Last night, you and Erestor of Imladris, seated together at the top table, for all to see... Now, it may have looked, to the casual eye, as if you were merely providing a buffer between the newlyweds and their kin, but I suspect, from your behaviour, that this was not the case...’

‘My behaviour, sire?’ Arveldir asked in shocked reproach.

‘You filled Erestor’s glass for him, when the servant would have done it. He passed you food from his own dishes...’

‘It was easier for me to pour the wine... as for the food... it was but a piece of bread, my lord; it is not as if he were hand-feeding me strawberries!’

Silence. Thranduil began swinging his swords again. Arveldir broke the silence first with restrained dignity.

‘Yet I am not ashamed to admit that there is between myself and Master Erestor more than friendship. We sat together, as a couple, to support other modern couples last night. As for our relationship, it does not impinge on our work, and we are discreet. Indeed, if this is the first time, my lord king, you have noticed, then we have succeeded...’

‘It is not. But I will admit, you have certainly caused no gossip, so generally, I have no complaints. However, understand this, Arveldir; whilst I am most willing to welcome a new advisor to the King’s Office, I am less willing to lose one.’

‘Yes, my lord king.’

‘And if at some point Elrond should decide he wants his advisor back, I am not prepared to go to war over him, do you understand?’

‘Not really, sire; I had thought it would be up to Erestor whether or not he returns to Imladris, not Elrond.’

And certainly not you, my king, Arveldir thought to himself. Nor could you hold me here, against my wishes, if Erestor has to leave.

‘Besides, I am quite certain, sire, that Erestor would not wish such a fuss to be made over him; he is modest and self-effacing in the extreme.’

‘I will grant you, he does manage to blend into the shadows so that one would hardly know he was here, until he is needed. I have no objections to you having a private life, Arveldir, as long as it does not impinge upon your public one.’

‘Sire. Are you quite done?’

‘Your meaning, Arveldir?’

‘With your warm up, sire; shall I bring them in yet?’

‘Yes, please do.’

Arveldir inclined his head and left the room, his heart burning with suppressed outrage. He pulled the door of the practice room shut behind him and looked over the persons waiting... Duinor and Commander Govon. Erestor, waiting with his hands folded quietly together, his keen eyes locking onto Arveldir’s and his face changing, knowing something was wrong...

And the prince, of course.

Dressed only in leggings and boots, unless one counted the leather harness currently holding his twin knives in place, his hair pulled back in one neat braid, his armband outlined in Govon’s colours of blue and ochre and green, he looked ready for anything.

Even as Arveldir bowed, preparing to welcome them, footsteps sounded along one of the corridors and Thiriston and Canadion arrived, the big elf’s arm around his husband supporting him.

‘You see, we’re not late,’ he said to Canadion. ‘My lord Argallor, are the others here yet?’

‘Others?’ Legolas asked.

‘The rest of the Grey Dragons,’ Canadion said. ‘They said they would meet us here...’

Arveldir blinked, noticing the newlyweds were wearing the basics of their new Dragon Guard uniforms. He shook his head.

‘I rather think his majesty was expecting a private session...’

‘Well, if you give us the keys to the observation room...’

‘Except it would hardly be fair to expect Canadion, with his injuries, to make his way up those steps,’ Govon said with a grin.

‘Very true.’ Arveldir’s mouth moved thoughtfully. Given the conversation he had just had with his king, he was not predisposed to consider Thranduil’s wishes in the matter; in fact, he rather thought the audience would be on Legolas’ side... ‘But his majesty will not brook interruption; we had better wait for your comrades and you can all go in together.’

‘And my Ada,’ Canadion said. ‘He was saying how much he’d love to see our king fight...’

‘We cannot delay long,’ Arveldir said. ‘His majesty is already prepared.’

‘Well, he’ll have to give me a few minutes to warm up anyway,’ Legolas said. ‘What kind of a mood is he in, do you think?’

‘If I were to say, ernilen, I wish you the best of luck and I devoutly hope you win...?’

‘That kind of mood, then? I hope he didn’t say anything too distressing... it’s probably because he can’t get Flora to stay for a few more days.’

‘Do you know, that had not occurred to me... thank you, my prince, that certainly explains his frame of mind.’

‘Don’t let him be unkind to you, do you hear? He needs you far more than he realises.’

Arveldir bowed again, deeply touched by Legolas’ support, but was spared the inconvenience of an answer as the rest of the Dragon Guard, accompanied by Commander Bregon, Triwathon and, conversing easily at his side, Merenor.

‘Adar’s here,’ Canadion said needlessly.

‘Yes, penneth, your father’s here... get used to it,’ Thiriston said, grinning.

Canadion hugged against him. ‘Oh, I do not think I ever shall!’

‘Good morning, your highness, everyone... Master Erestor... Lord Arveldir...’

‘Is that everyone? Good. Follow me in, keep clear of the sparring circle, there is a bench where you may sit, and please do behave yourselves...’

‘Well or badly?’ Merenor asked with a wink that made Canadion laugh.

Arveldir shook his head and opened the doors, standing to the side while everyone filed in. Erestor closed the doors behind them and took up position next to his friend, close but not touching. He looked up with a smile in his eyes and nodded; he knew there was something wrong, but he could wait to hear about it until later. Once Arveldir had smiled back, he turned his attention to where Thranduil was still warming up, spinning and swirling his twin blades in an elegant display of skill and strength. 

The king didn’t acknowledge his audience at first, not until he had come to a pause and rested down his sword tips, lifting his chin high and raising an eyebrow as he saw the little crowd gathered around Govon and Duinor on the seating.

Before he could speak, however, Legolas leapt into the circle and began his own warm up, following the points of his knives in an increasingly fast and frenetic sequence that ended with him facing his father with a bow.

‘Adar.’

‘Ion-nin. Are you ready?’

‘Of course; I already got a warm up at home; my husband saw to that...’

The silver, elegant eyebrow winged again, but Legolas grinned, unabashed, because off to the side he could see Govon preening.

‘Very well then.’ 

Thranduil saluted with his swords, Legolas bowed over his knives, and the match commenced.

It should have been a very unequal contest; the king easily had the range and the reach over the two slender knives which, long though they were, still were nowhere near the length of Thranduil’s matched swords. 

Yet Legolas seemed not to have realised; he whirled and spun and eeled himself out of the way of his father’s thrusts and sweeps, leaping and tucking his feet high to get out of the way of the slashing, shining steel, his slender knives flashing and glittering in the light from the lamps. Wherever Thranduil put his blades, there was Legolas not, until he lost sight of his son and his rhythm, losing the momentum of the dance, seeking after him, growing increasingly disorientated and annoyed that he was being pressed here, in front of so many witnesses. 

Reasserting his concentration, he took the swords out in a huge sweeping circle at waist height to gain a moment to focus, to plan...

But even as he regrouped, there was a blur, and Legolas rolled in under his guard to barrel against his shins and knock him backwards so that he released one sword into the air as he fell onto the sand of the practice ground, vaguely aware of being glad the stone had been scrubbed and its surface replenished lately, and found Legolas sitting on his chest, pinning his other sword arm down with his knee and holding his knife tips to his father’s throat.

For a moment, Thranduil was furious; bested by his own son with new, shorter blades and in front of a crowd who were cheering and applauding... but then he remembered why he had ordered the knives, because his son was such an amateur with the swords, hopeless, and so he made himself speak.

‘I yield, ion-nin. Well fought.’

‘Thank you, Adar. It was fun.’

Legolas got to his feet and offered Thranduil his arm, pulling him up. Thranduil made himself laugh, and clap him on the shoulder.

‘Well, I need not worry for your safety, I see, not armed with these. Good.’

‘They are wonderful knives. Can you imagine, Adar, if we ever need to draw blades together? We will be amazing.’

‘Except that will not happen, ion-nin, for in any battle, you would be fighting with your husband at your side. But I hope there will be no need.’ Thranduil came to a halt in front of the little crowd who now stood respectfully for him. ‘Oh, sit, all of you! And while you are congratulating my son, you had better also applaud Master Duinor, whose weapons-craft made these blades. Now, all of you, be about your day; I have many meetings and much to attend to.’

He strode from the practice chamber by the private exit which led to his throne room, and Arveldir clapped his hands.

‘I am sure we are all very grateful to have witnessed this encounter; ernilen, I am grateful that I was included in your audience. But if you will, please, I need to take his majesty’s forgotten garments to him...’

‘Come,’ Govon said. ‘If you want to tell my husband how well he fought, save it for when he arrives at the parade ground... I want to take him home and congratulate him myself.’


	312. 'Happy As We Are'...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil makes a suggestion...

Erestor watched Arveldir follow after Thranduil, the king’s discarded shirt and robes of state in his arms. It was something more properly done by a servant, a menial task, but Arveldir had not hesitated, had simply seen what needed to be done and had done it.

His swift departure, however, meant Erestor had no opportunity to speak with him, to ask what had happened to so discompose his friend. For although it was nothing anyone else would have noticed, there was no doubt, to Erestor’s observant eye, that something was wrong.

Well, he could do nothing about it now. If he wished to help and support his friend it was best done at present by making matters easier for him elsewhere.

‘A most entertaining display, ernilen,’ he said, inclining his head towards the prince. ‘Have you been working with those blades for long?’

Legolas shook his head, grinning.

‘No, indeed, they arrived only with my uniform yesterday. But with blades this good, you really don’t need to work with them long to get to know them.’ He gestured to where Duinor was looking both delighted and embarrassed at such praise. ‘Duinor, my thanks. Truly exquisite work, the balance perfect, and the blades themselves things of beauty.’

‘It was an honour, your highness, to work on the commission,’ Duinor said.

‘I will use these knives hard, I promise you. And I will be on the practice ground within the hour,’ Legolas said, looking towards the Grey Dragon Warriors. ‘So those of you not on marital leave, don’t keep me waiting.’

It was the signal for which Erestor had been hoping, and he opened the door and put himself on the far side of it, waiting for the practice room to clear.

Last out, just a little way behind Canadion and his husband, Master Merenor was talking to Duinor.

‘...you made those lovely things yourself? I am sure you must be very good with your hands... an ellon is never bored if he has good hands, don’t you think?’

Erestor cleared his throat.

‘Master Merenor? I understand you have an appointment...’

‘I do indeed... Master Duinor, it was an honour to meet you... good day...’

‘Would you permit me to walk you to the Hall of Audience, Master Merenor?’

‘That’s very kind of you, my lord. If you trust a rogue such as I, that is.’

‘I know exactly what manner of rogue you are, sir – one who would not dream of importuning anyone whom you knew was not free.’

‘Indeed, yes – I am, for all that I’m a terrible flirt, a most honourable reprobate.’ Merenor sighed and his eyes twinkled. ‘Mind you, in your case I could be persuaded to make an exception...’

‘I hope you are in jest, or else I will suggest we detour and collect Mistress Cullasbes on our way...’

Merenor laughed.

‘Ai, forgive me!’ he said, falling into step a polite distance from Erestor’s side. ‘But there are so many very fair ellyn in the palace and I do believe they are not told it often enough... yourself included.’

‘Indeed, it matters to me only that one particular person should tell me so... and he does, and so I am not in need of your kind flattery, Master Merenor. You would do better to save it for one who needs it.’

‘And so I shall... the king, perhaps.’

Erestor stared at him, and Merenor shrugged.

‘After losing so splendidly to his son this morning, I think he could use a little kindness, don’t you?’

‘It really is not my place to say.’

‘Is it your place to say what he wants us for? That is, do you have any idea?’

‘None whatsoever, I am afraid... no more does Arveldir, who is generally the first to know. However, I am sure you will not have long to wait.’

They reached the antechamber of the Hall of Audience and Erestor gestured Merenor to a seat while they waited.

Before long, Cullasbes arrived. She greeted Merenor and Erestor in the same cold tone, as if Erestor, simply by his presence, was as deserving of her contempt as she seemed to feel Merenor to be.

‘I enjoyed the feast last night,’ Merenor said conversationally. ‘Didn’t you, my dear?’

‘Hardly,’ she said in clipped tones. ‘It was embarrassing.’

‘And there was me thinking you’d always wanted to be noticed by the king...’

‘Nor did you help, either! Perhaps that is what this is about, his majesty wishes to inform you that your services are not needed around the palace. Why you had to choose so public a place to make such a claim...’

‘Because I’d already tried, twice, to tell you privately and...’ Merenor broke off with a sigh. ‘Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now. Like so many other things, its moment is past... anyway, last night was meant to be about our son and his husband. Didn’t he look fine?’

‘Which? Our son? Or his husband?’

‘Oh, were you looking at Thiriston?’ Merenor grinned. ‘I meant Canadion, of course! An unusual interpretation of the warrior markings, but he looked splendid!’

‘It is not a tradition they have in Imladris, more’s the pity,’ Erestor said, more to remind the two that they were not alone in the hopes it would restrain their topics of conversation. ‘But then, we are rather a formal lot, we Noldor... it looks much better on wild wood elves, I think.’

The door to the hall opened and Arveldir emerged with a bow.

‘His majesty will see you now. Please go in. I will be a moment...’

A look to Erestor and Arveldir closed the door after the king’s visitors.

‘What’s wrong?’ Erestor asked as Arveldir drew quietly away from the door and its attendant guards.

‘I do not know. Nothing. Perhaps... it is of no account, not really, merely his majesty’s interpretation of our table manners last night... but forgive me if I stand further apart from you in public than has been usual... it is nothing personal, I...’

‘I knew sitting together would bring us into the public eye as a couple; I really did not mind, are you saying you do...?’

‘Of course not, my friend, my dear, not in the slightest, but... his majesty commented, that is all, and I would spare you the embarrassment of his notice.’

‘I am sure I am quite a match for Thranduil; I have been serving in Imladris, do not forget!’

Arveldir smiled. ‘True. And I do not doubt it, but... sometimes he can appear harsh, and I would simply spare your feelings.’

The door opened and one of the hall guards came to attention in front of them.

‘His majesty has summoned his advisors.’

‘Very well.’ Arveldir nodded. ‘If you are ready, Master Erestor?’

‘I believe so, Lord Arveldir.’

*

Thranduil’s cool gaze had not changed as his visitors made their proper obeisance. He had waved them up, then snapped his fingers towards the guards.

‘My advisors. Get them. Cullasbes, Merenor, you may rise. Once Arveldir and Erestor are here, we will begin.’

Getting to his feet, Merenor took the opportunity to glance at the king from under his lashes... different from how he’d last seen him, so very different, this king, frosty calm and cold in his silver robes, bright jewels glittering like ice on his hands, at his collar... as still as a lake in winter... Merenor found himself thinking that he preferred his king half-naked, fighting with twin blades, hot with sweat and looking wildly around for his assailant, dangerous and beautiful and utterly unpredictable...

The sound of the door closing, ponderous. No footfalls, of course, not from the soft shoes of the advisors. From the corner of his eye, Merenor saw Arveldir take up a stance near his side, while Erestor flanked Cullasbes. Oh, dear... Had his earlier light flirting with Erestor got back to the Noldo’s sweetheart? Was he in trouble already?

The king looked almost bored as he uncrossed his legs and sat squarely in his throne, eyes drifting from Cullasbes to Merenor and back again. His hands rested languidly on the arms of the chair... at least this was not the throne room, this not the main throne situated atop stairs and dais, dominating all before it; the distinction between subject and king here was still very obvious, but not quite so overwhelming.

‘Why did you two take vows?’ Thranduil asked abruptly. ‘What made you decide – yes, this person is one with whom I wish to spend my days, perhaps forever?’

Merenor could see Cullasbes beginning to shiver her shoulders in what was likely to precede a huge impertinence, so he jumped in almost without thinking.

‘It seemed the logical thing to do, at the time. In those days, we were still reeling from our losses... how likely was it I would find my fëa-mate, after all those deaths? And then, there was peace, finally, but... my nature was such that outside of wartime, my company was not sought by those whom I would seek; we were, in those days, still thought of as unnatural... duty and the population, my family, her family... if I couldn’t find a fëa-mate to love, I could at least have children and love them... And I do, sire, I love my sons, I am proud of them all. Even if they had done nothing to deserve it, I would still be proud of them.’ He glanced across at Cullasbes. ‘They told us love would grow in time. I think they meant well.’

But they had been mistaken. He kept the thought to himself, seeing Cullasbes preparing to speak. To his shock, he thought he saw her eyes glisten with tears... surely not?

‘My parents said he was of good family. Connected, it would be good for the business. Children mattered, of course. I wanted a daughter...’

‘And no other reason?’ Thranduil asked, leaning sideways in his chair to support his chin lightly with his fingers, thoughtful, apparently interested.

‘He... Merenor... he had nice eyes. And I thought he looked as if he would be kind.’ Her eyes flicked towards her not-husband and back, so quickly the look almost went unnoticed. ‘I admit, he was kind.’

Merenor looked down at the floor, suddenly overwhelmed. That was by far the nicest thing she had said to him since before Melion was born...

Of course, the moment didn’t last.

‘...but he was... our son, Baudh. He grew up to be... to take after his father, and I was sure it was his fault! I warned him, I told him, but no, he would encourage the boy not to hide it and...’

‘I just didn’t want him to grow up afraid and ashamed, that’s all...’

‘And while you were content with two strange, warped sons, you would not even ask the Valar for the blessing of a daughter!’

‘No, because I was quite happy to be blessed with sons, all of whom are perfect, in their own way! I knew it mattered to you, but it didn’t to me, it would have been wrong to plead for something I didn’t care about... insincere...’

‘So you see, it was your fault!’

‘I do not know why you are complaining; you had your home full of handsome ellyn come courting; the end result was the same, was it not?’

Thranduil hid an amused smile. The two seemed to have forgotten they were in the presence of their king, all their old, hidden frustrations finally coming out like pus drawn from an infected wound.

‘And then you refused to marry me!’

‘We were vowed; if there was any chance that either of us might meet our true fëa-mates, it would have been wrong, it would have made four people unhappy instead of two...’

‘I was not unhappy!’

‘Well, that’s not what you said at the time!’

‘If we had been properly married, we might have had a daughter!’

‘Or another son... and I would have loved him, yes, but after Canadion, after you sent me away, I couldn’t bear the thought of a child I wouldn’t be allowed to see!’

‘You are selfish, Merenor! You considered only yourself!’

‘Well, of course I thought of myself – you didn’t!’

‘And now you have broken your promise and you are staying? And you expect me not to mind?’

‘Who broke the promise first, Cullasbes? You sent me away so that Canadion wouldn’t be like me... and you said you would keep me informed, you would tell me how he was. When I left, he was happy, he was in the guard, he was in love... and I come back and hear tales of spiders and orcs and best friends killed and... and dragons and heroics, and fëa-mates, and... and you didn’t even write to tell me he’d won an archery contest! Did I only hear about his wedding because the King’s Office send out the invitations? Would you have told me, Cullasbes? Would you? You certainly didn’t tell me anything else!’

Merenor fell silent, the echoes of the row bouncing off the rockwork. His chest was heaving, he was shaking, his fury a white-hot rage flooding his body. He looked, Thranduil had to admit, rather magnificent. Cullasbes, however, was not daunted. Finally remembering where she was, she addressed the king.

‘Do you see, my lord king, what I have to put up with?’

‘Indeed, you live alone in excellent rooms in the palace, your business flourishes, you have sons to be proud of – whether you are or not – you have friends, status... it is a hard life, but it has its consolations, does it not?’

She fell silent, not sure what to make of this. Thranduil crossed his left leg over his right knee and gestured to Arveldir.

‘The formal document, if you please... Ah, yes. It states here, as you say, that your union was arranged, for mutual comfort and for elflings...’ 

He looked up, re-rolling the scroll and handing it out for Arveldir to take back.

‘Since you were not married, and you did not seek each other out of mutual love and attraction, why should you have to put up with this? Why must you remain vowed?’

‘Sire?’ Arveldir muttered, shocked.

‘Elves do not divorce!’ Cullasbes said reproachfully.

‘No, indeed, but if there is no marriage there can be no divorce in any case. You were brought together not to please yourselves but to please other people. In the light of this, I can order the King’s Office to grant you an annulment...’

Merenor looked up, a light of hope in his eye.

‘But... but what about... if there are more children...’

‘There won’t be from me, Cullasbes!’ Merenor said. ‘I can safely promise you that, I think!’

‘You are not the only pairing in this situation. I understand some are less happy, even than you seem to be... we will be offering them all the same opportunity in due course.’

‘But... the Valar...’ 

‘Are not here, Cullasbes, to clarify the situation!’ Thranduil waved his hand. ‘It is odd, is it not, how the Silvan population is happy to ignore all the promises and teachings of the Valar except to invoke them as a sort of unseen vindication of whatever the individual requires... And yet I am certain they wish for our happiness, not our continued misery... Well? Will you have an annulment, formally, with no blame to either of you and no shame, the king’s latest reform and you both leading lights in an age of new understanding?’

Merenor held his breath. He wanted to thank his king, to fall on his knees and praise his wisdom, he...

Cullasbes sniffed.

‘We’re quite happy as we are, thank you.’

Thranduil slowly winged up an eyebrow, his gaze turning to Merenor who took a breath, felt a lightness growing in his heart, and found his voice.

‘No, we’re not!’ he said in an almost sing-song tone. ‘And, my lord king, I will thank you from the very depths of my fëa and accept your most kind offer...’

‘But... but we cannot...’ Cullasbes protested.

‘Yes, we can. If my king says I may, then I will take his word over yours, I am afraid – it would be treason, else...’

‘Shouldn’t we talk to the children first?’ she asked.

‘Whatever for?’ Merenor asked. ‘We didn’t ask them before we took those silly vows, did we...?’

‘It is ridiculous!’

‘No, but why? Our sons are grown, I have been living far too far away... if we do not take the annulment, I might have to move back in with you, to your nice rooms... and now I am working with an innovator, I will be coming home with mud and oil all over me...’

The king thought it time to intervene.

‘I understand this may have come as a shock to you both. Do you need a little while to consider the matter?’

‘I don’t, my king,’ Merenor said. ‘My apologies if we grew a little... heated earlier. I think, perhaps, we have been vowed long enough and your generous idea is a way for us both to retreat with no loss of face. I made many sacrifices for my sons, I will probably make more, before I am done... you know how it is, I am sure... but I want a life of my own choosing now. I believe I may have met someone, and to be able to introduce myself as one with no ties... to an honourable ellon, it will make me seem far less of a rogue... and then Cullasbes, I happen to know there is someone she has been trying not to look at... if we were released, she might be able to find the happiness she deserves there. For I know she will not be able to find it with me. The Valar know, we have tried, sire.’

Thranduil considered, preparing a reply but before he could utter it, Cullasbes had gasped and turned to her consort.

‘How can you possibly know about Ravomen?’ she demanded.

Merenor winked and grinned in a fine show of bravado.

‘Lucky guess,’ he said. ‘Come, Cullasbes! There is no shame in a graceful acceptance of a kindness.’

‘I... will they think badly of me?’

‘If they do, blame me.’ Merenor’s smile became rueful. ‘It always worked before, did it not?’

The king kept the amusement from his face as he spoke.

‘Erestor, be so good as to escort Mistress Cullasbes to her rooms; we will have a document drafted for her and her consort to sign freeing them from their vows and restoring them to their single states by tomorrow. Mistress Cullasbes, good day to you... Master Merenor, a moment...’

Once Cullasbes had left, Thranduil tipped his head curiously. 

‘Is it true that you did not know of your youngest son’s courage, Merenor?’

‘Oh, I always knew he was brave... I was simply not informed of those times he showed it in front of witnesses...’

‘He is indeed courageous.’ Thranduil found himself warming to this light-mannered ellon and wanted to offer his own tribute to Canadion. ‘Without thought for himself, he threw himself at me and smothered the flames consuming my body.’

‘Now, sire, when he retells the story, he says he had always wanted to embrace his king, and this seemed like the perfect moment...’ Merenor smiled, his eyes warming. ‘But who could blame him? My lord king... I am most grateful to the King’s Office, sire, for both giving me a job and now for giving me hope that I might truly enjoy my work. I have been a very long time alone, for propriety’s sake, for my family... to know it need not be so... well; it is a cruel thing, sire, to have one’s nature curtailed against one’s wishes.’

‘I think that will be all, Master Merenor, you have a job to go to, I understand.’

Merenor bowed and Arveldir ushered him out.

‘Arveldir.’

‘Yes, sire?’

‘There will be a document to write...’

‘I gathered that, sire. Might I ask Master Erestor to assist me in the process?’

The stiff formality with which his advisor made the request gave Thranduil pause... what had Merenor just said, how cruel to have one’s nature curtailed...?

Was it possible that Arveldir had been offended by his king’s words earlier?

‘Yes, of course, he is very good at such matters... there must also be a formal declaration written and posted so that other couples in similar situations to Canadion’s hapless parents can extricate themselves with grace if they wish to do so and Arveldir?’

 

‘Yes, sire?

‘I think you may have misunderstood...’

‘When do you need the document, sire? Tomorrow, did you say?’

‘I did indeed and, Arveldir...’

A heartbeat’s pause to suggest polite impatience.

‘Yes, my king?’

‘Does he?’

‘Sire?’

‘Does Erestor hand-feed you strawberries?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I thought not. They are out of season, of course. I suggest blackberries as a fitting substitute. Very well. We will defer our second meeting for an hour; I intend a visit to Mistress Flora.’


	313. First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hanben takes Merenor on a tour...

Always meticulous in the ordering of his workroom, this morning Hanben set out his equipment with special care. The main project for the day – the immensely damaged person-barrow – he set up on a table in the centre of the space where it could be approached from all angles. 

He unrolled his toolkit and aligned it neatly with the edge of the table, found a fresh carpenter’s apron for Merenor’s use and nodded to himself. 

All ready, he left the workroom to make his way back to his office to await his new assistant.

Remembering that Merenor had spoken of a meeting with the king, he was not surprised to find Merenor not present and Parvon, currently the most senior member of staff on duty, unaware of what was happening.

‘For I saw Master Erestor briefly; I think he left you a message, but then said something about having documents to write, and not wishing for himself and Master Arveldir to be interrupted, they are working in Arveldir’s rooms this morning and I was to send to the kitchens for some blackberries...’ Parvon shook his head. ‘I gather the king has ordered a new decree and it is like to have widespread repercussions on our populace...’

‘Without due notice? No forward planning?’ 

Parvon shook his head and Hanben echoed the movement.

‘Is it always the case that the advisors do not so much advise as pick up the pieces after the king has made his wishes known?’ Hanben asked.

‘Sometimes it does seem to be. What does your morning hold, Master Hanben?’

‘Merenor begins working with me today... I will give him an overview of the current housing projects and then see how much practical ability he has... the king’s meeting is over, did you say?’

‘Only quite recently. Is Merenor very late?’

Hanben glanced at the telling-of-hours lamp in the corner.

‘In fact, no; rather, I am early... but it would not do for him to arrive first, he might think he can catch me off-guard...’

Parvon smiled.

‘In truth Master Merenor seems to catch everyone off-guard... I will admit, I was a little wary of him to begin, but after the first initial conversation, he seems perfectly nice, understanding and wise, even. Well, I must go through the day orders with the underlings. If Merenor arrives, I will send him in.’

Hanben thanked him and ensconced himself in his office, running through some of the paperwork that always seemed to find its way to his desk. Amongst the requisition slips and workload estimates was a hastily scribbled message bearing Erestor's mark.

Ah.

Master Erestor rather thought Master Merenor would require rooms of his own shortly, and would Master Hanben please to give the matter some thought?

Really?

He was considered a fit person to choose accommodation for his new assistant...?

If Merenor proved suitable, he reminded himself.

If they could work together.

If there was anything under that good-humoured, eloquent surface, more to his nature other than a gilded tongue and pair of clever hands...

Presently Parvon tapped on the door and ushered Merenor in.

‘Your new assistant, Master Hanben. Good luck.’

Merenor smiled after Parvon as the door closed, leaving him alone with his new master.

‘I wonder which one of us he meant?’ he said. ‘However, good morning, Master Hanben.’

‘We will waste time if we continually speak formally, Merenor.’

‘I’m honoured, then, Hanben. What would you have of me this morning?’

Had Merenor started already with the flirting? But when Hanben looked, the expression on his new assistant’s face was, if anything, subdued. It was almost a pity; he rather liked the swift and cheeky grin Merenor so often sported...

And he was waiting for an answer...

‘His majesty has recently ordered a sequence of refurbishment and renovation of quarters for the warriors of the new Dragon Guards... although more of a building project than a task for the Office of Innovation, some of the upgrades are our concern...’

‘Let me guess, washing cascades?’

‘Indeed yes, amongst other things. The first of the accommodations is now in use – in fact, it is occupied by your son and his husband. I intend to commence today with a tour of the rooms being so upgraded – not visiting your son’s corridor, of course, it could be an intrusion – but the corridor adjacent, which is being fitted up for use of some of the Black Dragons...’

‘That all sounds very interesting.’

‘Does it really?’

‘Well...’ Merenor gave a self-effacing shrug and smile. ‘Perhaps it is not completely and utterly fascinating of itself...’

‘It does, however, demonstrate how the work of my office can overlap with other areas. If you will follow me now...?’

Merenor smiled to himself. Ai, Master Hanben ...to the ends of Middle Earth and all the way to Valinor, if you ask it...

He did not voice the thought. 

‘Lead on,’ he said.

On the way he paid cursory attention to Hanben’s explanation of the old, single rooms being knocked through with the ones adjacent to give proper space, inclusion of windows or lightwells, fitting in the washing cascades and individual hygiene facilities, his attention wandering to how the light from the intermittent lamps and windows lit the dark brown of Hanben’s hair and made it shine and shimmer, but he managed to keep up with the explanations, even offering an occasional opinion.

‘This was considered adequate for a single warrior? Sweet Eru, can you imagine someone of Thiriston’s stature in a room like this?’

‘It would be cramped, Merenor, indeed, especially with all the weapons and armour and uniforms which would need to be stowed somewhere... I suppose, in times of war, when the standing army needed to be housed close to the king, for a short time it would do. However, the Dragon Guard – especially those core warriors and the officers – are to be housed in their own wing.... along here...’

‘What, all of them? What about those who already have nice rooms, homes that have been in the family for generations, for instance?’

‘I am not privy to all the policy... I understand that the main focus here is on encouraging modern couples who may be amongst the guard, to give them the opportunity to cohabit openly if they so desire. But I doubt anyone would be made to move against their wishes.’

Merenor nodded.

‘And so, while there is honeymooning going on, the work crews have been ordered to desist work in the Grey Dragon main corridor and have moved on to here. This will be where the Black Dragons will be quartered.’ Hanben glanced at Merenor, his eyes measuring. ‘Master Parvon tells me one of these rooms is to be for your friend Triwathon...’

‘Oh, I rather think Parvon would prefer Triwathon to be known as his friend, not mine... I can understand why... a very kind-natured ellon... loyal to a fault, of course, determined to wait for his Balrog-slayer...’

‘And is there something wrong with that?’

‘For Parvon’s peace of mind, maybe. Otherwise, no. For the right person, who would not be prepared to wait?’

Hanben cleared his throat and led the way down the corridor towards the sound of banging coming from rooms at the far end.

‘I do not know why it is that any manner of renovation is always accompanied by such a racket!’ he said in complaining tones. ‘Half the time, I am sure, there can be no need for it!’

‘It is a busy, industrious sound, perhaps.’ Merenor offered. ‘Reassuring to the one working that he is accomplishing something, and to those listening indicating he is busy about his work.’

‘Come in here, I will show you what we intend.’ Hanben led off into a room to the left. ‘The living area leads into a second room, a third beyond. Areas for storage with curtains over... and no windows! I will confess, I was startled when I saw how palace elves were expected to live...’

‘I think you have not been here long, somebody said? You were a healer?’

‘Yes, towards the west of the forest not far from the old road... a traditional community. While I can see the need to shelter in caves when the need arises, I am not entirely convinced I enjoy it; I preferred my talan.’

‘I understand; my last home was a flet in a village compound. And I understand there are talain communities around the palace.’

‘Yes, and I have considered it, but...’ Hanben sighed. ‘Attached to the Healers’ Hall at first, I had to live in rooms there and I grew accustomed to the luxury of the bathing pools, I am afraid... which is silly, we do not need such home comforts, we are elves...’

‘True. But that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy what’s offered, does it? But there is a challenge for you – a talan complete with washing cascade!’

Hanben smiled.

‘I rather think I will make that your project, Merenor. And so. This storage area, here, it is small enough to function very well as a washing cascade; it is fairly near to the fireplace so it is not too difficult to fit the tank to hold the water... ideally, we would find a way to run pipes from the hot springs directly through each room – in similar fashion to the guest room you are inhabiting, in fact. But that would be a very large project, requiring more engineering expertise than we currently have...’ He glanced around, taking in the dimensions of the space and shaking his head. ‘We will see if the stone is too think to make windows difficult; if so, we will make lightwells instead. They tell me these were typical rooms for the married warriors, where they would live with spouse and up to two children... I cannot begin to imagine how...’

They were in the large room at the furthest end of the dwelling. Merenor gestured around him.

‘Nana and Ada’s room, if they have just the one child at home, usually. Little one next door... main living room... I suppose communal bathing and hygiene...’ 

He wandered through to the first room, stood in front of the empty fireplace.

‘With a hearth, you could prepare your own meals, if you wanted to, or send the corridor servant to fetch you food. I used to cook, when I was home, Cullasbes said it made me look like a vagabond... but she’d smile when she said it, sometimes... It was comfortable, a bit close, I suppose. In the winter, with the wind howling outside the walls, you would hear it blowing over the tops of the ventilation shafts sometimes, a bit like when you blow over the top of a beer bottle... when the boys were little, I used to say it was the Maiar’s hunting elks calling out that all was well in the Greenwood... Cullasbes would roll her eyes at us... I had been more used to living in the forests myself, but when we paired up, she wanted the security of stone walls around her. Besides, her family got some good rooms for her... we had a window, we even had an extra chamber, it was meant to be for the children but somehow it didn’t quite happen, it became her private room... I suppose she needed the escape...’

Merenor turned towards the wall above the fireplace, his head bowed, bracing his hands against the stone as he remembered telling tales to Caraphindir, to Baudh, to Melion... once, twice, to Canadion, but then Cullasbes had taken him to one side and said, really, this would have to stop, too many stories about elks and Maiar and it was ridiculous, everyone knew the Maiar did not come to the forest any more... 

He could picture it, see her seated by the fire (not this fire) with whichever child was home sitting at her feet, his own chair relegated to the other side of the room, the rug a divide between them. Remembered how over the long years and the pregnancies, the hope in her eyes dulled to blame, how the genteel tones would become edged when she spoke to him, how she had suggested more and longer trips away for the business, how he missed so much of Canadion’s childhood and youth, how...

How?

How had they ever come to this?

‘Merenor?’

Sudden tension gripped across Merenor’s shoulders and he sighed.

‘Your pardon, Master Hanben... I was thinking, did I miss something...?’

‘No, not at all.’ Hanben’s voice was gentle, kind almost. ‘You seemed... are you quite well, Master Merenor?’

Merenor pushed away from the fireplace and tried to put his usual pleasant expression back in place. It did not seem to fit his face, however, not at the moment.

‘It is nothing. Well, it is hardly nothing, it is... have you ever, perhaps, had good news which somehow was terribly sad at the same time?’

There was a broad ledge in the side wall, and Hanben gestured towards it, indicating they should sit.

‘Personally, I have not,’ he said, trying to read from Merenor’s eyes how best to help. ‘Our king has, however... his relief, knowing his oldest sons would not die, was matched only by his despair on learning they would have to sail, to be healed, can only be imagined...’

‘Fair point.’ Merenor rubbed his hands together. ‘It is... the meeting I had with the king... he has offered us – Cullasbes and I – a way out. An annulment, a way to end our arrangement with no shame attached. She would be free to pursue this Ravomen chap she seems to like and I... well, to no longer have to live a lie would be good, of itself. I ought to be delighted, joyous, I should be rubbing my hands together and... and yet... thinking about family life together – it was not all awful... those people we used to be, Cullasbes and I, when we were young enough to still think we could learn each other, grow together... I feel so sad for those two, trying so hard...’

He huffed his breath and gave a grim smile that was a grimace before it ended.

‘We grew together just enough to see where the other’s weaknesses were, and to use them defensively. I know it is for the best that we end it and walk away with dignity. But, still, all those hundreds of years lost in maintaining the illusion of respect and affection... I will never see Canadion as a child again, I will never be able to go back and tell him the stories of the Maiar’s elk... so much besides time is lost to us.’

Hanben did not know how to reach out, except with words. Oh, had it been Merenor’s arm bleeding, not his fëa, he could have bound it up, spoken bracing, almost dismissive words calculated to annoy and strengthen the sufferer, had... had a wheel fallen off Merenor’s wagon, he could have fixed it back in place. Would a pat on the hand be comforting, or patronising? An arm around the shoulder a gesture of support, or mistaken for an inappropriate advance? 

He wished he knew what to say, or do; he wanted to do something...

‘I am sorry to hear of your unhappiness,’ he said, finally. ‘But you should remember, while you cannot change things for your younger self, your current self has a present, and a future ahead. You are an elf, you have time to heal from the hurt. And with that smile of yours, I am sure you will find companionship more suited to your needs when you are ready.’

Merenor turned to look at him, finding a smile even as his eyes glistened... Ai! And he had thought he was always ready...!

‘My smile? I am flattered, Master Hanben! You are very kind...’ He took a breath, released it, gathering himself together a little. ‘Yes. So. How you’d live in rooms like this... If you were a warrior, you wouldn’t be home, much. You’d be training, or fighting. For your wife to be living close to other warriors’ wives, it could be a comfort. You would not want too much space, I think, if you were waiting for someone to come home to you.’

What would it be like, to wait for Hanben to come home? Or to get home and find him there already?

‘I suppose not. I cannot imagine how it would be, to have one’s spouse away at battle and not to know whether they would come home again...’ Hanben paused, shaking his head. ‘Ai, what a first day you are having, mellon-nin! Sad memories and distressing news and now I add a morbid touch! Come, shall we go and do something more practical? The damaged person-barrow awaits!’

He got to his feet and held out a hand to help Merenor up. His new assistant accepted, briefly squeezing his fingers before letting go at the appropriate time.

‘Yes, a bit of mechanical wrangling always cheers me up,’ he said. ‘But I would not say the day is completely lost. After all, you said I have a nice smile... and you called me your friend. I think I must count it as a good start, from my point of view, at least...’

Hanben found himself about to laugh and stopped quickly.

‘Well, if you get the person-barrow mended, I might just agree with you,’ he said.


	314. A Hard Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil visits his grandson as Flora prepares to leave...

Arveldir did not look happy, Thranduil noted. It seemed unfair of him; the king had, after all, only been trying to say something to indicate he did not really object to Arveldir and Erestor’s relationship when his advisor had interrupted before he could finish...

So now, although Thranduil had tried to lighten the mood, all that had happened was Arveldir had sniffed and looked offended at the helpful suggestion that blackberries were in season. Ah, well. Erestor would console him, no doubt. 

With or without the help of seasonal soft fruit.

Thranduil reached his private rooms and realised he had forgotten to ask for his discarded formal robes and his shirt to be fetched. No matter. He did not want to look too over-dressed if he was visiting Flora; she found him intimidating, he believed, and he did not want to frighten her; understated, not imposing, was key here.

He was, however, spared the necessity of finding himself a fresh shirt when a knock on his door revealed Arveldir, carrying the abandoned garments.

‘Thank you, Arveldir, you may leave them anywhere.’

‘Yes, sire,’ the advisor said, setting down the shirt and tunic and shaking out the cloth-of-silver robes of state and hanging them properly in their allotted place. ‘Will there be anything else, my king? I have a document to draft.’

‘No, I won’t need you again for a few hours... that is to say, your service is always invaluable but I am aware that this document, which you appear to have forgotten I wanted, ought to take precedence. We will cancel our planned second meeting; if anything urgent comes up, seek me out later; I will not be dining in the hall tonight.’

Arveldir opened his mouth to dispute the accusation of forgetfulness and saw the glint of humour in his king’s eye. Keeping his face passive, he tipped his head politely.

‘Very good, sire.’

‘And if I may venture a suggestion...? Work in your chambers – that way any minor matters that arise will fall to Parvon’s lot, allowing you to get on with the document... I think you said you were going to collaborate with Erestor on it?’

‘With your majesty’s kind permission, yes.’ 

‘Very well. You had better go, before you forget yourself and tell me you know perfectly well how to do your job without my helpful suggestions; I know you do, otherwise I would not rely on you so much. Thank you, Arveldir, and do remember to stop for lunch. That will be all.’

‘Thank you sire, if you are sure... you do not, for example, wish to suggest what I should eat? While you are presently prepared to be so generous with your most excellent advice, that is?’

The dripping sarcasm was really perfectly delivered, Thranduil thought, struggling not to smile, and Arveldir’s face wonderfully neutral... if a scowl could be considered polite, that is. 

Sure his voice would crack if he were observed, he reached for his shirt and turned his back as he spoke.

‘Oh, I do not know... I understand the blackberry harvest is rather good this year...’

*

Flora had packed, already, keeping out only those things she knew she would need for Belegornor on her way to the barge that would take her home. The baby was gurgling happily – such a good-natured baby, there really was no crying in him, except for very rarely... it meant she had to be more than usually watchful, since he complained so little, but everyone said what a happy nature he had.

Just looking at him made her heart fill up with love and put a smile on her face, but, really, she didn’t feel like smiling, not at all. Oh, it had been lovely to see Canadion and Thiriston get married, to see her sponsor the prince and his husband (she was allowed to call him that now, strangely, although previously it had been shocking when she did)... but so much was changed without Iauron to talk to, and lovely Healer Nestoril, and friendly Feril... even Arwen not being here made a difference.

No, she would be glad to go home, back to her mother and her family.

A knock at her door and she looked up to see Healer Gaelbes, who had tried so hard to be welcoming and fill the gap left by Nestoril.

‘If you are not busy, the king would like to see you.’

Flora nodded. Thranduil had been to see the baby before, had taken him out to show him the night sky, which should have worried her, but it hadn’t. Not that she thought Belegornor had understood all the talk in Elvish – Sindarin – but it sounded pretty.

‘I hope I do not intrude.’

Flora smiled and got to her feet to curtsey.

‘No, sire, I am pleased to see you. Would you like to hold the baby?’

The king’s eyebrow raised impressively.

‘I will, but I would not have you think it is only for my grandson that I am here...’

He sighed, realising, she thought, that she knew it was a lie, if a polite one. But she didn’t mind, not really; he’d been a lot less demanding of the child than she had feared he would be.

‘Well, here he is... all freshly changed and wearing his waterproofings, too!’

Taking the baby, Thranduil allowed himself to smile... his grandson, his son’s last legacy... Oh, there were other offspring of Iauron dotted around the forest, but there was a sort of purity to Flora, in spite of appearances... those other offspring were born to elvish mothers, and they must therefore not only have agreed to Iauron’s advances but been enthusiastic enough to ask the Valar for the blessing of a child, knowing Iauron would not bind to them, realising he was only playing, that he would never be allowed to bind to them...

But Flora had been an innocent, in her way was an innocent still. She hadn’t given a thought to the consequences, and she had seemed genuinely fond of Iauron...

Well, she had probably not had the chance to get to know him that well...

The child was rather appealing, the small face learning how to move its muscles, forming smiles and fixing huge, blue eyes on the king. 

‘You are a much finer elfling than some I have seen... I wish... it is no use wishing for the impossible, dear child,’ he said in Sindarin. ‘Your mother loves you, and I have seen that is not the case for every elfling, sadly, not once they are grown to be other than was wished for. Yet I am sure your mother will never stop loving you, not till the end of her days. Sadly, you will be alone a long time after that.’

How long was it permissible to hold the child before having to make conversation?

Not this long, he thought, for Flora was beginning to fidget.

‘It was good of you to visit for Canadion and Thiriston’s wedding; I know Canadion in particular was pleased.’

‘Oh, it was so nice of them to ask! But it seemed like a very long journey just for so short a while...’

‘You are welcome to stay longer, if you wish. Word could be sent to your mother...’

‘It is kind, but no. I have been happy to visit, but it has thrown out our pattern of doing things. Babies like things regular, they like routine.’

No, Thranduil mused. Babies’ parents like routine, not the infants themselves.

‘When will you come back?’ he asked casually, perhaps too casually.

‘I do not know,’ Flora turned to look out of the window. ‘As I say, it is a hard journey... and my friend Nestoril is not here... and my mother needs me at home... in fact... it may be some time...’

She did not see Thranduil reassert his hold on the infant, gather him close for a moment, did not see his eyes change, his throat convulse. She was still looking away as Thranduil lifted his grandson to press his lips to the infant’s forehead, did not hear him whisper a farewell into the small and delicately pointed ear, but when she did turn back, Thranduil was standing with a half-smile on his face, and he was preparing to hand the child back to her.

‘My office will keep in touch with you and ensure your needs are met. I understand Legolas will be along later to bid you goodbye. I wish you a safe journey home, Flora. Your son is beautiful. Be well.’

He inclined his head and left the room, wishing now he had worn his robes of states so he could sweep them after him, lose himself in the dignity of his office, but instead he walked quietly and calmly from the Healers’ Halls and made for his rooms, where he poured himself a glass of Dorwinion and sat in silence, staring out into the gardens and the forest beyond, trying not to think.

Not to feel.

There was little point while his thoughts turned to Belegornor, thence to Iauron, on to Tharmeduil. When his feelings centred on the small, heavy, comforting weight of the infant in his arms.

When this small piece of his family, too, was leaving.

...an hour, in a comfortable carriage. A day or so on a barge, just sitting watching the world slide by. Another journey by cart or carriage... and that was a hard journey? No, walking home from Dagorlad, that was a hard journey. Riding alongside the bier carrying his unconscious sons after battling three dragons, that was a hard journey; Flora had no idea...

It was much harder to stay here, to let her and Belegornor go, as he had had to stay, and let Iauron and Tharmeduil go.

His glass was empty. The bottle was not, not yet.

Thranduil drank, swallowing wine to mask the pain in his throat, hoping it would help as he set off on a journey of his own on the long internal road from melancholy to acceptance.

Experience told him it was unlikely.


	315. Everywhere Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thiriston and Canadion return to their old rooms to properly move out...

After the bout was over and the observers were being ushered out of the practice room, Thiriston put his arm around Canadion’s shoulders.

‘Where next, penneth? Home?’

‘Home... which one? New rooms, your warrior quarters, my warrior quarters, the guest room...?’

‘Now, there’s a thought...’

‘What?’

‘If I said, it wouldn’t be a thought, would it? Come along. Let me know if you get tired and I’ll carry you.’

‘Ai, already I am exhausted...’ Canadion looked up into his husband’s eyes. ‘I do not know how far I can walk...’

Thiriston tried not to grin and bent to whisper.

‘Pretty sure you won’t be able to walk at all by the time we’re done...’

Canadion giggled and gave him a hug.

‘Where first, then?’

‘Well... we still have some... stuff... to clear out of those guest rooms we were using...’

Thiriston led off, aware of the amused eyes of several of the Dragon Guard on them. Well, let them look! It wasn’t as if he and Canadion were a new partnership – just a new marriage.

Their old guest room looked the same... yet it looked haunted, somehow, as if it had been abandoned too long without attention. Not quite theirs, but not officially relinquished and so the servants hadn’t been in to clean and freshen and tidy and make it anonymously ready for its next inhabitants.

Canadion sighed and drifted his hand along the back of the sofa before arranging himself on it, beautiful limbs placed with care to appeal to his husband’s gaze.

‘That was such a long walk! I think I need to rest here awhile...’

‘It was five hundred steps, no further than that! And I did offer to carry you...’

‘The fact of the matter is,’ Canadion began, moving so that Thiriston could sit beside him, cuddling in. ‘I do not really feel like packing today.’

‘No more do I, really. It won’t take long, though. Why don’t you rest here while I make a start in the bedroom?’

‘Oh, if you’re working in the bedroom, then I think I might like to lie on the bed...’

‘And I suppose you want me to help you up? Weak and weary as you are, you sound more like you need to sleep than anything.’

Canadion smiled and eased to his feet, reaching to tug Thiriston’s hand. 

‘No, I feel more like I need to anything than to sleep...’

‘Shall we say thank you and farewell to the bedroom, then? I’ll get the cupboards cleared first while you rest your lovely self, and then...?’

Canadion twined his arms around his husband’s body and nuzzled against his neck, hands dancing and cavorting around Thiriston’s back and shoulders.

‘Do you think you might get on faster without all these clothes in the way?’

‘No, I think if you keep doing that... oh, and that... it’s going to take much longer to...’

He found himself silenced as Canadion’s eager tongue invaded his mouth and he quite forgot what he’d been about to say, or do, as other, more interesting ideas occurred to him and he allowed Canadion to unfasten, unclip, untie and undress him.

The last of his garments fell to the floor in a rustle and he stepped out of his boots to reach for Canadion, still fully dressed and sidling temptingly out of reach, his eyes dancing over Thiriston’s body in a way the big elf could feel all the way down to his groin...

Canadion licked his lips and smiled. 

Still allowing his eyes to roam Thiriston’s body, he bent to snag the different garments, lifting them and draping them across a chair in a rare moment of tidiness. He stretched out his fingertips to frisson them across the line of Thiriston’s collarbones, walking round as he drifted his feathered touch across shoulders and let go, turning his back as he pulled his own shirt off, revealing his beautiful tawny torso, bruised still, but almost restored, and looking back over his shoulder.

‘And now I will have something gorgeous to look at while you empty those shelves,’ he said, lowering himself to the bed to tug off his footwear and lie against the banked pillows.

Thiriston found himself struggling not to smile, not to just jump on his husband there and then, but, as shy and self-conscious as Canadion had been about his poor, bruised body, it had been a while since this playful mood had been on him, and it was so lovely to see him confident and teasing again that Thiriston made himself wait, willed himself to play the game a little longer, at least.

‘With you lying there, you glorious distraction? Where shall I start?’

‘At the top, of course. And work your way all the way down to the bottom.’ Canadion rolled onto his belly, folding his legs to cross his ankles in the air behind him. He propped his chin on his hands and sighed. ‘Speaking of which, you have the most wonderful... profile, so to speak...’

‘How am I supposed to concentrate with you looking at me like that? And saying things like that with that mouth of yours...?’

Canadion allowed his tongue to slick across his lower lip in an open-mouthed smile.

‘What about this mouth of mine...?’

‘I think it needs something to shut it up so I can get on...’

‘Well, thalionen, I am sure that the emptying of that cupboard is likely to render me speechless...’

Canadion blinked his long lashes and moistened his lips again as with a growl of muted desire, Thiriston dragged his eyes away and pulled at cupboard doors. He could feel his husband’s eyes still on him, enfolding his body in a warm wave, erotic and distracting and almost impossibly he was making himself reach to take out the stacked clothes on the top shelf, packing them hastily away into a kit bag, clearing the second shelf without looking what was on it into a box, bending to pull stored shoes and boots off the lowest compartment...

‘Oh, what a wonderful view!’

And there were hands around his waist, soft, hot skin and hard, interested flesh against his buttocks, Canadion’s teeth nipping and teasing at his shoulder, whimpering moans and then he was, somehow, on his back on the bed, head whirling with need as his skin jolted under Canadion’s fingers, Canadion’s drifting hair, Canadion’s tongue warm, leaving sudden cool patches as he moved on, hot and wet on his navel, hands following, and, oh, the suddenness, the quickness with which he went from wanting to engulfed, that clever mouth, those long, dancing fingers... his hips moving in time, unnecessary encouragement, Canadion lifting his head to look up at him with those beautiful eyes, smiling around his full mouth and allowing a shock of cool air in, and the love in that gaze, the laughing, teasing delight as he bent again to his task and everything building, and building, and...

Everything stopped, hanging poised on the precipice of perfection and... and... and the moment, the exquisite, agonised bliss when everything released, Thiriston hearing a wail that was almost a shout and nearly a laugh and a sob as his body stopped belonging to him and pulsed and jumped and throbbed and thrust, and that wonderful mouth softening, holding him safe around the emptying, sporadic loss of orgasm and suddenly, somehow, for no reason whatsoever, he was weeping, sobbing as he came down from his perfect place and felt the bed beneath him, the air brushing over his naked skin.

Hypersensitive suddenly, he shuddered and shivered, and felt himself gently released as Canadion crawled up the bed to take him in his arms and roll onto his back, pulling Thiriston against his chest and holding him close, tugging at the bedding until he released something to fold over his husband, to wrap him and comfort him, keep him safe and held and loved.

Within moments the crying had stopped as suddenly as it had started, and Thiriston worked a hand free to wipe his eyes. 

‘Sorry. Don’t know what that was about.’

Canadion found a corner of a pillowcase with which to dab at Thiriston’s face.

‘And I thought I was the screamer! Ai, we are lucky the servants didn’t come rushing in to see what was happening!’

Thiriston managed a ragged laugh.

‘I don’t know, I... not sad tears, hope you know, not unhappy, just... emotion. Sad it ended, it was just... you. Sweet. You.’

‘Well, and do you feel better for it?’

Thiriston thought for a moment.

‘Yes. Don’t know how – why – can’t remember when I felt this good. Love you.’

‘And you.’ Canadion cuddled him close for a moment, stroked his hair, dropped silly little kisses along his forehead. ‘Maybe it’s being married? Being able to say it, married, husband... No need to hide, to be discreet...’

Thiriston grinned.

‘When did we ever manage to be discreet, even when we tried?’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘I know what you mean.’ Thiriston untangled himself, eased off his husband to lie on his side facing him, stroking the beautiful tawny skin. ‘And I know why you’re talking, to take your mind off the fact you’ve got a very fine double handful down there waiting for attention...’

‘Oh, you noticed that, did you?’

‘Almost dug a hole into my belly, how could I not...?’

Canadion rolled onto his side to face his husband, leaned in to place a gentle kiss on his lips.

‘It’s all yours, thalionen, to do with as you please.’

Thiriston looked at Canadion with half-closed eyes, his mouth smiling, the sudden storm of emotion washed away, leaving him swamped with love and gratitude.

‘I think it would please me to make a happy memory in the bathing pool, if you like...?’

‘Oh, that sounds fun! I love how the water moves, it’s like you have extra hands stroking me... everywhere...’

Thiriston sat up and gathered him in his arms, Canadion sighing his eyes closed and offering his mouth to be kissed, sweetly salted still, and felt himself be lifted off the bed... and into the water... and away to a wonderful place where love and longing combined in sighs and gasps and gentle hands, in holding and filling and feeling and fullness and everywhere Thiriston, everywhere love.


	316. The Person-Barrow Project

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor shows his skills...

Hoping to distract his new assistant and turn his thoughts in more cheerful directions, Hanben interrupted the work in the rooms further along the corridor to show what was being achieved. His ploy seemed to work, up to a point, Merenor paying attention and commenting on how strong one must be in order to wield a hammer that big all day, and a good, strong pair of arms was always nice to have... but something in the way his eyes didn’t quite connect with those of the hammer-wielding, strong-armed ellon suggested to Hanben that his heart wasn’t really in it.

A shame, really. When not the subject of such attentions, it was entertaining to watch Merenor flirting.

Entertaining and, possibly, a little bit dangerous, if you were a sensible ellon who had long ago given up any expectation of romance or emotional connection, because if you happened to be growing to... to like and perhaps be intrigued by the flirter yourself, then not knowing for sure whether he was being excessively friendly, or flirting with the intention of following it later, was a little worrying.

Especially if you seemed to be no longer the target for such attention yourself.

But then, they were working together now, it was bound to be different and at least this way Hanben had a chance to find out more about the ellon behind the sparkling eyes and all the laughing words.

Except Merenor was not laughing at the moment, of course.

What effect would it have on Merenor, this proposed annulment? Once he had shaken off the sadness, had realised he was a free ellon again with no ties and a palace full of temptation, what then? Would he dance through them all like the wind through the forest, touching here and there, breaking hearts and never settling? After so long in an unloving relationship, would he be looking for love? For solace? Or just for a taste of everything he had been denying for so long?

And, really, was it any of Hanben’s business?

Merenor had finished admiring the work crew’s muscles and Hanben realised perhaps he had been too long silent.

‘Very well, yes, you are making good progress. And when will you need help with the fitting of the washing cascade?’

‘Tomorrow, Master Hanben, if you are free.’

‘Yes, that should be possible. Merenor, you can come too, and see how we install the tank and fittings.’

‘I’ll look forward to that.’

‘Good, come then.’

They had left the Black Dragon corridor and were heading back towards the King’s Office when around the end of the passage from the guest quarters two familiar elves came in sight. One was almost obscured behind an armful of bundles while the other, slighter figure carried a much lighter load. No sooner had they observed each other, and Merenor begun to smile, than the elf with fewest burdens abandoned them with little care for their safety.

‘Ada! Thiriston, look, it is my Ada!’ he called out, hurrying up to fling his arms around Merenor in a happy hug which his adar could not help but return with pleasure.

Thiriston peered around his bundles.

‘Good day to you, Adar-in-Honour, and Master Hanben also... penneth, are we going to have this every time you see your father?’

‘Yes, for I have seen him so seldom lately, I am making up for lost chances!’

‘Ai, there have been far too many of those, ion-nin,’ Merenor said, gently disengaging. ‘So, do you know Master Hanben, for whom I am working?’

‘Yes, of course I do! Good day, Master Hanben, I... oh, working...’ Canadion stepped away with a guilty look. ‘I am so sorry to interrupt, I hope you were not in a hurry, or that...?’

‘In fact, I was about to suggest your father and I break for the day meal,’ Hanben said smoothly. ‘He may as easily take the hour with you as with me. Merenor, meet me back at the King’s Office in an hour. If you take longer, you will work later.’

‘Understood, Hanben. My thanks.’ Merenor inclined his head and smiled his gratitude. ‘Now, ion-nin, were you going somewhere with those boxes? And if so, do you need some help? I think Thiriston could carry something more, if we were careful how we loaded him...’

Hanben removed himself quietly from the scene, hearing Canadion’s laugh and his explanation that they were properly moving into their wonderful new rooms and...

‘Oh, Master Hanben!’ the youngster’s voice called after him. ‘I do not know if we have said thank you, but... we are so grateful. The rooms are lovely and the washing cascade... Ai! We do like the washing cascade...’

Hanben turned to bow and was in time to see Thiriston flush pink – and Canadion smile and wave.

Merenor looked better, though, suddenly, his eyes lighter... so similar to his youngest son’s, with those glittering amber rings... but Merenor’s eyes had seen more, laughed more. Wept more too, perhaps, seen more unhappiness, more of life.

Well. There were reports to read, there were always reports waiting...

*

He was busy in a list of required components that somehow were his responsibility to order when a tap at his door and he saw Erestor there, his face frowning and a document in his ink-stained hands.

‘Forgive the interruption, but I am seeking Parvon and he is not to be found...’

‘I have not seen him, I’m afraid... should he return before I leave for my workroom, is there a message?’

‘No, it is no matter; Lord Arveldir simply wanted his opinion of this draft. I’ll leave this with a note on his desk. My thanks.’

Hanben returned to his work, glad he did not have such urgent, pressing matters thrust upon him as Arveldir and Erestor seemed to do... today it must be something especially demanding as not only had Erestor’s fingers been covered in red and purple stains, but there had been a smudge on his face as well as if he had rubbed his mouth in thought with inked fingers... perhaps he should have said something, for Erestor was always neat and tidy, but it would have felt intrusive...

He wondered whether the document might be something to do with Merenor and Cullasbes’ annulment; the timing seemed right... 

Merenor would perhaps be late back; having been offered a perfect opportunity for him to speak to his son about the annulment, it might take some talking through. But it was probably what Merenor needed, the chance to unburden himself to someone who was not a stranger.

...Even though Hanben would have been most willing to hear him out, had Merenor wished to confide in him... ah, well. Perhaps one day he might become someone in whom his assistant would confide...

‘Master Hanben? I am here...’

Hanben looked up from his papers with a start; he had not realised how swiftly the time had gone as he had mused and tried to read, but there was Merenor, and he looked less burdened now.

‘And so you are, and early too... well, I hope you did not rush...’

‘No, but I am grateful for the time.’

‘My workroom is outside,’ Hanben said, tidying the papers and rising to his feet. ‘It is not far, but far enough away that the noise does not disturb anyone.’

‘Oh, are you noisy, Master Hanben? I would not have thought it!’

There, that lightness of tone was back in Merenor’s voice. Hanben tried hard not to smile.

‘Some of my processes are noisy, perhaps. This way.’

‘Ai, we cannot be doing with noisy processes disturbing the palace, can we?’

Hanben’s lips quirked, although there was nothing obviously amusing in Merenor’s words. He threw wide the doors of the workroom with a sense of pride he wished he could conceal, lest is seem boastful, or proprietorial, but Merenor merely nodded appreciatively.

‘What a wonderful workspace! And, oh here is our poor damaged person-barrow?’

‘Indeed, as you see, it is most grievously injured...’

‘What a remarkable wheel arrangement! Very clever... for on uneven surfaces, slopes...?’

‘And with forest trails in mind...’ Hanben bent to look more closely at the twisted and splintered frame. ‘You know, I think perhaps I should just consign it to the rejects pile; it is not worth the effort of rebuilding it...’

‘Oh, that would be a shame...’ Merenor said. ‘And what is the damage, really? The wheel assembly is sound... and the canvas has not torn... it’s just the frame...’

Both had been looking over the damaged carrier as the conversation went on but now, suddenly, accidentally, their gazes met, locked for an instant through the framework, Hanben finding his attention utterly consumed by those eyes with their glinting beautifully-ringed intensity.

‘...beautiful... ringed...’ he muttered to his intense mortification, breaking his eyes away. ‘That is, split rings to fasten the canvas in place, we could use a metal frame and...’  
‘That would work... would take a while to build, though, unless you have access to a smith...’

‘It could be arranged – for the next incarnation, with a properly round wheel...’

‘Oh, excellent... may I tinker about a bit with this, then...? Is there any wood I can use...? and those split rings you mentioned...?’

Focussing his entire attention on the damaged person-barrow, Merenor disassembled and fettled and reconfigured and bodged, giving his new employer chance to recover from what seemed to have been some kind of verbal slip; it took him considerable ingenuity to find a way to make the use of split rings in the design seem in the least appropriate, but eventually incorporated them in a way of fixing the canvas seat to the side supports, which in turn fixed to a new frame, and functioned as a quick-release mechanism.

Time simply flittered past for Hanben, once he got over his embarrassment. He handed tools, passed components, found parts, and watched with respectful awe as his new assistant practically rebuilt and redesigned the person-barrow.

‘Will it do, Hanben, do you think?’ Merenor asked, stepping back and wiping his hands.

‘Indeed, I think... yes. An improvement on the original...’

‘The logical next step, using split rings. A beautifully conceived thought...’ 

Hanben stared, but there was nothing in Merenor’s face to suggest anything other than innocence.

‘...until you can get a smith to help with the Mark Two,’ his assistant went on. ‘Shall we see how it handles? Empty, of course.’

They lifted down the new, improved person-barrow and Hanben wheeled it around the workroom a few times before taking it out into the open to roll across the tracks and slopes and uneven paths outside.

‘All seems well. My thanks, Merenor... stress tests, I think, and then later, we must find a volunteer test subject... did you have a pleasant lunch with your son?’

The question was as much a surprise to Hanben as it was to Merenor.

‘Thank you, I think I did... it’s good to see Canadion so happy with his husband. I... mentioned my earlier meeting with the king... the annulment...’

‘I should imagine it was a surprise to him.’

‘It was, yes. But he was very... supportive and, Valar bless him, he asked if we’d decided what to do yet, and wrote a note to his mother saying he hoped she wasn’t too upset... Thiriston said you’d helped him with an injured hand once? You are also trained as a Healer?’

‘Yes, that’s so. I...’ Hanben thought for a moment. He was not one for talking about himself, but Merenor had offered so much of his own difficult history... ‘I left my home village to do so as the nearest place to train was in Lothlórien. I will admit, it was not my preferred profession; I would have trained with the jewel smiths, but, you see, I was friends with a very nice elleth, and her parents and my aunts were starting to get ideas... so before they shared them with us, we decided one of us had better leave...’

‘You left your home and family and friends to train for something you did not want to do, just so that...?’

‘So that we did not disappoint our families. Yes. And I do not know why I am telling you this except... Well, I think that is all for the day, I will attend to the stress tests, if you come to the office after breakfast in the morning, Merenor, I will see you then.’

‘Of course,’ Merenor said, wondering, hoping that Hanben had shared his story as a way to let him know he preferred ellyn to ellith. ‘But it is still quite early...’

Hanben glanced towards the sky. The sun was already falling behind the top of the canopy.

‘Not so early. In fact, it has grown almost late while you have worked. Well, I would account that a most successful first day, Master Merenor. Oh, before we part – I have been told that you will require rooms of your own... would you care to give thought to what manner of accommodations you would prefer?’

‘Oh, I don’t know... have you got a...’ Merenor broke off. Spare room, he’d been about to say. But then, that wasn’t what he wanted at all. ‘...any suggestions?’

‘Employees of the King’s Office tend to have rooms more or less in the same corridor. I will take a look later, and see what might be free, if that is acceptable. If you would not mind having me as a neighbour...’

‘I am grateful, yes, please do. I wish you a pleasant evening, then, Master Hanben.’

‘And you also, Master Merenor.’


	317. Documents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which work progresses, intermittently, on the documents proposing the possibility of annulments...

In order to give the Grey Dragons something to do, Legolas had ordered them to escort Flora to the hythe, the warriors riding alongside her conveyance while he and Govon rode inside with her.

At first Flora had been wary, wondering if it was going to be a thinly-disguised attempt to persuade her to stay, or to come back in the near future, or something of that sort.

‘For your father seemed very keen to invite us back, soon, as if we lived only a half hour’s walk away! And I am sure it is very nice of him to want to be a good Granda, but if he is going to say, we provide your cottage, your food, and get all kingy at me about wanting visits out of gratefulness, then I am not sure I really want the cottage, and the help.’

This last was said with a sort of wistfulness that made Legolas realise that, actually, the support provided from the palace was very much appreciated.

‘It’s not like that, Flora,’ he said. ‘I’ve signed all the documents – they would have to get me agree to any changes, and I would not our support of you stop. Nor do I think that’s what my father wants...’

He reached out to stroke a finger across Belegornor’s cheek; the baby smiled.

‘He is a beautiful child, Flora, as you know. And for Ada... well, Iauron has gone, now, and although he will be healed, where he is going, it will be a long time until we see each other. Iauron’s son is a link with him, still...’

‘But yes, except he is also my son, he is not a... a link, a reminder, he is a baby, he is himself! And it is hard to tell if your father sees that... and it... it is not an easy journey.’

‘We would not, even if we could, force you to visit. But if you wanted to come, we would help with travel. It is important, do you not think, that he grow up knowing both sides of his family?’

Flora sighed.

‘Yes. But also... no. What good will it do him to learn he is part-elf? Will it help him be happy in his life? Will it help him feel he belongs? When he is working on a farm, or fishing, or mending a leaky roof, is it going to bring him comfort to know he has pretty ears?’

‘I suppose not.’ It was Legolas’ turn to sigh. ‘As long as... as long as he feels he is loved, that’s what is most important. But, please... if you could bring yourself to come again, perhaps in a year... while he is so young, it will not harm him, I am sure, and... it would mean much to me, to my father... to Thiriston and Canadion, too, for that matter.’

‘Oh, for Thiriston and Canadion... I suppose I could... Thiriston brought my son into the world, and Canadion is so sweet with the baby! I do not think those two will have their own babe – gwinig – will they?’

‘No. Not unless there is something very surprising about one or other of them.’

She smiled, and some of the tension lifted.

‘If... if I were to visit here... to see them... and then, your father could see the baby at the same time, I would not mind that... but... it would not be me being summoned to present myself, do you see?’

‘Yes, Flora. I understand.’

‘But it might be best not to say, in case your father commands our friends to ask me to visit. Remember that, won’t you?’

‘I’ll remember, I promise. If you were to want to do that, bring the baby to see Thiriston and Canadion, you can write to me.’

She had nodded, and the talk had moved on, and when they reached the hythe, she had hugged them both in a friendly sort of way and waved as she boarded the barge.

The journey back home went quickly; Govon still not having learned all the intricacies of the common speech, Legolas had first to explain what had been discussed before they could move on to considering how to get accidentally get Thiriston and Canadion to invite Flora to the palace in a few months’ time. 

Now, back in their rooms after the morning’s duties, Legolas found a note had been pushed under the door. Glancing at the outside, he saw his name written in Parvon’s hand, and set it to one side while he removed his formal uniform coat and helped Govon out of his own; if it were really important, it would have been written by Erestor. It could keep.

Govon broke into Legolas’ thoughts as the princee reached for the as-yet unread note. 

‘It’s no good, my fair elf, I must confess to you that my knee is not anything like as troublesome as it was yesterday,’ Govon said with an almost guilty sigh. ‘So Healers’ Hall for me in the morning, for their permission to return to duty... do you, perhaps, think that a small consolatory soak in the bathing pool would be in order?’

‘Yes, indeed... I am quite sure, after the jolting of the conveyance, it is exactly what is needed... actually, when you think, Flora’s got a much longer journey when she gets off the barge, by cart... Ada can’t have realised...’

‘Well, don’t tell him, or he’ll be trying to get her to move closer to the palace! Now, about this bath... I think, you know, I might be able to wash your back for you today...’

‘Oh, yes, my friend captain?’ Legolas grinned and decided any note, in whomever’s hand was far less important that having his back washed by Govon’s, and began to shed the rest of his garments. ‘Then perhaps we really should get started...’

*

‘I could not find Parvon to show him the draft of the new proclamation.’ Erestor said, shutting Arveldir’s door behind him with a click and sliding the bolt home. ‘I left it for his perusal... we cannot even proffer it as a draft to the king until another set of eyes has seen it...’

He passed through the empty living room into the chamber behind and began removing his robes.

‘No, indeed.’ Arveldir looked up from where he was reclining on the bed, his eyes interested as Erestor undressed. His own garments were neatly folded on a chair, and about him lay discarded scraps of notes, which he gathered up onto a tray bearing several empty dishes, and slid it onto the nightstand at the bedside. ‘While you were gone, I made progress on the wording of the document of annulment... Oh, my dear friend! Did I really let you go out like that?’

‘I am not sure of your meaning...?’

‘You have a smudge... let me see... bring your face closer... ah, yes...’ Arveldir found a cloth, dripped water from a jug onto its corner, and dabbed at the stain on Erestor’s chin. ‘Blackberry juice, that one. There. It is no better, but at least I have tried...’

‘You know, much though I am enjoying your creative process, I am not quite certain this particular definition of a working lunch is the same as everyone else’s...’

‘It is to be hoped not, or nothing would ever get done! Now, tell me what you think of this passage...’

Arveldir held out a piece of paper and Erestor read it through, nodding thoughtfully.

‘I approve that you have mentioned the Valar... we have no such recourse as annulment in our Noldorin tradition, so it is all new to me, unsettling, even... but yes, if they have not taken marriage vows, and are unhappy, and did not freely choose... asking the Valar to excuse them, and free them, that’s a good thought...’

‘The repercussions from Merenor and Cullasbes’ annulment will be widespread, I think. Perhaps slow, at first... and so the document needs to sound reassuring as well as formal... hence it is important that it is written in a mood of... of comfort and affection and love...’

‘And blackberries?’ Erestor said with his small smile, locating a dish of rich, lush fruit, fragrant and midnight purple, glinting and glistening with juice.

Arveldir set aside the document he’d been explaining.

‘One should never underestimate the importance of soft fruit,’ he said, selecting a choice specimen and holding it above his raven-haired lover’s lips.

Erestor smiled and licked the scented ripeness, inhaled the delicate perfume of the fruit, opened his mouth to receive it, ran his tongue around the fingers proffering the berry, sucked the linger juice from them, and Arveldir lost himself in sweet sensations and beautiful, half-closed eyes, and all discussions of documents were set aside for far more important matters.

*

Thranduil sighed.

There was a knocking at the door again.

As on the three previous occasions, the king disregarded it; these were his private rooms, these were his private hours. He reached out a not-quite steady hand to the glass on the table, it was empty, a slur of red staining in the base of the cup all that remained... the bottle at its side, too, was empty... the bottle on the floor, yes there was still some in that... no wonder, it was not the good Dorwinion, it was a second-rate red he had found from somewhere...

But it would do, for now.

Ach, it really was not so good, bitter and the flavours of the fruit masked by the tannin...

More knocking.

‘Unless you have brought a bottle of good wine with you, begone!’ he called out.

Muttering, whispers beyond the door.

Silence.

Time must have passed, but not vast quantities, as the quality of light outside did not change.

All the wine, good, indifferent, was gone by the time the next knock came.

‘Ada? Ada, I brought the Dorwinion you asked for... are you busy?’

‘Come, ion-nin... leave the wine by the door, do not let me keep you from your husband...’

‘He’s resting, Adar. I don’t have anything I need to do, or anywhere else I need to be for hours.’

The voice came from behind him, from the centre of the room, approaching.

‘...think I might have tired him out, in fact... that is, the Grey Dragon Warriors made formal escort of Flora’s carriage, Govon and I rode in with her. As you know, he’s still recovering...’

‘You brought the wine?’

Legolas bit down a sigh.

‘Yes, Adar.’

He sat near his father and poured two glasses of Dorwinion, sliding one across the table.

‘It looks like you’ve a head-start on me, Father,’ he said. ‘Did you speak to Parvon?’

‘Parvon? Why would I wish to speak to him? Will Flora come back, do you think? Should I have been clearer? She might not have understood...’

‘Ada... she understood, she knows you want to see the child, but... her mother misses her, she has a father who worries...’

‘I suppose she does. She must do what she feels is best, I suppose. Legolas, do you know where Arveldir has got to? I was expecting him to bring a document to me for perusal...’

‘If it’s the one for Merenor and Cullasbes, I got back this morning to a note from Parvon about it; I’ve just been to the King’s Office to look it over; he said he’d had no answer when he knocked on your door earlier. And Arveldir has finished a proposal for the proclamation; he came seeking you, too...’

‘I may have been... occupied.’ 

Legolas saw his father close his eyes for a moment, saw his jaw stiffen, and when the king opened his eyes again, he sipped at the wine and turned an enquiring eyebrow on his son. 

‘Do you have these document with you now?’ he asked, determined to appear as he ever was.

‘No; I said you’d be in your study within the hour and would see them then. But all seemed fine to me... but... sad, I think. That people should be together so long and not really care for each other... that not even having elflings together helped...’

‘Yes, indeed.’ Thranduil took another sip of wine and gathered himself, trying to shake of his sour mood. ‘There have been too many cases of couples joining together to please their families and not each other in the past; it is to be hoped that we may now begin to discourage the practice and show there is no blame attached to those who would separate now.’

He frowned and got to his feet, heading for the door, all trace of his earlier unsteadiness gone, any hint of sadness wiped away.

‘Come, Legolas, I cannot be sitting here drinking with you all day just because you’ve worn Govon out with your antics; there are matters of state to attend to. Have them send to Parvon and Arveldir and Erestor that someone had better be in front of my desk, with the documents and an explanation of why they have tarried, within twenty minutes.’

Legolas raised his glass in silent toast to Thranduil’s back with a grin.

‘Yes, Ada,’ he said. ‘I’ll do that right away.’


	318. Waste...?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor reflects on his time with Cullasbes...

A knock on Merenor’s door, not long after he’d finished a solitary supper... who might it be? Hanben, perhaps, come to talk split rings and noisy processes? Or Melion and little Mírien, perhaps? They would be thinking about returning home soon, probably, and...

Meanwhile, there was still someone knocking and the best way to find out who would be to answer it. Tidying his tunic and smoothing his hair, just in case it was, miraculously, Hanben, he went to see.

Caraphindir, Baudh, and – behind them, as if she had just pushed them forwards, Cullasbes.

Ah.

Hoping his surprise looked like delight, he stood back from the door.

‘Hello, family!’ he said. ‘Would you like to come in? I have lots of seating...’

‘Adar.’ Caraphindir shuffled in, looking as if he’d rather not be present.

‘Ada!’ Baudh said, giving him a hug that was interrupted by Cullasbes clearing her throat. 

He shrugged, saw his ada wink and grin before closing the door.

‘Please, sit, you are very welcome, but you must know I hardly expected you all... I can find some beer, or elderflower cordial, or...’

‘Nothing, Merenor,’ Cullasbes said. ‘I want to talk about this morning.’

‘Yes. You’re not talking about my induction to my new job attached to the King’s Office are you?’

Cullasbes shook her head, pursing her lips.

‘I assume you have had the document?’

While it was very tempting to say no, what document, Merenor was too aware it was lying, unopened, on the table in plain sight of everyone. And that was another thing – everyone! Had Cullasbes dragged their two eldest here tonight to be witnesses, to make sure he was careful what he said to her, what? But to ask would make them feel he didn’t want them there, and, really, any chance he had to spend time with his sons was valuable.

‘Merenor?’ Cullasbes insisted. ‘The document?’

‘Yes... I didn’t have the heart to open it quite yet,’ he admitted.

‘This? From you?’ Cullasbes demanded. ‘You sounded delighted enough this morning!’

Merenor shrugged. 

‘You know me, light words spoken stop dark thoughts taking root... well, I’d better have a look, I suppose... Lads, there’s beer in the cupboard if you want one, help yourselves...’

He reached for the document and broke the seal, reading through, taking longer than he needed so he didn’t have to look up and meet anyone’s eyes... he even turned his back for a moment to make sure his face would behave when he turned back... it seemed like such a waste of all those years...

Except.

Caraphindir, shy, quiet, not interested in ellith, not interested in ellyn, apparently, just... not interested. But a gentle soul, scribe for one of the villages, taught the elflings their letters, wrote songs, sometimes. Liked, trusted by everyone.

Baudh, his cheeky sense of fun not unlike Merenor’s own, unafraid and unashamed of his preferences.

Melion, with his delight in his wife, his sons, his daughters.

And Canadion, so happy, in spite of everything, so silly in his joy at seeing his Ada in the corridors. So much in love with his big, strong husband. A fine archer, a hero, saving the king, saving one of the princes, killing spiders and keeping people safe.

All those lives touched, saved, created, enhanced because of these lads. Because he and Cullasbes had, at least, tried.

It hadn’t been a waste; it had been a worthwhile sacrifice.

‘I am sorry,’ he said abruptly, turning back. ‘Cullasbes, I didn’t know how to be a good spouse. I thought I knew how to be a good father, once, but... well. This is a very kind idea, it suggests – it wasn’t our fault. Not me, not you. Not even those who encouraged us to take vows; they were responding to the perceived needs of the time, to make up some of the losses of war. But... we’ve been... not living a lie, not quite, rather, we’ve been playing let’s pretend with our lives... and now, we don’t need to, not any more. We can look back at all we’ve achieved together, and acknowledge it, and then move past it, move on to all those things we can achieve apart.’

‘You think we should do it, then?’

‘I think, not just for us, but for all those who are trapped in less-happy situations than we were, yes.’

‘I always knew you thought you’d be happier with someone else... I know I will be...’

‘Well, that’s fine, then!’ Merenor said, responding to Cullasbes’ accusation with less control than he’d like. ‘That is... no, that isn’t it. Do not, please, take this as an insult – but I would be happier with no-one, Cullasbes...’

She drew in a deep, affronted breath, and Merenor shook his head, going on quickly.

‘No, no, you see, that’s exactly what I mean! Alone – on my own – I would not have to worry you were constantly watching to see what I was doing, who I was talking to. I would no longer fear you were being hurt by imagined slights and behaviours... I would not feel guilty, I would not feel to blame. And you would be happier, too, if you didn’t think you needed to explain me away to everyone who matters to you.’

‘Are you really ready to just – give up?’ Cullasbes asked.

Merenor sagged, shaking his head.

‘The truth is, I gave up long ago... I gave up when you told me you didn’t want my presence influencing Canadion the way I influenced Baudh...’

‘What? Ada, that’s silly! All you did was show me it was all right not to be just how everyone expected you to be...’

‘Now, Baudh, I know you’re fond of your father, but that’s not why I brought you with me...’

‘You didn’t bring me; you asked, and I saw a chance to... to set things straight, perhaps, a little! All day you’ve been blaming Adar... but I grew up with hearing you say you say you wished I’d been different from how I was anyway... and then to hear you, so sad Melion and Canadion were not girls... I do not, have not understood, I am sorry... but... it’s not Adar’s fault...’

‘Well, actually, it is, Baudh, he...’

‘Can we stop?’ Caraphindir blurted, getting to his feet and walking towards his ada. ‘I remember. I remember being allowed to be his son, your son, naneth. Not all this that came after. When it was nice and his eyes weren’t so full of everything, and your voice wasn’t so hard... Can’t we just all stop? Let go of him, Naneth, let go of all the regrets. Stop being forced to pretend you’re a couple. You could try again then, with... someone else... you know...’ He glanced at Merenor, nervously moistening his lips. ‘If. If there were someone...’

Well, you bring up your sons and you think you know them and the one of them says something amazing and wonderful and unexpected and actually, quite wise... but shy, quiet Caraphindir was looking terrified... Merenor hastened to give him a brief one-armed hug.

‘It’s all right, ion-nin, I know there’s someone who likes your mother. Actually, I think I bring out her worst side, have done for centuries, but she has a better side, somewhere. So, that’s settled, then. We’ll go to the king’s advisor, and sign the document saying we’ll accept the annulment with no blame to either of us. I have my job with the King’s Office, Cullasbes, you can go and take over the business, if you like, properly – I know you always said you could do better.’

‘Only to keep you focussed,’ she said, almost smiling.

He smiled back.

‘So, how about if we all meet for breakfast in the Feasting Hall, and then you and I go together and get it done with? Early, though, I do have a job to go to after.’

‘All right.’ Cullasbes nodded and rose from her seat. ‘I will see you then. Baudh? Caraphindir? Are you coming?’

‘Not yet, Naneth,’ Baudh said, shaking his head. ‘We still have our beer to finish.’

‘Besides,’ Merenor said, seeing her out and lowering his voice. ‘If you leave the lads with me, you can slip off to have a chat with Ravomen, if you like...’

About to protest, she saw the kindness behind his smile and calmed a little.

‘Well, since you do not object... I... might go and see how he is. It’s been very difficult for him, with you around the palace, you know...’

‘Then go and give him the good news that your terrible former consort is releasing you. And do try not to mess things up this time!’

He saw her out and then turned back to his sons with a smile.

‘You don’t have to stay, you know. Just give her time to get to wherever she’s going, that should be all right...’

‘But... I want to stay, Adar,’ Baudh said. 

Caraphindir nodded agreement.

‘Don’t see you often enough, Ada.’

‘This is true; I have always hoped you knew you were welcome but we lived, what? Two days apart, and the last time we spent any time together was Mírien’s begetting day?’

‘Well...’

‘You see...’

‘No, I don’t want excuses, or reasons, it’s just... happened. But I’m serious about staying around the palace, so if you want to see more of me, you’ll have a longer journey...’

‘Unless we relocated too,’ Baudh said. ‘That is, Melion’s talked about it, maybe, and if Naneth does go south, she’ll need someone to take over the Dale part of the operation. I can come back... no ties.’

‘That is very nice of you, Baudh, and of Melion, too, if his wife will, if their other children don’t mind. Caraphindir, I know you have ties. Your work, your own friends... I haven’t asked if there’s anyone special...’

Caraphindir shrugged.

‘There might be. She... she knows I like her, I think she likes me, but her family... It’s not... not easy...’

The ‘she’ part would please Cullasbes, at least.

‘The special ones seldom are,’ Merenor said. ‘Do you want to tell your old Ada? He might know something to help.’

‘Naneth would hate it if she knew...’

‘And do you think I’m like to tell her?’ Merenor found more beer and passed the bottles around. ‘Well, you deserve happiness as much as anyone, Caraphindir. So. Get comfortable, don’t worry about anything leaving this room, and tell me all about her...’


	319. The Alcove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor decides to visit the communal bathing rooms...

Caraphindir and Baudh stayed for another hour or so before getting up to leave. Without the restraining presence of his mother, Caraphindir made so bold as to give his father a hug.

‘You have been a fine father, Adar,’ he said. ‘Even when it was hard for you.’

Merenor hugged him back

‘I suppose there are two sorts of parents in the world; those who never think they are good enough, and those who are convinced that they are. I prefer to be the former, I think; at least it makes me keep trying.’

He smiled and released his oldest son before Baudh came to hug him in turn.

‘Well, I do not think I can have been so very bad, not with such fine lads as you have turned out to be. Thank you, both of you, for coming. More, for staying. Goodnight.’

He sat for a few minutes after they had gone, pondering, tidying up. It struck him how rare it was for him, to have to clear away after another person… he remembered Canadion had been a terrible child for that, always leaving bits and pieces around, so he knew where he had been, what he had done, that there were others around him who would notice him, perhaps.

Was he like that still, now driving his husband mad with bits of discarded this and that all over? Towels on the floor, hair clasps on every surface? Would Thiriston mind, or would he understand?

Well, if he didn’t, Merenor would explain it, big as Thiriston was… but no. Thinking about the look in the big elf’s eyes when they’d spoken those vows, the good-natured way he’d allowed them to laden him with burdens this morning, Thiriston wouldn’t care, not really. Not enough for it to be hurtful to his Canadion.

Merenor sighed.

Ah, well. After tomorrow, he would be a free ellon again, able to make a start on a new life. Court Hanben, perhaps, pick up after him, carry things round for him… at least he knew after the conversation earlier that Hanben preferred the company of males…

That didn’t help tonight, though. Tonight there was still no-one to pick up after, no-one to break through the shell of his cheerfulness to see the loneliness inside and soothe it.

Merenor frowned. He felt too alone, too… too solitary to bear it. But he had no friends here yet, nobody on whose door he could knock, nobody he felt justified in disturbing.

He wandered to the cupboard and found a bottle of wine, pouring himself a considerable goblet and drinking it for thirst, not for savour. The next glass he took more slowly, sipping, tasting, and it was while the mellowing effect was starting to spread, freeing his thoughts but not yet numbing his solitude, that he remembered the communal bathing pools.

Yes. Always someone around the pools, a few words exchanged here, a little bit of contact, who are you? what do you do? really? yes you look like a big strong warrior… mmm…

Just a chat.

Just a reaching out.

Just... a few words...

Without stopping to consider the matter further, he grabbed a towel and set off for where he remembered one of the communal bathing rooms to be, the one nearest the door to the training grounds. It was favoured by warriors, and spacious, and if he remembered rightly, there was a little alcove down at one end, not quite split off, but secluded. Almost private.

There were no other garments on any of the hooks in the changing area… so much for company… but still, he was here, the water would be warm, soothing, more relaxing than the frenetic activity of the washing cascade. The pool was big enough to swim in, just, a few strokes at least.

He undressed and wrapped the towel around his waist as had been the way when last he had lived in the palace. Of course nudity was expected, accepted at these places, but flaunting had always been discouraged, he recalled, hence the towel.

The pool was as large as he remembered, as calm, lamps reflecting off the water, brightening the walls, the rock making a half barrier across the alcove, showing it was empty. Folding the towel on the side of the pool, he slipped down into the warm, opaque sulphuric water. It circled around his legs, tugging, refreshing, and he allowed himself to spread out into it, feeling the flow all around his limbs, catching at his hair. He rolled in the water, swam the five strokes there was room for, swam them back, dipped his head under and drifted, coming up again to find himself much nearer the alcove than he had expected.

The alcove.

Just a semi-private region of the pool where you might go, perhaps, if you did not feel like company. Except, Merenor remembered, not this pool, not this alcove. Here had been where you went if you did want company, the company of another ellon with similar tastes to yourself, where you might look and be looked at, might decide, perhaps, later, a drink together, his room, your room, no names exchanged, the tacit agreement that this was just companionship, nothing more, not to be spoken of afterwards unless while you were… visiting, you both decided, yes.

Just an anonymous encounter with someone as needful and lonely as yourself.

Just an hour or two in somebody’s bed, somebody’s arms, just a brief respite from it all.

Practice, even. Things may have changed, expectations might be different in this new, freer climate. Better to find out now, anonymously, before trying to approach someone who mattered...

It was foolish; what if this was no longer the way to make casual associations, what if it had all changed? What if it was no longer anonymous, what if… if someone who mattered found out…?

But he was so alone.

And besides, no names; everyone looked different in the pool, in the dark, you never, ever recognised an ellon you had met in the pool room…

And, anyway, there was nobody else here.

It wouldn’t matter where he went to wash, which place he chose to stand…

He ducked under the water and swam across the pool, pretending surprise when he surfaced in the waters of the alcove. There were fewer lamps here than in the main section, adding to the calm allure of the space. Ah, it had been a long time since he’d done this, long, long before he’d met Cullasbes… he’d been in his second century, just, and he used to like to stand with his back to the main pool, half-obscured by the dividing wall, so that anyone arriving got just a glimpse of his hair and his shoulders, saw the motion as he stroked water and soap over his arms and hips, the water lapping just at the perfect level to hide all but the most pronounced interest, revealing just enough to intrigue…

But there was nobody here to enjoy the display.

Yet he stayed, thinking back, and the remembered encounters were company, of sorts, were almost solace as he thought of this ellon, and that, the ones who came to know his name, the ones whose names he knew… the beautiful, trapped ones with the haunted eyes, the young and laughing ones… not so many, really, not when an established relationship was dangerous, disapproved of. But enough to make him content.

‘Hello! I don’t think I’ve seen you here before…’

Another ellon, suddenly, just when he was beginning to think it was time to go home and be sensible… 

He turned with a light smile. Hmm... not bad-looking, not young, by any means... experience of violence on his face, a scar over one eyebrow, just a small one, not enough to mar him. 

Strong looking, confident. Bold, even.

‘I have only recently arrived in the palace, in fact,’ Merenor said.

The ellon looked him over, his eyes interrogatory as they swept from Merenor’s hair down his body towards the waterline, lingering too long for politeness. Merenor swallowed… yes, it looked as though this alcove was still used for the same purpose. Bold, was that? Perhaps too bold, those lingering eyes...

‘Perhaps you would like a guide, then? Someone to show you what’s going on around the palace.’

‘That’s most kind of you,’ Merenor replied, trying to decide if he liked this fellow or not when five minutes ago, anyone would have been welcome… ‘I…’

A shout went up, interrupting, and from the other end of the pool, a splash as somebody dived in, swimming swiftly over.

‘Your pardon,’ the newcomer said hastily, putting himself between Merenor and the ellon. ‘But there has been a mistake. This lord, he is new to the palace, Girithon, he does not know…’

‘That’s not how it seemed to me…’

The newly arrived ellon turned to face Merenor, made so bold as to take his arm.

‘Master Merenor, you might not know me, I am Fonor, brother to Master Parvon from the King’s Office… you must come away...’

Ai, so much for anonymity, no names…! Nothing for it now but to play along, accept the rescue Fonor was offering with innocent acquiescence.

‘Captain Fonor, of course I know you! One of our brave Grey Dragon Warriors… is something the matter…?’

He allowed Fonor to lead him from the alcove, noting that the warrior tried to keep him as far from the interested ellon as possible.

‘Yes... You see, this part of the pool, it is where you go to… to meet people…’

‘Indeed, and I had just struck up a conversation…’

‘No, no! Not… not to meet people in that sense… for when males... seek each other out...’ Fonor turned to incline his head to the now solitary occupant of the alcove and raised his voice a little. ‘Girithon! Master Merenor is the father of Canadion, who saved our king. He is honour-father to Thiriston Cut-Face and I hope you understand, he is a stranger amongst us and did not know what that corner is for, I trust you will remember it…’

‘I beg Master Merenor’s pardon, then, and hope he will not be offended by my offer of simple friendship,’ the ellon said.

Merenor smiled and inclined his head.

‘For my part, you were perfectly friendly and polite; there was no reason for me to take offence, Master Girithon.’

Fonor was still tugging at his arm.

‘This is such an awkward situation; I can only be glad you do not realise... it is not how nice ellyn meet, it is for casual encounters, not for ...respectable males... I must tell my brother you were almost importuned... really, they should do something about it...’

Ah. And when Fonor told Parvon, then Hanben would no doubt hear about it and so Merenor had best keep up his pretence of innocence...

‘Is that your towel, Master Merenor? I will wait and escort you from the dressing rooms...’

‘There is really no need, Captain – and you are deferring your own bath...’

‘I have no wish to bathe with the likes of Girithon...’

‘I do not understand?’

‘If I say, he is known to sometimes not take a hint... did you see his scar?’

‘Yes.’ 

‘He made the mistake of misinterpreting something your son Canadion said, once. When he would not listen to Canadion, Thiriston pressed the point home, so to speak.’ Fonor had gone so far as to hold out Merenor’s towel for him to walk into, keeping his eyes high. ‘Which is why I told Girithon who you are.’

‘Then my thanks, Fonor.’ Merenor wrapped the towel around his waist and turned towards the entrance while Fonor readied himself. ‘Was Canadion all right?’

‘He was fine; Thiriston was never far from his side and heard it all.’

‘It is embarrassing to realise I could have made such a mistake...’

‘Girithon has a way of interpreting people’s mistakes so they feel obliged to carry through,’ Fonor said. ‘He is meant not to come here; he preys on the young, the inexperienced; I will speak to the over-captain, I think. If you wish to dress, Master Merenor, I will guard the door and then I will escort you to your rooms.’

Tempted to laugh and protest, nevertheless Merenor thanked him gravely and realised that, actually, he had no wish to laugh, this was not amusing, he had almost made a very bad mistake with an apparently notorious ellon and had he done so, his chances with Hanben would have probably been utterly destroyed.

Suddenly, he felt nauseated, ashamed.

Stranger in the palace, he reminded himself. Had no idea that’s what the alcove was for... should put up signs, or something.

Nobody needed to know he’d known exactly where he’d been standing.

Dried and dressed, he called out to Fonor that he was done, and Fonor came to hurry into his own garments, still watching the bathing room.

‘Perhaps I should ask my brother to consider a broader induction to the palace for our newer residents,’ Fonor said, leading the way. ‘I wonder whether he would be in the King’s Office still? He sometimes works late on the notes for the chief advisors’ morning meetings...’

‘Please, do not trouble...’

‘It is no bother... I should report Girithon’s presence in any case.’

So Merenor had to go through the whole embarrassing business again, and keep pretending, no, stranger in town, actually all Girithon had done was offer to show Merenor around the palace... he’d had no idea he was standing in the wrong place... and, even worse, the door to Hanben’s office opened, Hanben looking out.

‘Master Merenor! I thought I heard your voice... is all well?’

‘A misunderstanding,’ Fonor said. ‘I found him in the bathing pool about to be importuned...’

‘I am fine,’ Merenor said. ‘I feel very stupid that I thought the ellon was just being friendly but, no harm done. Captain Fonor soon cleared everything up.’

‘I do not understand. Is there something wrong with your washing cascade? Shall I come and look at it for you?’

Oh, how Merenor wished he had thought to break the cascade before he left... but, no, there was enough not telling all the truth here tonight already.

‘It is fine, although it could, perhaps, do with some fine tuning; it is quite fierce! But sometimes, I just like to soak. And I had heard that particular pool was large enough to swim...’

‘I will bear that in mind when considering a room for you, then,’ Hanben said. ‘Captain Fonor, thank you for rescuing my assistant. I will make sure he gets safely home to his rooms.’

They walked in what seemed to Merenor to be a disapproving silence... it might be that Hanben was simply offended that anyone would prefer the bathing pool to his washing cascade... but Merenor thought not. Steeling himself, but determined to clear matters, if he could, he began talking.

‘You are no fool, Hanben, and you will have realised already that if I knew enough about the bathing pool to know I could swim there, that also I would know what the alcove was used for... I really only sought company, a few words, nothing more, and... I knew it was foolish. I was most grateful Captain Fonor arrived when he did and...’

‘You owe me no explanation, Merenor. I am your employer, after all, not your conscience.’

‘It is not a matter of conscience; I would not have my actions bring the King’s Office into disrepute, and so I allowed Fonor’s explanation to stand. And matters had not gone far, really one would not have known.... And I would have declined, I decided I did not want... But you, I would not insult you with a pretence. I was lonely. I almost made a grave error. I am ashamed, I am sorry.’

Hanben said nothing.

‘I needed to talk to someone.’

No answer.

They were at the top of Merenor’s corridor now, just a few doors away from his rooms and he did not know how long he had to make sure all was well here, to explain.

‘It is nothing personal about the washing cascade, Hanben...’ he said finally, in a voice that sounded small and bereft even in his own ears. ‘I simply... not to have to think about tomorrow, the annulment. It is really a very nice washing cascade...’

‘Oh, do be quiet about the washing cascade, Merenor! If you were so in need of someone to talk to, why did you not seek me? Why seek a stranger instead?’

‘Because I needed random conversation about nothing to someone I need never speak to again, not someone who...’

‘Someone who....?’

‘Who I would have to speak to. Would want to speak to. I...’ Merenor made a futile, unfinished gesture with his hand. ‘I would not talk to you of nothing, Hanben. To you I would talk of anything. Everything. I am sorry; it is a difficult time, perhaps you are not seeing me at my best tonight. I am grateful for your escort home. I will bid you good night, and see you tomorrow, after the king is done with Cullasbes and I. After we are done with each other. I will try not to be an embarrassment again.’

He inclined his head, unable now to meet Hanben’s eyes, wanting only to escape and somehow get through the night, and put himself on the other side of his door as quickly as he might.

*  
Stunned, Hanben caught his breath... _‘To you I would talk of anything. Everything...’_

Merenor had known about the alcove, had been seeking companionship. Yet after the first night, when Hanben had deflected him, he had not tried again... had he felt so rebuffed he needed to seek a stranger? That was not what Hanben had intended at all, he had simply wanted a little time to think... and poor Merenor, with his relationship ending tomorrow, formally over, and no friends in the palace to turn to, had felt he had no recourse but to seek a stranger for comfort...

It didn’t matter, suddenly, that Merenor had known about the alcove.

What mattered was that Hanben should have been kinder, more encouraging... not too much more, perhaps, but...

‘Merenor?’ 

He tapped on the door, hoping for a chance to apologise, explain, to help. But there was no answer and, indeed, from deep inside the rooms he could hear the fierce rain of the washing cascade.

Most of the cascades had a finite running time, being fed by tanks of water, but Merenor’s came from the springs and it was impossible to judge how long the waters would run without ceasing. And therefore how long before Merenor was driven out of the cubicle to where he could not pretend he didn’t hear the door...

But...

There was piping. Tubes. Connections.

Hanben turned on his heel and made his way to the hot springs that fed this section of corridor. He turned a wheel, locking off the flow of water to the pipes, and went on his way. It would take a few minutes, at least, for the supply of water to the washing cascades to fail...

*

The water was hot, spiky, sharp on Merenor’s face, his hair, his skin. Numbing, almost, driving out some of the shame and misery and cleaning away the taint of Girithon’s eyes. Yes, he had almost done something to regret, something he would have regretted even if there had been no Hanben to consider...

He sighed and turned under the water and felt it slow, stop.

What? Was everything going wrong tonight? If he’d known this would happen, he’d not have gone to the pools, he would just have sent for Hanben... and...

There was someone knocking at his door. 

Merenor wrapped himself in a towel and waited to see if the knocking would come again; he didn’t feel like company, not any more, not now, not after everything.

But there was a sound, as if one of the servants had set something down, and footsteps retreating.

After a few moments, curious, he opened the door and looked out.

There, on the table outside, was a tray with a cup of hot, spiced milk and a plate of sugar cakes.

It made him smile, made him shake his head, made him want to cry. Instead, he sighed and picked up the tray.

‘Thank you, Master Hanben,’ he said and once the door was closed, around the corner, Hanben smiled to himself.

‘You’re welcome, Master Merenor,’ he said.


	320. Thinking of Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the annulment of Merenor and Cullasbes' Short Vows takes place...

Thranduil was aware of an aching head and a sense of lethargy to which he was not generally prone.

Perhaps it had been a mistake to dine in his rooms last night, especially as Legolas had not remembered to take the Dorwinion with him when he’d left so that, on Thranduil’s return from his appointment with his advisors, the bottle had been waiting, more than half-full, mocking him...

Certainly, whatever the reason for his tiredness, he was most certainly not in the mood for a breakfast meeting this morning. And most assuredly not for the breakfast part of it.

As ever, Arveldir was waiting patiently, no trace of expression on his face as he readied himself to respond to his king... Just for once, Thranduil mused, it would be entertaining to see his advisor discomfited...

‘Well, Arveldir? What are the delights of the day ahead?’

'Master Merenor and Mistress Cullasbes are expected in the King’s Office, sire, and once we have made sure they have understood the documents properly, will bring them before you for your direct attention; it is a momentous day for them, and although the King’s Office could oversee the signing and countersigning, for their sakes, it is better for you to preside on this occasion...’

‘Very well. And?’ 

‘Yes, another matter has arisen which needs urgent discussion... Last night, Merenor had to be rescued from a person in the communal bathing rooms...'

'Indeed? Are we sure it was Merenor in need of rescue, Arveldir?'

The advisor lifted an eyebrow in amused acknowledgement.

'Yes, sire, quite sure, for the other ellon was Girithon...'

'I see.' Thranduil was silent for a moment, covering his chin with his fingers, but not hiding his mouth as he might, were he amused. In fact, he was not; Girithon was a known menace and he had been assured, last time it had happened, that the matter would be permanently dealt with. 'Rawon has been informed?'

'A message from the King's Office is on its way.'

'Good. But I had assurances that Girithon would be curtailed in the past, and, besides, Merenor is a civilian; I do not feel we should leave matters simply to Rawon’s discretion... The new proclamation must go out to the external settlements. Pick a good, strong, traditionally-minded ellon and tell the over-captain that Girithon is to ride escort duty. It can be a different messenger for each village, but Girithon is to guard each and every one of them.'

'As my king wishes. It means the word will not reach some of the outlying communities for some time, of course...'

'Thus serving two purposes; keeping Girithon away from the palace and in company of unsympathetic persons for a much longer period of time, and ensuring the King's Office is not overwhelmed with unsuitable couples seeking annulments all at once. There are, I note, thirty-seven couples in the palace region alone who took short vows, of whom perhaps half have a similar reason to Merenor to seek release; if similar numbers came forward from the outlying settlements, you and Erestor would not have a moment to yourselves for weeks...'

'My king thinks of everything,' Arveldir said.

'Yes. Sometimes, as when my chief advisor is busy...blackberrying, for example, it seems I have to... Bring Merenor and Cullasbes to my study when they are ready, this procedure will be intimidating enough for them without all the solemnity of the Hall of Audience.'

Arveldir inclined his head in agreement as he left to do his king's bidding. Yes; Thranduil really did seem to think of everything. In fact, he had too many thoughts, really...

Merenor and Cullasbes were waiting in the main office area. Hanben's door, usually firmly closed whether the innovator was working there or elsewhere, today was open and Hanben himself could be seen, apparently studying documents, but doing so with the determined air of one pretending not to listen.

Arveldir greeted the soon-to-be-uncouple politely.

'I have one brief matter to attend to... Parvon, please escort Master Merenor and Mistress Cullasbes to the king's study; I will meet you there.'

As Parvon bowed and the unhappy pairing got to their feet, Hanben hastened out of his room.

‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘Merenor, I understand there has been an unexpected failure of your washing cascade?’

‘I... Master Hanben... Yes, that’s so, last night, in fact...’

‘I will have it attended to for you. In fact, I will see to it myself.’

‘Most kind... I will be away from my rooms for a while, if that is more convenient... but, I am forgetting; Cullasbes, this is my new employer, Master Hanben...’

‘I think we both know who each other is,’ Cullasbes snapped. ‘And why you would think this morning, of all mornings, is an appropriate time to introduce me to your...’

‘Employer,’ Hanben said firmly. ‘In fact, I intruded myself upon your notice; I think your...not-husband was forced to make the introduction, Mistress Cullasbes. Merenor, if you need the morning to yourself, it will be fine. Otherwise, we are in West Three, with the cascade fitting team. After the day meal, I want to go through one or two of your refinements to the person-barrow...’

‘My thanks,’ Merenor said with a smile he struggled to contain. ‘I am not sure how long this will take, but I am grateful for your understanding.’

Parvon held the door, and once they were gone from the office and in the comparative privacy of the corridors, Cullasbes glowered at Merenor.

‘I do not know what you are grinning like a fool for,’ she said. ‘Especially today.’

‘I’m just smiling politely, my dear, but I can see why you might feel the timing is a little off.’

Well, yes, perhaps it was more like a grin, Merenor admitted. But that was only because Hanben had promised to fix his washing cascade for him.

And as Merenor hadn’t even reported it broken, the only way, it seemed, that Hanben could possibly have known was if he’d damaged it himself in a deliberate, genteel assault on the mechanisms somewhere...

Why? Just so that he could bring Merenor a hot drink and some sugar cakes?

It seemed unlikely, and yet...

It also seemed rather flattering.

*

‘Enter.’ 

Thranduil had shaken off the worst of his headache and felt more composed as he sat behind his desk, hands folded elegantly in front of him, writing implements and sealing wax to hand. He tilted his head to one side and put a suitably-slight smile on his face.

‘Merenor and Cullasbes, my lord king,’ Arveldir said, bowing them in to make their obeisance.

‘Rise, and sit, both of you,’ Thranduil said. ‘Arveldir?’

‘Sire. I have here copies of the documents... ‘

‘You understand the implications of this? You have discussed it, as you have seen fit, with each other, with your sons?’

He chose the word deliberately, provocatively, even, to see whether Cullasbes would react. Yes, her shoulders had twitched in a ‘go ahead, rub it in,’ sort of a way.

‘We have,’ Merenor said. ‘And hard though it seems, it is time to set each other free. To forgive ourselves, each other, those who brought us together in such optimism, and to accept it is done. And so I shall sign.’

‘Cullasbes?’ the king prompted.

‘I am sure it is not for want of trying... but it is so tiring, all the time. And if he is to be here... Yes, I will sign.’

Arveldir spread out the documents, four copies, one each for Merenor and Cullasbes, two for the King’s Office. Thranduil countersigned with a graceful flourish and Arveldir sanded the wet ink to hasten its drying.

And that was it. The sky did not break, hordes of Maiar and Valar did not appear to castigate them, there was no dramatic outcome. Nothing was changed, not really, not where it showed.

Cullasbes made an odd little sound in her throat, a mix between a sniff and a sigh.

Arveldir gathered up the documents, handing back the copies for Merenor and Cullasbes neatly rolled with the wax neatly dripped on them for the king to imprint with his seal, securing them.

‘And so, Cullasbes, Merenor, here are your copies. Now go, reflect, and be grateful that you have such a fine family as compensation for your investment of time. No doubt the next few days will feel awkward for you, but if nothing else, you are paving the way for other couples who have lived in similar circumstances as yourselves.’

‘Well, whoever would have thought it?’ Cullasbes said with a glance at Merenor. ‘You, a leading light!’

‘Come, ‘Bes, now we’re annulled, you don’t have to be insulting to me any more. We can go back to trying not to hate each other again.’

She got to her feet with a sidelong look at him and made her curtsey to the king.

‘Thank you, your majesty.’

‘Good day, Cullasbes, Merenor.’

Thranduil stared after them long after Arveldir had bowed his way out and closed the door. Odd, but signing an end to Master Merenor’s short vows had felt somehow distasteful... still, no matter his feelings, it needed to be done.

Four sons, and in spite of two of those being... non-traditional in their choices, there were already five, six grandchildren? The third son, yes, he had seemed to feel it his duty to make up for his brothers’ reticence.

...Even a couple such as Merenor and Cullasbes, thrown together for practicalities, not for love, even they had grandchildren they were able to see whenever they wished whilst he, the Elvenking, was at the mercy of a simple, human girl...

It was no use; he needed something to help him shake off this mood. He had been thinking too much, he needed action, motion, exertion...

Abandoning his study, he swept down the corridors, snapping his fingers at one of the servants.

‘Tell Arveldir I will be working in my practice room. And tell him to find someone for me to spar with, and hurry up about it.’


	321. What You Ask For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil finds himself a sparring partner. Or two...

Legolas was taking casual part in archery practice with the rest of the combined Dragon Warriors when Govon, watching from the sidelines, hailed him.

He turned in time to see a messenger departing, Govon waving a missive in the air with a mischievous grin on his face.

‘What is it?’ Legolas asked, loping across to join his fëa-mate.

‘It is that your royal father is seeking sparring partners... it is not specified how many, or what discipline... should we give him what he asks for, do you think?’

‘Oh, wonderful... although I have to keep them at it here for another half hour...’

‘True. Of course, being injured, I can’t possibly be expected to playfight with my honour-ada today... but I can go and see if any of the other teaching sessions are close to ending...’

‘The captaincy training group...’

‘The knife-throwers...’

‘Good idea, Govon. That way he’ll have plenty to keep him busy until we finish here...’

‘How many?’ Govon asked. ‘Everyone?’

‘It is so tempting...’

*  
Thranduil, in the practice chamber, engaged in his disrobing ritual, paused at a knock which revealed Arveldir, bowing dutifully.

‘I sent for you an hour ago,’ Thranduil said, laying his shirt on top of his coat and robes of office. ‘Where have you been? Blackberrying?’

‘My king perhaps does not realise that blackberrying, done properly, requires more than an hour to reap a satisfactory harvest, ’ Arveldir said. ‘In fact, I have been consulting with Erestor about something. Your first sparring partners are waiting, sire.’

‘My first...?’

‘My lord king asked for sparring partners, but did not specify how many... I will show them in.’

Before Thranduil could protest he had no wish for an audience, Arveldir admitted the potential practice partners; three of the Dragon Warriors. Celeguel and Triwathon, from their Captaincy classes, and Amathel from her training, all three entering with various degrees of shyness and bowed as was appropriate. 

Arveldir, too curious to allow proceedings to go unwitnessed, took up a station next to the doors.

‘Well, what do you offer?’ Thranduil picked up a single sword and began to sweep it around his body as the warriors looked on. ‘I am not participating in archery, that is all.’

‘My king, I have been learning twin blades,’ Triwathon offered.

‘Target practice with throwing knives, sire,’ Amathel said. ‘I am new to the discipline, but considered quite good, really.’

Celeguel tried not to ogle her king’s bare torso as she cleared her throat.

‘I’ve been studying wrestling,’ she said.

‘How very enterprising of you.’ Thranduil set the sword aside and reached for his shirt; rather than intimidating his opponents with his musculature displayed, he rather thought these three more like to be entertained by it. ‘However, if you would practice with me, Captain Celeguel, you must choose another skill; I am not engaging in any form of open-handed combat today. Amathel, you first. Pick your blades and take your practice throws.’

Thranduil turned away to prepare his own set of throwing knives and so did not see Amathel and Celeguel exchange grins behind his back. Arveldir did, and began to wonder whether he should have allowed all three Dragon Warriors into the chamber together after all.

Still, it would be entertaining, no doubt.

The king selected his target and began his throws, taking them slowly and methodically, noting how each blade responded to the spin and power behind each cast, using the first knife as a guide for the succeeding blades, so that he reached nearer and nearer to the centre with each cast.

Amathel approached her target with a happy smile, lifting her shoulders in delight at the thought that she – she – was participating in practice with her king. Her joy outweighing her nerves, she threw her first two casts quickly, forgetting to note and learn from them, but then slowed a little and took more care. 

Soon she was done, her blades scattered joyfully around the bull and the innermost ring...

One did not, of course, judge one’s opponent by their practice casts... had one done so, one might be a little worried that one might be in trouble... 

Thranduil kept his face impassive as Amathel almost danced to her target to retrieve her knives.

‘Shall we throw in turns by knife, or by set, or freely at will, Amathel? I will allow you the choice.’

‘Thank you, sire... freely, if that’s all right by you. After all, in the field, an enemy doesn’t wait to take turns...’

‘True.’ 

Thranduil collected his own blades, returned to the marker. He’d only just turned when the first of Amathel’s blades left her hand, spinning and turning to thunk into her target. He waited until she had loosed another two knives before despatching his first, trying not to mutter as he saw his aim less true than he had hoped.

He lined up to throw again and just as he was about to release...

‘Thiriston said you’re just amazing with throwing knives!’ Amathel said, causing Thranduil to start, just a little, just enough to throw him off his line. ‘Oh, unlucky, sire!’

Thranduil bit back a reprimand.

‘I am sure he did not use quite those words,’ he answered, calmly enough, he hoped.

‘Well, no, but damn good and up to all the tricks in the book doesn’t sound quite so respectful, I don’t think,’ Amathel said, throwing another innocent knife surprisingly near the centre of her target. ‘He said something about your wrist action too, but he made it sound quite rude... Can I ask what sort of tricks, sire? Only I’d really like to best Thiriston one day...’

‘Then I am flattered,’ Thranduil paused and threw again, this time grazing the bull. ‘I rather think you already have sufficient tricks of your own.’

‘Oh, thank you sire!’ she replied, and as she was readying her knife, Thranduil, apparently casually, asked her a conversational question.

‘Have you been learning long?’

‘No,’ she said, as her knife left her hand and hit the target nicely. ‘Thiriston said I was a natural. Of course, it helps that I can divide my attention, I suppose, and my hand does what I tell it even if I’m chatting.’

‘Indeed?’ Thranduil had two more knives left and loosed them both, eager to be done with this now. He had not embarrassed himself, but nor was he covered with glory... ‘And are you likely to be chatting when the enemy attacks?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I’d be listening for orders, trying to find out where the enemies are... watching out for any civilians in our care...’

As she was speaking she let her last knife fly to land a little away from the inner ring.

‘Well done,’ Thranduil said. ‘To be able to stay calm in the face of multiple distractions will serve you well both in your guard duties and your private life.’

‘Did I win? Did I...?’

Arveldir, considering himself to be least partisan of those present, advanced to examine both targets.

‘The right target has it by two places,’ he said. 

‘Not this time, Amathel,’ Thranduil said. ‘But you certainly did not disgrace yourself. And,’ he added in low tones, intended to seem private even though all present would hear, ‘you acquitted yourself considerably better than did Captain Thiriston.’

‘Oh, thank you, my king! That was great fun, although I am sure you were being kind...’

Her king raised an icy eyebrow but Amathel, unquelled, replaced her knives and took a seat next to Celeguel. 

‘Captain Triwathon,’ Thranduil called out. ‘You have been learning twin swords, you tell me... I suggest, not a duel, but the traditional practice form, if you are willing?’

A tapping on the door outside just as Triwathon was on his way to the fighting circle, and Arveldir found a cluster of Black and Red Dragon Heart Warriors, many holding swords or knives and, at the back, grinning, Legolas and Govon.

‘We are here to spar with the king, at his request...’ one of the Black Dragons said. ‘Are we too late?’

About to say, no, his majesty had two more opponents waiting, Arveldir cast his mind back over Thranduil’s recent aberrations... it would help take the king’s mind of his problems to be faced with an extended session of practice, it would help him shake of his hangover... no, not hangover – tiredness, his tiredness... and if it should also feel like a little revenge for all the comments about blackberrying... and it was what the king had asked for...

‘Come in, take places. His majesty is about to demonstrate twin blade with Captain Triwathon, and after that Celeguel will take him on... but I am sure you will enjoy the displays while you wait...’

...The stately elegance of the traditional twin blade practice, marred only slightly by Triwathon apologising if he happened to mis-step... Celeguel laughing her way through a lightening bout with single-sword that left her giggling and breathless even as she lost, Thranduil shaking his head with his sword pointed at her throat... another session of knife-throwing, the king against two Red Dragons and a Black Dragon (which he won, to his relief)... more single sword work against a Black Dragon and then, just as Thranduil thought he had his opponent, another joining in the fray, measuring up against him, making him work hard for the win... those two dismissed, two Red Dragons jumped in, sending him spinning and whirling as he sent his blades out in strobing silver until finally one was down, the other tripping over the fallen one, and it was done.

His chest heaving, the shirt sticking to his back, his hair plastered to his face, Thranduil swung his sword and slid it into the scabbard.

‘Well, any more...? No? Good. Thank you all for your attendance, and you may go about your business.’ 

The assembled Dragon warriors bowed and left the practice chamber, Govon and Legolas trying to escape notice. Thranduil pretended not to see them, and turned to face his advisor.

‘Arveldir, next time you call an open session... do have the goodness to inform me first.’

‘If you wish, my king, although... where would be the challenge in that?’


	322. The Branching of the Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the washing cascade once more makes its presence known...

Merenor and Cullasbes walked in silence, a space between them as wide as forever as they left the king’s study. It was several moments before Cullasbes broke the silence.

‘We will need to arrange matters. The business.’

‘I left all well, it’s in good hands, I need nothing from it. Do as you please; it was always yours, anyway.’

‘Yes, I suppose so. I doubt I will relocate, though; I am too used to the palace...’

And, besides, Ravomen probably wouldn’t want to uproot his life just for Cullasbes... that she wouldn’t expect it of her new friend, and yet had demanded Merenor to give up his work with the elk tamers and settle to something so different...

‘We’ll get used to seeing each other about, and not mind, I am sure.’

‘You’re serious, then? You really will settle in the palace?’

‘Or outside it, if I can get a talan built with a washing cascade...’

Cullasbes shook her head.

‘Ridiculous! I thought you were making it up... you’re not serious about this job here, are you?’

‘Indeed I am. So, I suppose I will need to go back to the old place and collect my bits and pieces...’

‘Melion can take over the business, he’s nearest...’

‘No. I won’t allow that.’

‘Oh, and what about ‘do as you please’? You soon changed your tune!’

‘I meant, do what you want with the business. But not our sons, Cullasbes! They have their own lives and concerns and things they like to do, and I won’t let you bully Melion into taking it on when he has his own life to live...’

‘How do you know he doesn’t want to?’

‘How do you know he does?’ Merenor sighed. ‘If he did want to help you, that would be different and I won’t protest. But it’s just not fair to assume he’ll do what you want. And, indeed, why should he in fact?’

Silence, and ahead was the branching of the ways.

‘I’m going to the King’s Office to formally record my wishes for the business,’ Merenor said. ‘If you want to come with me to witness it, that’s fine by me. I will be making a journey down, both to lodge a copy of my wishes with the office in the south, and to collect such of my belongings as will be relevant to my new life here. I do not know when, yet; I can’t just walk out on my job without consultation.’

‘Because you have been there a day and are already so important...!’ Cullasbes said with a sneer.

‘No. Because I am new, and I like the work, and I really, really like the ellon I work for and I do not wish to mess this up,’ he said, taking the path towards the King’s Office. ‘Are you coming? Or shall I have them send you a copy?’

‘A copy is fine,’ Cullasbes snapped. ‘I have better things to do with my morning than put petty restrictions in place...’

*

And it took only a few minutes for Parvon to find the relevant business records, word Merenor’s wishes with regards to his sons’ involvement in the business, and for him to read and witness and sign four copies, one each for him and Cullasbes, one for the King’s Office, and one for the business offices.

‘Which I will also take, and deliver, or have delivered,’ Merenor said. ‘My thanks, Master Parvon. And now I will seek out Master Hanben.’

‘West Three, washing cascade team.’

‘Yes, thank you.’

Merenor set off again and could soon hear the banging that seemed to accompany this particular work crew on their travels. Following his ears, he found the room where Hanben was overseeing operations just in time to see the source of the banging – one of the crew, using a heavy mallet, was inserting a tank into a cavity in the wall; it did not seem to want to co-operate. 

Hanben looked around, and was it possible that the light in his eye and the smile on his lips were more than just common politeness required?

‘Good morning, Master Hanben.’

‘Ah, Merenor, good... I wanted to show you something through here...’ 

Merenor followed Hanben out of the set of rooms and along the corridor to what seemed to be a common room, just a large, empty space with ledges for seating cut into the rock around two sides.

‘I was thinking, the rock here is dense, but there is as much above as there is out...window or lightwell?’ Hanben asked.

‘Window,’ Merenor said without hesitation. ‘That is, if these walls look inward and wouldn’t be a security risk. Then a lightwell would be more easily disguised. But to be able to see out into the greenwood...’

‘My thoughts exactly. More banging for the strong arms of our workers... if I may ask, did all go well this morning? That is, smoothly... ‘well’ is not the appropriate word...’

‘Thank you... yes, it is done. There is... perhaps now is a good time to mention – I will need to return for a few days to gather my belongings... there is not much, of course, but I have some very nice fettling tools, I am used to them... and I have a set of fine pliers, with mithril tips for really delicate work...’

‘I see. How long would you be gone?’

‘It is a four or five day journey, then a day or two to sort things out...’

‘I would like you to complete your trial week first.’

‘Of course, Master Hanben.’

‘And if we are pressed, I may need you to defer your journey until West Three is completed...’

‘I understand. I am sorry to be an inconvenience...’

Hanben pursed his lips and, oh, Merenor felt his throat grow dry at the sight of that mouth moving in such beautiful ways and how could he not look, he was staring, and now was not the time and he really, really was glad he had his long coat on today...

‘Well, if, after the end of your trial, I decide to keep you on, you may have two weeks.’ 

‘Thank you,’ Merenor said, released from the spell of Hanben’s mouth by his words. ‘I am most grateful.’

‘Well, the weather will be turning within a month or so... how will you travel?’

‘I rode up here, but I may need a cart or conveyance of some sort...’

‘Hmm... you must have a lot of tools in your kit then, Master Merenor?’

‘Ai, I would dearly love to show you them, Master Hanben...’

‘One day, perhaps. So, this will be the recreational space for those Black Dragon warriors who decide to take up residence here... I think you are right, a window is always nicer... Come, then, I want to show you how the piping connections fit to the water tank; I will be expecting you to be able to oversee the operation in a day or so...’

*

‘Arveldir, next time you call an open session... do have the goodness to inform me first.’

‘If you wish, my king, although... where would be the challenge in that?’

Thranduil held out a hand for a towel. Arveldir passed him the item in silence, waiting for instruction, dismissal, a reprimand... he had hoped for a witty, sharp reply, he thought he knew his king, after all this time, and had taken the risk of misinterpreting Thranduil’s instructions in the hopes that it would help the king shake off his low spirits.

‘The next time I request a sparring partner, Arveldir, unless I specify, it means one individual, do you understand?’

Ah. Not quite a reprimand, but not far from it, and certainly not an amused tone. The best way, now, was to continue with his air of assumed innocence; it would fool neither of them, but Thranduil was more usually entertained than annoyed by such ploys...

‘Of course sire... was that not your intention this morning?’ Arveldir lifted his voice as he finished in mild surprise. ‘However, the Dragon Warriors will have returned to their duties in splendid heart...’

‘My work here is done, then, obviously,’ Thranduil replied with a touch of his usual acid. ‘My coat, Arveldir?’

‘Will there be anything else, sire? My king will, of course, have remembered that tomorrow is the day of the Public Audience and it is probable that there will be considerable interest... should I, perhaps, return to my former habit of preselecting your supplicants?’

‘Yes, do so... and, Arveldir, see to it that Merenor does not use his annulment as an excuse to explore quite all the special corners of every communal bathing pool in the palace...’

'Indeed, sire, I shall take steps, but I do not think it likely to happen again.' No point asking how Thranduil had found out; the king really did seem to know everything that went on in the palace... 'In fact, I rather think it is Cullasbes who will be first into the fray once more...'

'Yes... Ravomen, a merchant of similar class... an unsurprising choice, really. Unimaginative. But then, perhaps if Cullasbes had more imagination, she and Merenor would never have come to this...'

'True. Forgive me, sire...' Arveldir passed Thranduil his coat. 'But I cannot help but feel something has happened here today to diminish us. It was undoubtedly a kindness, to release them,' he hurried on, ' but it feels too much like a breaking of more than just tradition...’

'It was the previous tradition that was wrong, of course,' Thranduil said. 'For whatever purpose, encouraging vows between persons not truly attached is bound to have consequences... we are merely setting that to rights.'

'Yes, my king.'

‘Thank you, Arveldir. You need not wait for me; I know I have substantially added to your workload of late.'

'Sire. It does, at least, make for an interesting day in the office.'

‘When you are there, that is, and not engaged in blackberrying...’

Arveldir found it difficult to keep a wry smile from his face.

‘Ah, but it is a short season, sire. One must gather whilst one may.’

*

Returning with Hanben to watch the washing cascade’s connections made and tested gave Merenor a little time to settle himself. By the time the next installation took place he felt confident enough to assist with the connections and was delighted when the contraption behaved as it ought to, with no leaks.

‘Of course, the piping is held within the stonework, and we drill channels so any leaks can ground themselves without running riot in the living quarters,’ Hanben told him. ‘The tank must presently be filled anew each time the cascade is used, and the design is far from perfect...’

‘But it is innovative, and it works... except, of course, the one in my quarters failed for some reason last night...’

‘I attended to it this morning; since it is fed from the springs, the only possible places for failure were external... it should be working now.’

‘That’s very kind.’

‘It is time to break for the day meal. Perhaps you would care to check if all is as it should be? And then this afternoon, I will show you the piping we use, and you can help construct a section, if you like.’

It was logical to walk back together; Hanben was heading for his own rooms not so far from Merenor’s and, once at the place where the corridors separated, it was almost reasonable for Hanben to suggest, in diffident tones, that he wait outside, in case the washing cascade needed adjustment, and so equally reasonable for Merenor, trying to sound casual, to invite him in.

As soon as the door opened it was obvious something was amiss; the air was thick and moist with steam and the fierce hiss of the washing cascade ricocheted off the stone walls of the cubicle like a dozen angry snakes in a cave.

Without a glance at each other, both dashed for the cascade with the intention of turning it off. Merenor reached the cubicle first and was reaching for the control lever when Hanben skidded on the damp stone floor, careened into him, and both ended in a heap under the still-hissing cascade. A jumble of limbs and apologies and attempts to stand, and finally the cascade was switched off.

‘Why, Master Hanben, you are all wet!’ Merenor exclaimed, disentangling himself and trying not to regret he’d been too busy falling to enjoy the closeness of Hanben’s person against his own.

‘Why, Master Merenor, so are you! And, you have quite a flair for understatement!’

‘Are you hurt? Let me help you up... Here, let me find you a towel...’

‘I think we are beyond the help of towels...’

Merenor found one anyway and passed it over.

‘You know, I think perhaps it is safer if I keep to bathing...’

‘That’s not what I heard,’ Hanben retorted, causing Merenor to blink and stare... ‘A joke, Merenor, a joke...’

‘Oh, I see.’ Merenor allowed himself a rueful smile. ‘I am sorry – I think everything is so damp as to be useless...’

‘I assume when your cascade failed last night you did not think to turn the lever off?’

‘To be honest, I wasn’t thinking much last night at all, but no, it never occurred to me. My mistake.’

‘We all make them... do you know, I think perhaps you will need new quarters? Everything in here is damp... I must make sure the drainage system is improved, remind me, will you...? Come to the King’s Office after the break, and we will look at rooms, if the thought pleases you? I have had one or two ideas...’


	323. The Children of the Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil holds audience, and Arveldir speaks to Maereth

Even with Arveldir’s careful winnowing, Thranduil found himself faced with multiple visitors to his public audience on the following morning. Erestor and Arveldir both were in evidence, Erestor inside the Hall of Audience, and Arveldir outside, between them ushering in and escorting out, interrupting politely, clarifying and arranging... Thranduil had time only to wonder whether this was Arveldir’s way of demonstrating Erestor’s value, their efficiency as a team, and then the next seeker was brought forward.

There was much concern about Thranduil’s clarification of the definitions of marriage – could it be right to refer to married males as ‘husbands’? For that matter, could it be right to call them ‘married’, even? 

‘Yes,’ the king had answered. ‘And I am surprised that you bring this to me... Erestor? Were not the definitions and clarifications displayed as instructed on all the palace notice boards?’

‘Sire, they were indeed.’

‘But,’ the supplicant protested, ‘I did not think the notices were accurate...’

‘I have never yet known the King’s Office to post notices on my behalf which were inaccurate on points such as these. Your concerns are noted, we are grateful you brought them to our attention... Erestor? You may escort my guest from the hall now.’

Another came to question on a different aspect of the same topic.

‘Sire, what of those who took short vows and call themselves husband and wife, must this stop?’

‘It is inaccurate and misleading,’ Thranduil said, looking at his fingernails to signify he was bored, ready to be done with this conversation already.

‘Perhaps, but those who have been called such for centuries, it will be hard for them to change how they speak... and might it be that their friends will treat them with less respect, if they are not properly married?’

‘Then they should have been more careful in their choice of friends. Or why not be properly married? Sometimes there is a reason, other times, it is merely an excuse, almost as if they are waiting for someone better to come along. This is not the concern of the King’s Office or, indeed, your king. Erestor? Our visitor has said her piece; we will take up no more of her day.’

Naneths came to protest at the thought of ending even a short-vowed relationship. What about the children? What would happen were couples to part company before the elflings were grown? Would they end up as... and here generally was a dramatic shudder – Children of the Forest...? 

Part-way through the aggrieved voice of the third to do so, Thranduil lifted his hand, silencing her.

‘Erestor? We thought we had made all this clear. Why are we taking this elleth’s time this morning?’

‘A letter of complaint did not seem enough, I understand, sire. But for every such guest your majesty entertains this morning, Lord Arveldir has turned four away...’

‘Very well. Mistress, the matter of vows, short or long, should only be of importance to those taking them, their Witness and the Valar. Perhaps you would be so good as to pass that on to any of your friends still waiting outside. Erestor?’

And Erestor had bowed the flustered elleth out.

‘How many more?’ Thranduil asked when Erestor returned.

‘Arveldir is attempting to persuade more of the supplicants that they do not have to see you. But there is one couple... permit me to admit them...’

He returned presently with two elves from the Forest Guard.

‘My lord king, here is Lithon and his fëa-mate Doronor. They have questions.’

Thranduil was sure they did. But the two had, on entering, dropped into the required obeisance as if they really meant it and he remembered; they had been at the High Table, the night he had made plain the new stance on marriage between elves of the same gender.

‘I know you, Lithon, and you Doronor. You have served our forest well. Rise, approach, and speak.’

‘Your majesty – sire – we are honoured to be in your presence...’

‘Indeed. And what matter do you bring before us this day?’

‘We... Doronor and I, we have always thought of ourselves as fëa-mates...’

‘Vowed in our hearts,’ Doronor added with a fond look at his friend. ‘But things being as they were...’

‘But now they are different. We would like –really like – to take real, marriage vows, forever vows, sire... can it be that we may?’

‘Indeed, you may. Be warned, however; the Sacred Grove will not be generally used for such ceremonies... nor will I be Witness...’

‘Oh, sire, we did not think... we would never have assumed... just amongst our friends and family and our company, with our captain and the stars as Witness, as befits warriors...’

‘You should celebrate your marriage how you choose. When you have decided, have the details sent to the King’s Office. We will see that Rawon knows to throw you a party, and we will send a representative to record your vows. If you have friends in similar situations, let them know that such unions are no longer discouraged.’

But if Lithon and Doronor had been charming and a breath of fresh air, the last persons – a couple – were less easy, and Arveldir stayed to explain how each had arrived separately, intending to speak to the king, and been startled to find the other also attending, both with the object of asking what was to be done about an annulment but not wishing the other to know it, yet...

‘Go away and talk between yourselves,’ the king said. ‘And when you have got past your annoyance that your consort does not want to be with you, and remembered that you came because you did not want to be with them, consider all the ramifications involved... this is not, you understand, for traditional couples...?’

‘He’s not traditional,’ the elleth said in tones of disapproval. ‘When he found out he was expected to do more than ask the Valar for the blessing...’

‘Yes, quite,’ Erestor said, hastening forward. ‘You know, this is not necessarily a matter for his majesty – the King’s Office can help with the early stages, while you are deciding if this is what you truly need...’

‘Are there more?’ Thranduil asked when the doors had closed behind the unhappy couple and both advisors had returned to the Hall of Audience.

‘They are the last, sire.’

‘Good. And, Arveldir, while I have you here, several of the naneths voiced concerns that annulments would create more Children of the Forest...’

‘Of course, this would not be the case, sire. And I do not think even short vowed couples would wish to end their arrangement while there were elflings and younglings still in their care...’

‘Naturally, since the reason most are trying to live as traditional couples is for the sake of having elflings... but it brought something to mind... are we not overdue a report concerning the current Children of the Forest? We are supposed to receive updates before the equinox...’

‘We are indeed, sire – there can sometimes be a few days’ delay, but I will enquire.’

*  
‘That phrase again!’ Erestor said as he walked with Arveldir back towards the King’s Office. ‘Children of the Forest... what does it signify?’

‘Ah. It is the term we have for those elflings who have, for whatever reason, only one parent. The King’s Office keeps a general eye on the families, in case they need extra support. Once the elflings have reached their majority, help usually stops, unless the family lost a parent in battle, and then they are housed in the palace as a mark of respect for their sacrifice. Technically speaking, Commander Govon was a Child of the Forest, for all of a decade, I think... the king likes to know how the elflings are getting on, sometimes even after they are adults. We do not intrude, but the Healers’ Hall sends us information every year. I suspect this has not happened simply because Healer Nestoril used to write the reports.’

‘I see. And so, are we to put up notices proclaiming that the other notices are not wrong?’ Erestor said, as the approached to see a little cluster of elves around one of the notice panels.

Arveldir laughed.

‘It would do no good; people would only ask which notices those notices referred to... Ai, it is all very well for his majesty to wish to bring new ideas to our people, but not everybody is easy with the notion...’

‘I must confess... that a union of so long could just be ended by a few strokes of a pen...’

‘I know... except it has taken much more than that. But I understand why so many are protesting; it feels unnatural... except, of course, that it was the union which was unnatural, to begin with.’

Arveldir sighed as he looked at the cluster of elves he would have to pass to get to his office.

‘It is no use, I cannot face them at the moment; perhaps now is a good time for me to visit the Healers’ Hall and ask for that report. Would you care to come with me?’

‘No, you go. Let me help here, mellon-nin. Else Parvon will be tearing his braids out.’

‘Thank you. I should not be long.’

*

Maereth enjoyed her work, the quiet calm of the Healers’ Hall, the sense of sanctuary it gave her. Of course, there were times when the calm was fractured, as when a patrol came in with injured, and then everyone rushed around at once until the injuries had been treated, the hunters and warriors soothed and their relatives reassured and comforted. But recently, apart from a few minor injuries – bruised warriors back from patrol, and then Commander Govon’s incident with the person-barrow... it had been quiet.

Flora’s brief visit had been a welcome interruption in routine, and it had been delightful to see how the gwinig grew, but now of course, she was gone, and it was back to the daily patterns.

As well as care of the injured and, occasionally, sick, the Healers’ Hall had responsibility for teaching the very young elflings and providing care for them, if their parents had occupations and they could not take their little ones along. It didn’t happen often, since elflings were precious and parents loathe to give care of them to anyone else, except perhaps for an hour or two. 

Maereth loved the elflings, and it was a pleasure to her when a feast was called, and there was need for someone to sit with the little ones should their adars and naneths be invited to the top table and how could one refuse the king’s invitation? So Maereth would always volunteer. She loved to tell stories, and to sing, and generally was said to have a lovely voice and a gentle way with the little ones, and it brought her great happiness to entertain the elflings.

But there were not many of them, and even the teaching classes only had a few occupants. Usually, too, one or other of the parents came to see what was being taught and how, which made for interesting sessions.

Since dear Nestoril, may the Valar have mercy on her, had left, Gaelbes had spoken to them of the need to keep busy, to be efficient and to make themselves useful... and they had all been ashamed, of course, when no-one had braved the forest to go to the aid of the patrol, and they had talked about what to do next time, and it had been agreed they should try to be braver, perhaps go out into the forest on patrol, a little, just to get used to it. But as yet nothing had been done about it; they would need to plan, of course, and by the time the plans had been discussed, it would be the heart of the winter, not a good time to leave the forest, so it would probably be next spring before anyone went out...

‘Good day to you, Healer.’

Maereth looked up from her daydreaming to see the king’s advisor waiting for attention.

‘My lord Arveldir! Good day to you. Is all well?’

‘Quite well, my thanks. There is a matter of an overdue report concerning the Children of the Forest, of whom should I make enquiries?’

‘Oh... perhaps Gyril... except I think Gaelbes has taken over the documents...’

‘Thank you. I will wait.’

Maereth went away, returning with a message that Healer Gaelbes said that, yes, there should have been a report, but Nestoril, may the Valar look kindly on her, always saw to it and there would be a little delay while Gaelbes discovered who it was generally gathered the information required...

‘I can tell you that, Healer,’ Arveldir said. ‘Nestoril herself would ride out to visit in the villages. She did it every year, just to see how the local healers were coping, and while she was there, they would pass on to her any information she needed. But I understand she was always welcome in the villages, and just by chatting to the locals, would find all she needed to furbish her reports. Can it be that this has not been done either? Nobody has been to see how the healers are getting on in the outlying settlements?’

Maereth shook her head.

‘I do not know. It might be, that now we are so diminished, it was thought that we could not spare anyone. And, then, they can always send messages, I suppose, if they needed to...’ she broke off as she realised that, perhaps, if there were problems, a healer might not have time to send a message, there might be none to send. ‘Perhaps I should mention it to Gaelbes?’

‘I think that would be a very good idea. Far be it from me to tell the Healers’ Halls how to function, however his majesty is impatient for the report. Commander Pedir of the Red Dragon Warriors can probably sort you out a very competent escort... I think I can ask his majesty to be patient a few days more, but, really... one would not wish to disappoint our king, would one?’

The healer swallowed as she remembered her own encounter with Thranduil.

‘No, one certainly would not,’ she said. ‘I will speak to Healer Gaelbes right away.’


	324. Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullasbes visits the newly-weds...

As it turned out, there was a very nice guest chamber available in an adjacent corridor, complete with bathing pool. It had, as Merenor was informed by a visiting Melion a few days after the incident with the washing cascade, been Canadion and Thiriston’s quarters before their wedding.

‘Really? It was left very tidy, then. Not a trace of Canadion’s usual bits and pieces.’

‘Indeed, Ada, I came to see him here.’

‘And now you both come to see me.’ Merenor smiled and opened his arms for little Mírien to clamber up onto his lap. ‘It is lovely to have your company, too.’

‘What happened, though?’

‘Oh, my fault... the washing cascade failed while in use, I forgot to close off the water flow and when I got back to the room, it had been running for half the day unchecked... so they put me in here. And all my clothing damp from the steam, and is still drying now, what, three days on? I think the room has had to be emptied...’

‘Oh, Ada, you do find yourself in some scrapes, do you not?’

Merenor laughed. ‘Well, fortunately, it has led to a redesign of the system so this will not happen again. And I was even able to help with the installation.’

‘So you like your new job, Ada?’

‘I do indeed, I love the work, it keeps my hands busy and my mind occupied... the two things your mother always complained of... I do not know if you have seen her? I am not wanting to pry on her doings but... is she well?’

‘She seems so. Not unhappy. Although I have not sought her out as perhaps I should. Did you know she asked if I wanted to help with the business?’

‘And do you?’

Melion snorted.

‘No. And I have told her so, as politely as I might. Caraphindir has also let it be known he has his work, and the business is not it. I think she was going to ask Baudh.’

‘She had better only ask, and not try to bully him into it!’

‘She said something about you were going to fetch your things? Only, it is time I was heading home with the little sapling there, and if you wanted to ride down with us, Baudh and Caraphindir and I, we’re leaving in two days...’

‘That’s very nice of you... I will need to check with Hanben – technically, that will be the last day of my trial week – of course, my services might not be needed after all...’

‘Oh, no! What would you do?’

‘Go and work amongst the elk-tamers, of course! But I have hopes that perhaps Hanben will wish to keep me...’

‘Keep you?’

‘Ah. Keep me on, I mean...’ Merenor took a moment to think about his work so far... he’d helped on the Mark Two Injured Person Vehicle, he could now oversee a work crew as they installed a washing cascade, could check the fittings, could assist with installation of windows and lightwells... he’d not really worked together with Hanben much, though, certainly not as much as he would have liked, his employer claiming another project demanded his attention, one on which Merenor’s assistance had been politely, but firmly, declined. ‘But I do want to stay.’

‘You know Naneth thinks you will regret it, if you do? She thinks you would do better returning to the business... but, Adar, I think she’s wrong, I think, if you’re prepared to go back to the elk-tamers...’

‘Well, I had a lot of fun with the elks. They were a lot easier to be around than some of the people... I’m guessing, but could it be that your mother suggested you try to change my mind...?’

‘I don’t know why it matters so to her. And I don’t see why you should do what she wants. Or why she thinks you should...’

‘Old habits, ion-nin! She was used to me following her lead... and, let’s face it, it was much easier than opposing her. But no. She has no claim over me any longer, no right to order my days. I suppose I should make the effort to tell her to leave you lads alone, really. It’s not fair on you.’

‘Well, it’s not as if we need put up with it much longer... Tomorrow night, Adar, would you eat with us? Sort of, a farewell supper... Baudh and Caraphindir and I, we are gathering in my rooms. Perhaps we can prise Canadion away from his husband for the evening.’

‘Perhaps, but not for all of it. Although why not invite Thiriston, too?’

‘Yes, good idea. If he wouldn’t feel awkward, being... well, he’s family, but would he see it like that?’

‘Would it be easier, do you think, if there was someone else there?’

‘Why not? The more the merrier... Thiriston’s sister Bronwenith, she’s still here.’

Damn... Merenor had been trying to angle for an invitation for Hanben...

‘I’m not asking Naneth, so if there’s anyone one you’d like to bring...?’ Melion added with a sly smile.

Merenor’s courage failed him. 

‘No, that’s fine. I’ll look forward to it.’

‘Oh... I was going to say, what about this employer of yours? Be nice to get a look at him.’

‘Well... if you think it would be a good idea...’

Melion hid a grin.

‘Yes, Adar, I think it would be a fine idea. Please invite him. We will see you tomorrow, then.’

*

There was no telling, really, where Thiriston began and Canadion ended, any more. Being married was like melting into one life, one fëa. When Canadion smiled, Thiriston felt his spirit lift. Thiriston pushed the hair back from his face, and Canadion was sure he felt the touch on his own head

Lying like this, so intertwined that they were really a two-headed, four-armed double entity, it was bliss beyond joy, utter consolation.

So an insistent knocking on the door was the last thing they wanted.

‘....no....’ Canadion murmured, as Thiriston’s mouth shaped the same word.

The knocking came again and the entangled husbands began to unwind themselves.

‘It must be important, or Edwenith would not have permitted...’ Thiriston began, but then the servant Edwenith’s voice could be heard politely requesting the person to desist, that the Captains were not to be disturbed by any person, at any cost... ‘I’d better go, just to save our friend from our visitor...’

‘Do you know who I am?’ a voice said sharply, distorted by both anger and the thickness of the door.

‘Oh, no!’ Canadion said, drawing the covers up to his nose. ‘It is Naneth...’

Thiriston grinned. Here was a change! It was not that long ago that Canadion had been desperate for any attention from his mother, however unpleasant the encounter... it could only be a good thing that the penneth was beginning to realise Cullasbes wasn’t to be placated at all costs...

‘Then I really had better go and talk to her...’

‘Like that?’ Canadion asked, his eyes entertained by Thiriston’s nakedness.

‘Well. It would serve your Naneth right, but I wouldn’t want to worry Edwenith...’ The big elf grabbed up a towel and wrapped it around his middle where it served to cover his modesty but not hide his mood... ‘Don’t worry, penneth, I’ll keep her at bay...’

Thiriston got to the door in time to hear Edwenith to say, no, mistress, she did not know who was requesting the honour of a visit with the Captains, but it would not matter even if she did know, for it was not in her power to permit it; they were on marital leave and not to be disturbed.

‘Good day to you, Edwenith!’ Thiriston said, throwing wide the door and blocking it with his considerable presence. ‘I see you’ve met the Honour-Nana... could you be so good as to bring us two of your wonderful Dragon Warrior breakfasts with extra everything – my husband is hungry this morning. About half an hour?’

‘Yes, Captain, it would be my pleasure...’

‘My thanks. Don’t worry about Nana, here, it’s fine. Just this once.’ He smiled in his friendliest, least-frightening way at the servant, pretending not to notice how Cullasbes bristled and inflated herself up like a very angry spider preparing to attack. ‘Good morning, Nana-in-Honour, and what were you wanting today?’

‘I want to see my son, of course! Why else do you think I’m here?’

Why indeed? And why now, Thiriston was tempted to ask, after all the long decades of neglect?

Instead, he shrugged. 

‘You can’t,’ he said, ‘not now. He’s not had chance to dress yet.’

‘I am his mother; I have seen him unclothed before, you know;.’

‘Perhaps so. But not since he’s been mine, you haven’t. Come back in a couple of hours, why don’t you? We’ll be decent by then. Probably. Or write him a note, I’ll make sure it gets read.’

‘I am not used to being talked to in this manner!’ Cullasbes said.

‘Then I feel for you. But it changes nothing.’

But Canadion’s light voice drifted through.

‘Perhaps Naneth could wait in the sitting room, my husband; I will not be long.’

‘There you are, then, Cullasbes; perhaps you can wait in the sitting room. Come along in.’

Thiriston stood back to allow Cullabes entry, waved her to a seat on the sofa and himself took his place on the settle amongst the cushions there; it was Canadion’s favourite place to sit, in the mornings, nestling in and looking out at the green play of light in the undergrowth beyond their window while Thiriston looked at the play of light on Canadion’s hair and the beautiful golden rings to his eyes.

‘This is a very nice room,’ Cullasbes said, her tone more disapproving than complimentary.

‘We like it. More space than in the old warrior’s quarters.’

Silence for a moment. Then Cullasbes:

‘If you wish to take a moment to dress also, I will be fine here.’

But this was Thiriston’s home, his domain, and he could wear as many or as few clothes as he wanted here. Nor was he afraid to show off his marks of battle, his powerful frame, to advertise how well-able he was to take care of Canadion.

‘I’m good as I am. Can offer you beer, or elderberry cordial? My niece likes it – the cordial, I mean.’ 

Cullasbes shook her head, sitting in offended silence until light footsteps and Canadion came through.

He had not just thrown on any old shirt and leggings – he’d borrowed Thiriston’s yesterday clothes, whether by chance or choice, his husband was unsure. 

But while the garments were voluminous on him, they served to reveal his lean, muscular body in the way they draped over his frame.

‘Good morning, Naneth,’ he said with a smile, going to cuddle almost obscenely close to Thiriston; had Cullasbes offered her cheek for a kiss, he would have bestowed the duty, but she hadn’t and so Canadion didn’t offer. ‘Did you offer Naneth anything, husband?’

‘Of course.’

‘Thank you. So, Naneth, it is nice to see you... but unexpected. We are not generally having guests at the moment, being busy with other matters. And we have a full day ahead of us...’

‘I happen to know that Melion will ask you to his rooms tonight,’ Cullasbes said. ‘And your father will be there.’

‘My Ada! Oh, that will be nice!’ Canadion said. 

‘And I want you to talk to him.’

‘I am always happy to talk to my Ada,’ Canadion said. ‘I have seen him so rarely, it is lovely to spend time with him.’

‘Yes, well. He has some strange notion that he can just abandon everything he was doing and come back here to live...’

‘I know, it is wonderful! He is working with Hanben, who is a very scary healer but quite a nice person really. He invented waterproofings for our friend Flora’s gwinig, and a device for moving injured persons, it was a bit scary, and...’

Thiriston draped a casual arm around Canadion’s shoulders and gave him a little, gentle cuddle; the penneth probably didn’t realise he was talking too quickly, and under Thiriston’s touch, he was trembling.

‘I think it’s a fine idea, myself,’ Thiriston said. ‘By all accounts, Merenor made a lot of sacrifices for the business, when Canadion was young. It’s good that they have a chance to make up for that now. And nice that I can get to know his father.’

Cullasbes sniffed.

‘Obviously, you weren’t there, you have no idea what went on... well. You see, I think it would be a bad idea. It is your duty, Canadion, to think of your father, think of me, and do all you can to persuade Merenor his place is not in the palace, his home is in the south, now, and he has no right...’

‘I am always happy to talk to Ada,’ Canadion said. ‘But what we say to each other is up to us. I think I would quite like to know my Ada is nearby, Naneth. Besides, I haven’t had any such invitation from Melion, and even if I did, I would have to see if we were free, and what else we have planned, and consult my husband...’

Cullasbes stared.

‘But you are on leave, what could you possibly have to do...?’

Canadion smiled, flushing slightly.

‘Naneth,’ he said. ‘I would tell you, but you might be shocked. It has been lovely to see you , and I will think about what you said, about my duty to my father. So, I am sure you must have lots of busy things to do today, or, if not, perhaps you need to talk to Ravomen about something? Would you like Thiriston to walk you out?’


	325. At Melion's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Melion has his brothers to visit...

When Edwenith brought the breakfasts, she also brought a folded note from Canadion’s brother.

‘It as Naneth said!’ Canadion exclaimed. ‘Melion, and Baudh, and Caraphindir, all are riding back together tomorrow and so he thought it would be nice to gather and break bread first. And... and he says, I am to invite you, my husband, and to suggest you also invite Bronwenith, so we honour-brothers and honour-sister can meet and know each other a little better. And of course, little Inwien as a friend for Miriel.’

‘That’s thoughtful of him. I like your brother Melion. What do you think, should we wear our dress uniforms? Kilts?’

Canadion laughed, and laded food onto Thiriston’s plate.

‘Perhaps not... you do not mind, we may really go?’

‘Your brothers, penneth. You don’t often get chance to see them, of course we can go.’

‘And I have decided, I will be a very good and dutiful son, I will spend ages talking to my Ada...’ Canadion smiled. ‘But I will choose my own topics.’

‘Glad to hear it. I loved how brave you were this morning. I know it’s not easy for you, disagreeing with Cullasbes.’

‘Well, no. But it is not quite as difficult, when she is wrong. And then, seeing her on the sofa, her feet on the rug, and remembering our wedding night and what happened on that same rug, and you sitting there made me brave, cuddling me, and just in your towel... And, anyway, I spent all those years thinking my father kept away because he didn’t like me... I am sure Naneth didn’t mean to make me think that, but it was so, and I am so glad to find it was wrong, and that he loves me, and is like us, except he had better not look too long at you even if he is my Ada, and...’

Thiriston leaned over and silenced his husband with a kiss.

‘Love you, husband. Now eat your breakfast. You’re going to need your strength.’

‘Am I? Oh, how lovely!’

*

Arveldir’s breakfast meeting with the king was not quite running as smoothly as the advisor had anticipated. All began well.

‘The Office of Innovation reports that there will be four dwellings available for occupancy by the end of tomorrow; these will be in the first corridor of the Black Wing of the Dragon Quarters, since work on the Grey Wing is halted for the duration of Captains Canadion and Thiriston’s marital leave. Work will begin, in the interim, on the Red Wing. Already there have been enquiries about how one should apply to be housed there...’

‘Good. See that they press on with the refurbishments I want all the building work over with before Yule, let it be known...’

‘Sire? Might one enquire what... calculations have gone into choosing this date?’

‘Practicalities, rather. We do not want the palace disturbed with such bangings and clatterings as are attendant on such activities, not at Yule, not for the Night of the Names. Work should stop on the eve of Yule at the very latest and it would be better to have it finished than not. Besides, it is a good time to move into better lodgings, the heart of the winter, is it not?’

Arveldir rather doubted that, but inclined his head in acquiescence. 

‘I will pass that on, my king.’

‘Talking of passing things on, Arveldir, several days ago now I asked you to enquire about an overdue report from the Healers’ Hall...’

‘You did indeed, sire. It seems that they did not have anyone to send into the forest to gather the information required, and so had decided it was better to concentrate on the duties concerning the palace itself...’

‘To which you replied...?’

‘That it would not do to disappoint you, sire. I would have said more, but poor Healer Maereth had already turned quite the colour of milk...’

‘Remind the healers of their duty once more. Point out that, if there are none in the Halls willing to undertake this sort of duty, there will be those elsewhere who would enjoy a transfer to the perceived ease of the palace. Offer to help source such a one and ask for the details of past service of all the current healers, ask who could be best spared to exchange with them. Try not to sound menacing when you do so, but feel free to extend as many subtle threats as is necessary. I am sure Healer Nestoril left instructions and if these are not being carried out, then it is an insult to all her hard work and friendship to the healers with whom she served and I will not have her halls diminished by such blatant disregard...’

‘As my king wishes,’ Arveldir said. ‘I will speak to them tomorrow.’

‘This morning, Arveldir. I have less patience on this topic than on others. See to it.’

*

Healer Gaelbes was on duty today, Arveldir noted with something approaching relief. She was less easily flustered than Maereth, more used to dealing with the King’s Office, perhaps more aware of the politics required for the proper running of a Healers’ Hall. Currently she seemed to be taking delivery of a new version of the person-barrow from Master Merenor, who was enumerating its many improvements on the previous model.

‘It is more stable, more secure for the one conveyed, there are straps to hold the individual in place... it is lighter, so easier for those pushing and pulling, but at the same time, less likely to warp and buckle... it has split ring technology...’

‘My thanks, Master Merenor, Healer Gyril was to take charge of the person barrow...’

‘We call it the IPV now; the Injured Persons Vehicle...’

‘I am sure Gyril will be with you in just a moment, you can show her then... Lord Arveldir, how may I serve you today?’

Aware that Merenor was listening with all of his ears, Arveldir tried to put as good a light as possible the king’s message, but even so, Gaelbes paled.

‘He would bring in an outsider?’ she gasped. ‘Simply because we have not followed up on one inconsequential report?’

‘His majesty, you see, does not believe it to be inconsequential. Can it be, perhaps, that Healer Maereth was not able to convey the full weight of importance our king attaches to this matter?’

‘Oh, no, she was quite... that is...’ Gaelbes faltered, needing to speak up for poor, easily-frightened Maereth who really had done her best, and yet aware that to do so was to cast judgement on herself for not attending. ‘To find one to go, at such short notice...’

‘I fail to see how it can be short notice, Healer; it happens every year, does it not?’

‘Well... I... please convey my apologies, but it cannot happen this year.’

‘Then you will prepare for a new healer amongst your ranks?’

‘Since we have lost, not only our dear Nestoril, but Healer Hanben and the offices of Healer Feril, I can only be grateful...’

‘His majesty did suggest I look into the past service of all your healers, but I am prepared to leave to you the choice of which of your healers you will send to replace whomever comes. ’

Gaelbes opened and closed her mouth several times, shaking her head in consternation.

‘But please let me know your decision by the end of tomorrow,’ Arveldir added. ‘His majesty grows weary of waiting.’

He inclined his head and left the Healers’ Hall, reflecting that sometimes he could wish Thranduil would deliver his own bad news, and that there were moments when he really did not like his job.

*

‘What will you wear?’ Thiriston asked, smiling at his husband as they prepared for Melion’s supper party.

‘You know, except for uniform, I do not have much...’

It was true. Canadion, who seemed to hold on to every scrap of fabric, every last little bit of bow string, had but two shirts and two pairs of leggings that were non-regulation, and only one tunic.

‘The cream shirt, that will look lovely against your skin. And the dark brown leggings will go with the tunic.’

‘And you, what will you wear?’

‘It doesn’t matter. Anything.’

‘No, it does matter.’

‘Dark greens, then, to go with your browns. And the white shirt. Will it do?’

‘You will look wonderful, maethor-nin.’

‘Why not leave your hair unbraided tonight?’ Thiriston asked once they had dressed and he was stroking a hairbrush gently though Canadion’s chestnut tresses. ‘The shine is lovely, it is all the decoration you need.’

‘Do you think I dare?’ Canadion asked, unconsciously reaching to where his hair had been scorched short just a few months ago.

‘Yes, indeed,’ his husband said, wilfully misunderstanding. ‘I will bear you company, if you like, leave my own hair loose.’

‘That would be wonderful; we will look like newlyweds, all free and unbound...’

‘Well, we are newlyweds,’ Thiriston said. ‘Every day, now, I feel new again. Well, are you ready, penneth?’

Pausing on the way to tell Edwenith not to wait up, and to consider the rest of the night her own, they walked through the corridors to collect Thiriston’s sister Bronwenith, and Inwien, and continue on together to Melion’s rooms.

‘We’re just waiting for Adar and his guest,’ Melion said, once he had welcomed them and made such introductions as might be necessary. ‘Inwien, here is your friend Mírien, would you like to sit and play together? Lovely.’

‘Did you have a visit from Naneth, buy any chance?’ Baudh asked.

‘Indeed, we did have her company this morning,’ Canadion said. ‘Thiriston opened the door to her, wearing only a towel.’

‘Oh, my, lucky Naneth!’ Baudh exclaimed.

‘Well, yes. But she still came in. Is it true, did she ask you if you wanted to take over the business?’

‘She did, and I told her I would be happy to help with the Lake Town part of the work...’

‘I am sure that pleased her!’

‘In short, we none of us are going to take over Ada’s former work,’ Caraphindir said. ‘I do not think she liked to hear it, but then Baudh told her... told her, perhaps Ravomen might be of use...’ 

He laughed as he said it, but nervously, and Canadion’s amusement, too, was uneasy at the mention of their mother’s sudden new friend taking his father’s place.

‘Best thing that can happen is she moves down there, with him, and Melion and I come back up here,’ Baudh said. ‘Though it does leave Caraphindir exposed...’

‘But my village is far enough away that I can escape her, should I need to,’ Caraphindir said, as a knock came to the door.

‘Will someone get that?’ Melion, busy with the elfings, asked.

Canadion obliged.

‘It is Ada!’ he exclaimed. ‘And Master Hanben, welcome.’ 

He stood aside, but as soon as Merenor had entered, hugged his father fiercely.

‘Naneth said I must talk to you, Ada, and so I shall, but not what she wanted. How are you?’

‘I am fine, penneth. Baudh, your turn for the hug?’

Once all his sons had been greeted, and his granddaughter, and Hanben welcomed, it was time to sit together at the big table and eat and talk.

Thiriston, close to his husband, sat in bemused delight at the interplay between the brothers, watching Canadion easy with them, laughing and teasing and being lightly, kindly teased in turn about the joys of marriage. He grinned as something Canadion said about that morning and their naneth drew a laugh from Baudh and Melion, Merenor calling them to behave themselves, but also smiling, and found Bronwenith looking at him across the table.

‘Family, yes?’ she said.

‘Family. Every one is different, is it not?’

‘Well, the people in each family are all different, why would it not be so?’

‘True. Did I ever say, thank you, my sister, for all you did and so much more than you needed to when you had to be my family?’

‘Every time I see you happy, each time I know you are loved, that you love, that is all the thanks I ever needed, you great, big, soft-hearted oaf, you!’

‘Ah, family,’ he replied with a wink. ‘Nothing like it.’

*

‘So it is decided, Adar?’ Melion said presently, the conversation having moved on. ‘Naneth can go and whistle, and you are staying here?’

‘I am indeed,’ Merenor said. ‘I should never have gone away, in fact, and this is a much more interesting place than I remembered.’

‘And you have your new job, too.’ Baudh turned to Hanben. ‘I hope you are happy with my Ada.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Hanben asked, startled.

‘With his work. Although if you are not, well, you could always take me on. I enjoy new challenges...’

‘Yes, well, I am sure Hanben has challenges enough for the moment,’ Merenor said hastily, not quite liking the way Baudh had added an unconscious hair-flick at the end of his speech. ‘By the way, when I was at the Healers’ Hall today, delivering the IPV, I am sure there was something amiss...’

‘I noticed Arveldir was not in the happiest of moods, myself,’ Hanben said. ‘I do hope all is well. And we have new deadlines for the work on the Dragon Wings, did I mention?’

‘No, I don’t think you had chance... why the hurry?’

‘No apparent reason, Arveldir says. Something about having the rooms ready for Yule. My guess is our king is out of temper and finding things for everyone else to do as a result, exerting control where he can because he has lost control somewhere else... So if your son... Baudh, is it? – is serious, and half as good with his hands as you, perhaps I could find him a job, also...’

‘I would love to be your apprentice, Master Hanben!’ Baudh announced. ‘I am sure I could learn a lot from you...’

Hanben blinked.

‘But I have an apprentice already... Feren, his name is. Your father is my assistant.’

‘Tell me, Master Hanben, what sort of things have you got Ada doing...?’

Merenor tried not to growl. Baudh had, up to now, exhibited only a polite curiosity in his Ada’s new job, had made no mention of perhaps following a similar career path, and was now hanging on Hanben’s every word...

Thiriston leaned forward.

‘Don’t worry, Honour-Ada,’ he said. ‘Canadion was telling me about the time Baudh tried to mend a broken chair and ended up with his Naneth on the floor cursing and with bits of it stuck to her person, she having tried to sit in it before the glue had set...’

‘Ai, I remember that one...’

The meal ending, Bronwenith excused herself, lifting a sleepy Inwien into her arms.

‘I will bid you a safe journey tomorrow, those of you who are going. For myself, I will be here a few days yet.’

Melion saw them out and returned with a question.

‘Ada, have you decided if you are riding with us tomorrow or not?’

‘Merenor?’ Hanben enquired. ‘You did not mention this to me?’

‘Well, I...’

‘I need you here! With the new deadlines, and there is a project I am involved in I cannot leave off! No, I had thought you might be someone I might rely on, I had hoped we might work together...’

‘I didn’t mention it because I thought it would be unfair to ask...’

‘...will need you for at least another two weeks but if you are not as serious as I had thought about working with...’

‘I am, Hanben, indeed, and...’

‘This is not a very impressive start, I feel let down, I must admit...’

‘But I have no intention of...’

Everyone else fell silent, watching. Caraphindir nudged Baudh with a nod, Melion tried to hide a smile, and Canadion spoke up.

‘But, Adar, you said earlier to me you couldn’t possibly leave yet, you haven’t finished your trial week and you didn’t want to leave any of the work undone in case you didn’t get the job,’ he said clearly. ‘Besides, you said it would annoy Naneth more...’

Hanben’s eyes fixed on Merenor’s.

‘Of course you have the job, Merenor,’ he said. ‘That is, if you can spare the time to work outside your busy social calendar!’

‘Really?’ Merenor grinned. ‘Thank you, that is most excellent news! I... Baudh, if you are serious about coming up to the palace, I can give you a list of things I need bringing from home...’

He turned to Canadion and gave him a delighted hug.

‘Did you hear that? I have a new job!’

‘Yes, Ada, it is wonderful news! Congratulations!’

Hanben let out a long, slow breath, hoping he was not observed. It was alarming how anxious he had suddenly felt at the prospect of Merenor not being present, it was worrying that he could not even bear to contemplate what might happen if Merenor had decided the work was not for him. He folded his hands together, aware that he was trembling.

Melion was filling glasses from a purloined bottle of Dorwinion.

‘Let’s raise a glass, then, to newlyweds, new jobs, and new opportunities!’

By the time they had drunk the toast, Hanben clutching his glass with care, the party began to break up.

‘Well, I am almost packed, but not quite,’ Caraphindir said. ‘I had better go and finish the job. Baudh, are you ready?’

‘Close to it. Adar, are you going to see us off in the morning?’

‘Indeed, I shall. Breakfast, in the Great Hall, an hour earlier than usual? Fool your mother that way...’ He got to his feet and opened his arms. ‘But how about a goodnight hug anyway?’

Everyone except Thiriston and Hanben complied, and if Hanben’s expression was a little envious, Thiriston pretended not to notice, but stored it up to tell Canadion later.

Once the two brothers had left, Hanben rose to his feet.

‘My thanks for a very pleasant evening, Master Melion; it was a kindness.’

‘Let me walk out with you, Hanben,’ Merenor said. ‘Goodnight, my sons, my honour-son, and I will see most of you at breakfast.’

‘An interesting evening,’ Hanben said as they walked slowly towards Merenor’s rooms – slowly, because it was no great distance. ‘You have a fine family, Merenor.’

‘Thank you, I am very fond of them all.’

‘Well, here we are.’

‘Yes, here we are indeed. Would you like to step in for a nightcap? There is wine, or beer...’ Merenor lifted an eyebrow. ‘I think I might even be able to find something more suitable to the hour, perhaps something milk-based and spiced...?’

‘Thank you, another time perhaps. It’s kind of you.’

A silence, waiting to be used, and Hanben spoke.

‘Merenor... concerning your trip to your former home...’

‘Yes, about that...’

‘I am aware I promised you two weeks’ leave of absence; I have not forgotten, but... as yet, we really are rather busy.’

‘Of course; I don’t need to go yet.’

‘There will not be a problem, you understand, just... not yet.’

Yes. Not yet. Hanben needed a little while to get used to the idea of being without Merenor for a couple of weeks. It would be fine, but... not yet.


	326. Gaelbes' Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Healer Gaelbes tries to make good the errors of her Healers' Hall...

Breakfast the next morning, in the Great Feasting Hall, was a little bit loud and rowdy in one corner as the sons of Merenor tried to reject any gloom attached to the departure of the three eldest.

Canadion and Thiriston were present, the big elf having gently, and tenderly awoken his husband in plenty of time to be up and dressed and at breakfast much earlier than they had been used to over the last few days, but it seemed important, to Thiriston, to encourage Canadion not to be afraid to celebrate his new-found happiness with his brothers.

And, indeed, his father, for Merenor was there, too, laughing and smiling and generally adding to the slightly frenetic mood of gladness.

One would not have thought, if one were watching from the shadows of the farthest corner where one might be unremarked, that there was anything like a parting coming up for these joyous elves.

Hanben did not usually break his fast in the Great Feasting Hall, preferring instead to eat while he worked on whatever project was currently consuming him, but this morning he had made the effort. Knowing that Merenor and his sons would be present had nothing at all to do with it. Of course not. 

Except that it would make it easier to know when Merenor was free and therefor available for duty. Yes, that was why, so that he could avoid accidentally disturbing Merenor before he was ready to start work...

Suddenly the happy family group seemed to flinch, draw in on itself, and there was Cullasbes heading towards them.

Well. None of his business. He would just take a piece of bread and some cheese for his pocket, eat it later, leave unseen...

‘Oh, look, Naneth is here!’ Melion said with pretend brightness. ‘Baudh, ‘phin, you two should have realised she’d hear you getting up and leaving...’

‘We were very quiet,’ Caraphindir said.

‘And anyway, she wasn’t home, was she?’

‘Baudh, I thought we agreed not to mention that...’

‘Did we? Oops. And look, is not that nice Master Hanben leaving?’

‘Really? I wonder why he didn’t come over to say good morning, then,’ Merenor said.

‘Perhaps not wanting to intrude,’ Thiriston offered.

‘Or didn’t want Baudh flirting with him again,’ Melion said, grinning.

‘I was not flirting, I was serious; I would like to work with him. He has nice hands.’

‘I saw his hands first, Baudh!’ Merenor said firmly. ‘Leave Master Hanben alone, he is far too refined for you, scamp! It was to avoid having to be introduced to your naneth, more like... Cullasbes, good day to you.’

‘Merenor. My sons.’

‘Are you done, husband?’ Thiriston asked. ‘Lots to do today.’

‘This is true. Have a safe ride home, everyone. Thank you for coming to see me married, do come back soon! Adar, are you busy? You could walk back with us, if you like...’

‘I will do so, then.’ Merenor went around the table, hugging his three oldest sons. ‘Be safe, be well.’

At the entrance to the Grey Dragon Wing, they paused.

‘If you would like to sit with us a while, Honour-Adar, you’re welcome,’ Thiriston said. ‘Bit early for you to turn up for work yet, I think.’

‘It’s kind, but you said you had lots to do today?’

‘Yes, and top of the list was avoiding the naneth... Edwenith, good morning again. This is my Adar-in-honour, Master Merenor, he can come and go as he pleases, anytime.’

Canadion suddenly squeezed Thiriston’s hand, tight, and the big elf smiled down at his husband. Merenor pretended to be busy being polite to the servant and so not notice, but it did his fëa good to see it.

‘...as opposed to Mistress Cullasbes,’ Canadion added. ‘To her, we are out. We will be always out, unless it is a real emergency.’

‘Now, she’s not that bad!’ Merenor said, laughing. ‘Well, maybe she is... I will say, thank you for your kind invitation, I may well come and sit with you later – perhaps after your brothers have left, I may be a little low for an hour or two... we might meet for the day meal, perhaps?’

‘That’s a nice idea, Adar-in-Honour. Until later, then.’

After the almost-obligatory, but still-delightful hug with Canadion, Merenor waved and wandered off. The truth was he had an hour to waste before it was time to turn up for work, and like as not, after a swift briefing, Hanben would send him out to oversee one of the work teams while Himself went to work on this so-secret project... Ah, but Gyril had seemed distracted when Merenor had tried to explain the workings of the IPV... perhaps he could go over it again with the healers...? And if there really was something wrong in the Healers’ Halls, perhaps they would be glad of a nice, friendly ellon to share it with...

*

And when Merenor got there, it seemed he was right; Healer Maereth, behind the desk, sniffed when she saw him, but in a watery way, not a disparaging one, and tried to look welcoming.

‘Forgive me, it seems a silly question, but are you quite well, Healer?’ he asked.

‘Oh. Master Merenor, it... no, I am quite well but we... we are in such turmoil, and Healer Gaelbes is going to the king to beg his pardon and to offer to leave, but then what shall we do without her? We have barely recovered from losing dear Healer Nestoril, maytheValarhave...’

Merenor reached across the counter and patted her hand gently.

‘What’s this all about, eh?’ he asked kindly. ‘Is there a way I can make you a cup of tea, perhaps? Something soothing, some chamomile, maybe? Would you like to tell me about it? I am a very good listener, they say, and I do work for the King’s Office, you know, I might be able to help...’

And so she allowed Merenor access to the little stove in the room behind the desk, and he brewed tea, and it all came out, how they had all been too nervous, too anxious to send out to the far settlements where the Children of the Forest were, and they were in several different locations which didn’t help...

‘I will be going south towards the Old Road in a few weeks myself,’ Merenor said. ‘If you really can’t find anyone to go, send to me, tell me who to ask after and I will do my best to find out and bring you back the knowledge; it may not be a proper report, but I am sure I would be able to tell you if the little ones are happy...’

‘You see, that is why we cannot understand why the report is required; they are no longer little ones, the youngest reached majority some decade past and yet, still, we are expected to discover...’

‘I suppose there are times when it is best to just do the king’s will and not enquire too closely,’ Merenor said, his curiosity fuelled. ‘If you think, though, that when your Gaelbes speaks to his majesty, it will help to be able to say that the southern families can be enquired about in the next few weeks, please feel free to say so. I will be glad to help. Now, perhaps you would like me to show you the new innovations to the IVP? I am really very proud of it... Split rings, you know, Master Hanben’s idea...’

*

A knock on Hanben’s door; Merenor, earlier than expected, for the day’s orders, and everything suddenly seemed to be in sharper focus, the sober colours even of the stone walls brighter, crisper, and somehow, it was becoming more and more difficult to keep to business, to hold his mind to the work lists... 

Hanben tried, anyway, to be professional, to get through the list before him.

‘There are the completed rooms in the Black Dragon Wing to walk through and make sure all is well, and tidy, and working properly... I think there is some notion of requisitioning furnishing... that is really not our concern, yet it would be good to have a demonstration room furbished up to show to prospective inhabitants...’

‘Very good, Hanben.’

‘It should take less than an hour. After that, I understand your sons are leaving? Feel free to take the time to wave them off, if you wish.’

‘That’s most kind.’

‘Well... it was kind of your son to invite me last evening. Tell me, your...second son, is it? Baudh? Was he serious, do you think, about working with us? Would you like to have your son so close?’

‘I am sure he was serious, yes. And I would have no objections to working with him. But... I should warn you, he is a terrible flirt...’

‘Indeed? I wonder where he gets that from?’ Hanben asked, carefully not looking at Merenor, trying not to let his smile show.

‘I have no idea,’ Merenor said, trying for an innocent tone. ‘His mother, perhaps?’

*

‘Do you have any news for me from the Healers’ Hall, Arveldir?’

‘My lord king, in fact, Healer Gaelbes has petitioned for the honour of a private audience with you...’

‘I see. An hour. In the throne room. You will be present also; that is as private as it will be.’

‘As my king requires.’

It was unkind to make Gaelbes wait; Thranduil knew it, Arveldir knew it. Thranduil shrugged.

‘The Healers’ Hall has made me wait, so far, ten days for a report I am now losing all hope of receiving. An hour will be but a shadow of a taste of what that is like. Moving on, have we news, yet, of the next inhabitants of the Dragon Warriors’ Quarters?’

‘Over-captain Rawon has suggested it might be a fitting accolade for those undergoing officer training; Captains Triwathon and Celeguel in particular are keen and it looks certain they will pass with honours. Master Hanben has suggested one of the rooms be fitted up so that one might see how one could live in the space...’

‘See to it, Arveldir. Perhaps I should have a tour, do you think?’

‘As my king wishes.’

‘It will be a diversion, fill an hour later today, perhaps.’ The king saw Arveldir’s expression barely change. ‘No, I am not bored, Arveldir; I simply find the day’s duty holds less appeal at present.’

‘Of course. If my king wishes, I could organise a sparring partner or two, perhaps?’

‘Tomorrow, Arveldir, you can tell my son we will practice on his twin knife work again – with no audience this time... and I suppose I had better not keep Gaelbes waiting too long, her friends in the Healers’ Hall will worry. Send her to my throne room in twenty minutes...’

‘In fact, sire, she is waiting already outside your study, it would be much simpler...’

‘Fifteen minutes. Do not tell her about it, though for ten. That way, she will have to hasten. This is not a private matter, Arveldir; it is a duty to the kingdom which has been neglected here. Whilst we are prepared to make some allowances, we have already permitted significant leeway to the Healers’ Hall.’

Thranduil got to his feet and reached for his robe, signalling the end of the discussion. Arveldir shook his head behind the king’s back and attended him to the throne room where his majesty installed himself in the throne at the top of the raised dais.

‘Do not let Gaelbes be late, Arveldir.’

*

The healer, when she was admitted, dropped into a deep curtsey and approached the stairs to the throne with her head still bowed. This meant that she did not see the careful look of cool, arrogant impassivity on Thranduil’s face. 

It was really rather vexing.

‘Healer Gaelbes, you have news for me, I hope?’

‘In... indeed, your majesty, I... am pleased to report that... that shortly there will be an opportunity to gather most of the information your majesty requires, that is to say, in a few weeks...’

‘Most of the information?’

‘S... some, my king... B... but the northern settlements, we cannot yet... I am sure, your majesty understands that...’

‘I understand that my Healers’ Hall is sadly diminished. I understand that this would be a grave disappointment to Healer Nestoril, were she ever to hear of it...’

He broke off ass Gaelbes squeaked and dropped to the floor.

‘Oh, my lord king, do not blame the others! I must take responsibility, it is not the fault of my assistants; if there is one from outside who will do better, please, allow me to give up my place, only do not, I beg... perhaps there is time, yes, we miss dear Nestoril, if I were to hurry, I might get to the Havens in time, do you think, and... and sail in her place if I am worthy enough so that she could come back? Although I... had not thought of sailing, but I have let you down, sire, and all my poor friends in the Healers’ Hall...’

Thranduil had stopped listening : ...sail in Nestoril’s place...? Was there time enough...?

But even as Thranduil held the thought in his heart, he rejected it. Even were there time, Gaelbes was not courageous enough; she was shaking, cowering, to his shame...

He descended from his throne hastily and reached down to take Gaelbes by the arm.

‘Do get up, Healer! I am sure that there has been some sort of misunderstanding here... you may have found someone to gather some of the information? Explain?’

‘One of.... of your majesty’s staff from the King’s Office is heading towards the southern settlements, and... and will enquire as is needed, but... but it will not be at once and... and not for the northern villages...’

‘Very well. We will consider this restitution enough, a sufficient effort to make good the lapse of organisation. But it is not to happen again, do you understand?’

Gaelbes nodded.

‘Y...yes, your majesty and I can only...’

‘It is out of the question, now, to send after Healer Nestoril, although I applaud your willingness to make such a journey.’

‘My lord king, I am so...’

‘And you do not have to sacrifice your position in this instance. I dread to think what state your halls would be in if they lost you, also.’

‘Sire, I... you are most generous... I do not deserve...’

‘Try to do better in future,’ Thranduil said. ‘You may go, return to your friends and tell them that on this occasion, their king has decided to forgive them.’

He patted her shoulder in vague comfort and turned away with a gesture, leaving Arveldir to come forward and usher Gaelbes out, leaving Thranduil wondering where in her journey Nestoril might be, right now, and if there truly would be time to head her off before she boarded the ship...


	327. The Benefits of Marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion and Thiriston spend some quality time together, and the elder brothers leave the palace...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As if it needs saying after that summary, sandalwood alert... best not to read in public... ;)

For all they had been meant to have ten days private together, Canadion mused, Thiriston had been really very sweet about sharing time with Canadion’s family.

Of course, while they were very certainly newlyweds, it was not as if they were new-to-each-other newlyweds... and there had been one or two days when, apart from the servant, they really had seen nobody except each other.

And they had not had to go to work, and only once had they been required to attend the High Table, so, in spite of all the interruptions, planned and lovely or unexpected or necessary, they had still had lots of time to each other.

But that didn’t make Thiriston’s generosity any the less... accepting invitations to go out, actually inviting Ada, saying he was welcome any time... it was just so kind of him.

When Canadion had hugged his father goodbye, even though they were meeting at lunch, he had seen Thiriston’s expression, seen the small, almost rueful smile in his eyes... 

Well. The door was closed now, against the world, and Ada would take the day meal with them, after they had waved off Canadion’s brothers, and that was so sweet of Thiriston, to willingly give up the time, to see, even though he had lost his own parents, how much it mattered to spend time with Ada, even if he was going to be here for the rest of forever.

There was no way to thank him enough, no way to properly show how much Canadion appreciated Thiriston’s willingness to share...

Of course, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try...

Thiriston had cast himself onto the settle under the window, his arms stretched across the back of it in invitation for Canadion to join him.

‘Sit with me?’ Thiriston asked, for Canadion stood there, just looking, just gorging his eyes on his husband’s face. ‘You all right, penneth?’

‘Yes. Yes, I am more than all right, I am wonderful, I am blessed, I am married to the best ellon in the whole of everywhere and we have nowhere to go for the next three hours...’

The edges of Thiriston’s eyes crinkled as he smiled.

‘Well, I’d argue I’m married to best ellon... but... whatever will we do with all this time...?’

Canadion smiled and slowly unfastened his tunic, his enormous eyes locked on Thiriston’s gaze. He shrugged his shoulders, letting the garment fall behind him and pulled at the lacings of his shirt, opening it to expose his neck and throat, knowing his husband loved the contrast of the fabric against the tawny tones of his skin.

Crossing the space between them, he snatched cushions from the settle, placing them between Thiriston’s feet and dropping to his knees there, resting his forearms on his husband’s strong thighs and looking up into his face, delighting in the intensity of focus that showed him he had all of his fëa-mate’s attention.

Married seven days, but lovers for a decade... four thousand nights, and days, of love, and loving, of games and pleasure... and it still was wonderful, it still was each time fresh.

Canadion allowed his mouth to drop open, ran the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, looked up under lowered, fluttering eyelashes.

Amused, Thiriston smiled, even as he felt his blood quicken... so beautiful, those amber-ringed eyes, those long, long lashes... perfect, and the mouth so red, suddenly, moist and tempting, the teeth so white... 

Canadion shifted his weight back to raise his body, still on his knees, and slide his hands up Thiriston’s thighs, allowing himself to lean forwards as his hands travelled all the way from knee to groin. Lifting his chin, he parted his lips again, hoping for a kiss, and was not disappointed as his husband leaned in to capture his lips, to seek entry with his tongue, exploring Canadion’s mouth with tender lust.

His hands on Canadion’s shoulders, gently, not from concern, now, of finding sore spots, for the bruises had gone, unremarked, Canadion having finally forgotten to worry about them, but because he was always gentle with his beloved. The penneth’s gorgeous, honey-toned skin hot through his shirt, and every second of the kiss, each moment of it luring Thiriston in, so his hands dropped down Canadion’s spine and pulled at the shirt, loosening it from the waistband of his leggings, and the soft, hot skin like blazing velvet, and Canadion moving suddenly, no longer kneeling on the cushions, but on the settle, his knees either side of Thiriston’s thighs, lowering his body so his groin was brushing, dancing, pushing into his husband’s, and the need to get out of the tightness of his leggings burning against how could he possibly let go his hold for long enough, with all that heated skin romping under his hands, how break the kiss when Canadion was moaning into his mouth with little hungry sounds, how...?

But Canadion was lithe and busy, his hands on Thiriston’s lacings between their bodies, tugging at his own ties and lifting himself to work the fabric down; a brief eternity while he slipped one foot down to the floor to balance as he pushed the other leg free of clothing, then his nakedness against Thiriston’s thigh as he got rid of the leggings completely. Clad only in his shirt, he squirmed and wriggled his way across Thiriston’s lap, their mouths still locked into the kiss as Canadion began to tug and wrangle and slip his long, teasing fingers inside his husband’s leggings to free his urgent erection. 

Thiriston braced against the floor, lifting his hips off the settle so that his husband’s busy hands could get the garment out of the way... Canadion sitting on Thiriston’s thighs, his arousal hot and hard against his lower belly, his own erection throbbing and pulsing against Canadion’s burning flesh, so near, so very near as the penneth wriggled and shifted back, needy and urgent, breaking the kiss suddenly to grab Thiriston’s hand and take his first two fingers into his mouth, sucking and licking, making his husband gasp and moan.

Realising Canadion’s intent, once his fingers were released and those beautiful lips kissing his mouth again, Thiriston reached round to explore, and touch, and Canadion cried out and pressed back onto the seeking fingers, ready and eager for more, and repositioning his young husband, Thiriston pushed slowly up, and in, burying himself inside the hot, secret place, dizzy with need, overwhelmed by the love in Canadion’s voice as he gasped and wailed his name, overcome with the love in Canadion’s body as he writhed and clung and grabbed at Thiriston’s shoulders, falling into the rhythm of need and passion as all the sensations built inexorably on and on, and the world somewhere below, forever ahead, and the searing moment of perfect bliss lasting an eternity as Canadion exploded hot and sticky, his body grabbing and grabbing and so much love and someone sobbing Thiriston’s name, over and over until his own cries drowned it out and they brought each other carefully down, carefully home into the softest, tenderest of kisses and cuddles and shuddering, sensitive delight.

‘Why is it,’ Canadion began presently, his voice slow and languorous and sated, ‘that although I am not, generally, ticklish, afterwards, I am much more... Aaaah!’

He broke into a fit of giggles as Thiriston’s hair brushed his shoulder, rolling away from the touch.

‘Sorry, penneth, sorry... I think...’ Thiriston gasped as Canadion shifted position again, and the brushing against his hip that resulted caused him to convulse. ‘Over-stimulated, perhaps... Well. That was... nice. No, nice doesn’t begin to...’

‘Nice is fine. It was lovely. And I got to look out of the window at all the green... or I would if I’d been looking...’ 

Canadion sighed, and nestled, trying to make each contact determined, not brushing and tickly. With equal care, Thiriston gathered him into his arms.

‘You are lovely,’ he said. ‘So beautiful, so loving.’

‘And you, I am so happy we got married. It all feels so much more special, now. Washing cascade time? And then we could snuggle in bed for an hour, just holding, just talking.’

‘Just looking up at the bunting.’

Canadion laughed.

‘Yes, that. I will miss it, when it comes down.’

‘Why should it come down, beloved?’

‘Well... I know you don’t really like it... and... you have been so kind in so many things... and...’

‘It’s your bunting, Canadion, that Arwen made you. It makes you happy to see it, it cheers you up. It isn’t doing any harm; it can stay as long as you want it there.’

Canadion pushed up to kiss his husband again, lots of silly little kisses all over his face.

‘Thank you, thank you, for bunting, and lunch with Ada, and being almost naked in front of Naneth, you are so good to me, you do know that? And I am so grateful...’

‘Yes, you’re welcome, and I gathered that... come on, washing cascade...’

‘Oh, that’s a nice idea, oh, look, are you ready again...? Silly question, of course you are...’

‘Of course I am. With you around, how can I help it?’

*  
Merenor’s morning raced past, organising the work teams, going over the completed rooms and checking everything was finished and working, that there was a little stack of firewood ready by each hearth, that windows had blinds and washing cascades had little painted signs instructing on the proper use to avoid flooding... he made notes, too, of what furnishings would be needed to make the place looked inhabited.

He had just finished checking the last of the rooms when Feren, Hanben’s apprentice, came seeking him.

‘Your pardon, Master Merenor, but Master Hanben sent me to say it’s time for you to stop work to see your family off...’

‘Thank you, Feren. I am just done here, if you care to tell Master Hanben, and that I will report after the day meal as agreed.’

He made his way through the palace to the stable yard where he had arranged to meet his sons. Cullasbes was there, silent for once, an ellon behind her who looked at Merenor with uneasy eyes... well, Cullasbes didn’t look as if she wanted to make introductions, so Merenor contented himself with a nod and went to where Caraphindir was fastening his saddlebags in place, his back determinedly set against his mother and her companion.

‘Good morning again, ion-nin!’

Caraphindir jumped. So intent had he been on not noticing his mother, he’d also not known his father had arrived.

‘Adar! Sorry, you startled me, I was... I think it’s in very poor taste of her, don’t you?’

‘Really, I don’t mind at all. Here am I, Merenor the outrageous flirt, and who is it who turns up with a new friend first? Mind you, I will confess, it’s not from want of trying...’

His son stifled a laugh.

‘There, that’s better! It also means I have moral superiority, for once. And if I were to be successful with the ellon of my choice, who could now blame me...?’

‘Ah, so there is someone...? We wondered...’

‘So long as you wonder in private, I don’t mind... and it doesn’t look as if anything’s going to happen in a hurry, he’s a little bit shy, I think, but worth the waiting for... I’ll be heading down your way in a few weeks, perhaps you’ll introduce me to this girl of yours, yes? If she isn’t too shy and I’m not too disreputable...’

‘I’d like that, Adar, I would.’

Merenor nodded.

‘Do you want to do the hugging thing now, or when your brothers get here?’

‘Why not both?’

Canadion and Thiriston arrived next, but having left the palace by a different door, had to walk quite past Cullasbes and her companion.

‘Good morning again, Naneth,’ Canadion sang out brightly.

‘Honour-Nana, good day,’ Thiriston said loudly. ‘Master Ravomen, fancy seeing you here... didn’t know you knew my husband’s parents... Ah, Canadion, there he is, there’s your father...’

‘Ada!’ 

Merenor’s youngest son ran over for a hug; it gave Merenor legitimate reason to laugh, as he’d been trying not to allow his amusement show.

‘Tell that husband of yours I owe him many, many favours... the look on your Naneth’s face when he called her that, and Ravomen looks as if he wishes the ground would open and hide him!’ he whispered into Canadion’s ear. ‘Oh, you smell nice – lavender for your bruises, is it?’

‘Something like that, Ada!’

‘And here are your other brothers. And Mírien! Is there a cuddle for your old Daerada, pet?’

In the attendant bustle, it would have been easy to ignore Cullasbes, easy not to acknowledge Ravomen, and for all he appreciated his sons’ loyalty, there was something almost sad about the fact that his former consort had felt the need to bring her new friend with her to bid the lads farewell... yes, it hurt, a bit, Merenor admitted, it felt as if she was showing how little he had ever mattered to her... well, he’d known that... but to make it difficult for the boys, that was really unpardonable... what was he supposed to do, let it pass? Or say something and risk making things worse?

Least said, soonest mended, perhaps. And, after all, he wasn’t going anywhere for a while, no more was she... in a day or so, if it still rankled, he could say something then, when his oldest sons weren’t around to be hurt by it and Canadion could be properly shielded by his husband.

And so there were more hugs, and wishes of support, and safe journey, be well, see you soon... Canadion almost in tears as he hugged his brothers and thanked them for coming, how much it had meant to him that they wanted to be there for his wedding...

‘As long as you’ll come to mine,’ Caraphindir had said with a wink, giving them all something to think about and pretend they hadn’t heard when Cullasbes asked what had been said... 

The lads mounted up, Mírien was handed up to her Ada, and the last words of farewell spoken. Merenor put his arm around a slightly-weepy Canadion.

‘Cheer up, ion-nin! It will not be long before you see one or other of them again.’

‘Ada, do you think so?’

‘Oh, yes... probably Baudh, first. Hanben has almost promised him a job.’

‘Really? That would be fun... And you are coming back for the day meal?’

‘I am so.’

‘Good, for we asked Edwenith to make sure there was plenty, and that wine you like...’

‘Ah, that’s very thoughtful!’

It was natural for him to put one arm around Canadion’s shoulders and the other around Thiriston’s as they headed back towards the palace. He was sure he could feel Cullasbes’ eyes drilling into him, but, really, he didn’t care.

Actually, when he thought about it, he really didn’t care... didn’t mind that she had a lover, even if the boys did think it was disloyal of her, too soon... didn’t care that he was walking away from his life in the south, didn’t care about anything except he had a new job, the chance of a new relationship, if he was careful, and – most importantly of all – a new chance to get to know his youngest son.

So much good seemed to have come from Canadion and Thiriston’s wedding, he thought, really, more people should get married. It seemed to have so many benefits.


	328. Filling the Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil and Legolas spar together and Arveldir, as ever, pays attention to what is said...

‘Ion-nin.’

‘Adar.’

Father and son faced one another across the practice circle. Since there was no audience, other than Arveldir and Erestor waiting attendance on their lords, and this was, truly, merely a practice session, Thranduil was wearing shirt and breeches and Legolas dressed in tunic and leggings.

‘We are not fighting today,’ Thranduil said, beginning to circle. ‘We are practicing, working together, exploring the possibilities of our weapons.’

‘Understood, Adar,’ Legolas said with a grin, in turn walking the perimeter of the circle. ‘After all, it would be rude of me to win again, wouldn’t it?’

Thranduil’s mouth twitched, but he kept is eyes impassive, haughty.

‘In front of so many of your warriors, your husband, it would have been rude of me not to allow you the win, would it not? After all, the guard need to have a certain degree of confidence in their argallor.’

Legolas grinned.

‘Yes, I was so impressed by the look of pretended panic on your face, and the way you swore under your breath at me when you fell down...’

‘One must needs learn to play one’s opponent,’ Thranduil said, and brought his two swords up and around in a sweeping salute.

His son reached over his shoulders, drawing the long, slender knives and twirling them easily and freely in his hands, weaving with his wrists.

‘Hmm... very decorative. Does Govon know he is married to an exhibitionist, I wonder?’

Thranduil lifted his blades, sweeping them in elaborate, slow arcs, testing his strength. It took more power to control them, slow and precise, than to whirlwind them round and follow their wheels of destruction.

Laughing, Legolas stepped up, to ring knife against sword, ducking and twisting, slowing his own dance so that Thranduil could see how each move initiated, what trick of balance and poise suggested where the knives would go next, learning his son’s technique and beginning to appreciate the levels of skill required... different from his own, but no less polished.

They worked steadily, cross touch and parry, thrust and stroke, speeding up, slowing, neither trying to win just yet, each keen to extend the bout for pure joy of the sound of ringing steel and the exertion of muscle, the pounding of the blood and the rushing excitement of pitching one against the other until finally, Thranduil managed to twist one of Legolas’ knives out of his grip even as his son’s other blade sneaked into his defence to rest its point against his shoulder.

They froze for a fraction of a heartbeat. Then Legolas laughed and lowered his knife, and Thranduil smiled and set down his blades, and stepped up to embrace his son.

‘Well done, ion-nin, very well done indeed! I must confess I enjoyed that bout far more than our last encounter in the circle!’

‘Yes, Adar, it was a fine bout. And thank you; Govon is talking about training against me, now he is back on the grounds, and so I need all the practice I can get before then...’

‘You will not disgrace yourself, I am sure,’ Thranduil said, reaching to pick up the lost knife and pass it to his son. ‘I was thinking... so much has happened of late to keep me within the palace. We should ride out together one day soon.’

‘Good idea, Adar. What did you have in mind?’ Legolas sheathed his knives and propped himself against one of the training frames.

‘Oh, I don’t know... perhaps just out into the forest... see how far we can go in a day, you and I... or we could take a small company, head towards Dale, perhaps take a night at an inn...’

Behind Thranduil’s back, Arveldir shook his head, hands miming an emphatic rejection of the idea.

‘Dale? Whatever for, Adar? If you think I miss riding out with my brothers...’

‘You surely do not think I would set out with such a purpose in mind, do you? And even if I were so minded, I would not take my son with me!’

‘Especially as I’m married now...’

‘In fact, it has been so long since I travelled in that direction, I was wondering how changed the area might be... the landscape, the open region around the lake before one reaches Dale proper... perhaps you are right. Still, it is a good time of year for a ride out, the weather not too hot, the forest so beautiful under the flames of autumn leaves.’

‘I will think about it, Adar... but I must go, I promised Govon I would oversee the archery practice this morning.’

‘Well, do not let me delay you, ion-nin.’

‘Thank you again for the match. It was fun.’

*

Arveldir had heard the king’s suggestion of a ride out with unadulterated alarm. He kept his face even, however, handing Thranduil his coat politely once Legolas had left.

‘My king will remember that his inspection of the new Black Dragon Wing, deferred from yesterday afternoon, has been rearranged for later today...’

‘Yes, of course. You may collect me at the appropriate time. If there is nothing else first, seek me in my study.’

‘Yes, my king.’

Waving dismissal, Thranduil left by his private corridor, leaving Arveldir and Erestor to tidy the practice room.

‘What was all that about? Or ought I not ask?’ Erestor said as they left the chamber and headed back towards the King’s Office. Arveldir shook his head.

‘I am unsure... his majesty, as I am sure you have gathered, is not of the most joyous of tempers. In fact, at times he can become melancholy in the extreme...’

‘He has suffered much loss, I think?’

Arveldir nodded. ‘His father, the mother of his sons, our princes... the visit of Flora with the peredhel is just another reminder of Iauron’s sailing and, I suppose, is another loss. Formerly, when prey to these moods, the Healers’ Hall was of great service to Thranduil; that is to say, Healer Nestoril herself would talk to him, and cajole or tease him out of it; she would even reprimand him, if the occasion called for it. Sadly, there is none other, now, with that same insight into the king’s troubles, or the same seniority, or courage, to be of assistance. And so I am doing my best... I am monitoring the amount of Dorwinion that passes through to the private rooms, I am – as you have seen – trying to interest his majesty in the runnings of the palace, in the results of his decrees or suggestions, filling the days with meetings and tours and visits...’

‘And finding him practice partners, too.’

‘Indeed. Although, in fact, it was our king’s idea to invite the price this morning...’ Arveldir sighed. ‘And now he wants to ride off to Dale...’

‘Why Dale?’ Erestor asked. ‘I can see why his majesty would suggest riding into the forest – now I am used to it, I find it very beautiful, serene and calming. But a town of men?’

‘I wonder... Unless it is not Dale itself... perhaps his majesty is thinking more closely to home? That is to say, he is missing his grandchild... perhaps he is considering a visit to Flora in her village? It is not so far as Dale, yet is on the way there, certainly...’

‘Really? You do not think...?’ Erestor paused. ‘Can you imagine the looks on the faces of those living locally, on seeing the Elvenking ride up?’

‘Indeed I can... but I doubt our king has thought that far ahead. Perhaps I should plan such an expedition for him, lay it all out before him so that he can see for himself the difficulties of the logistics, the effect his sudden arrival would have... for I am sure he would leave them all in terror, without meaning to...’

‘That’s a good plan; it might curtail him, at least somewhat. Although it could also leave him more depressed, when he realises it is not a good idea... that is, I am assuming it is not a good idea to have our king ride out to visit his grandson?’

‘No, Erestor,’ Arveldir said. ‘I do not think it would be a good idea at all.’


	329. Back to Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thiriston and Canadion return to their duties, and Arveldir is, perhaps, too helpful...

‘You look gorgeous, penneth.’

Canadion smiled at the compliment.

‘Thank you. I am not sure that is what was intended for the new Grey Dragon uniforms, that they make us look gorgeous,’ he said. ‘I am sure they hoped much more to make everyone look like you, magnificent and strong and dangerous... of course, the others could not be so handsome, for they are not you...’

Thiriston grinned, looking wicked and warlike in his every day Grey Dragon uniform; dark grey leggings, paler tunic, darker jerkin, the belt with shades of black and burgundy red to acknowledge the other Dragon Companies’ colours. Canadion, of slighter build, looked lithe and elegant in the sombre colours, a deadly beauty about him, with his bow at his back and a long knife at his hip; it was just a shame the penneth could not see for himself...

‘We need to get a looking-glass so you can see how fine you are, penneth.’

About to start back to the routine of their lives again, it was a good time to think of requisitioning such things as they still needed for their rooms anyway; a table for dining, a looking glass to make sure they were tidy for muster...

‘Come on, then. Wouldn’t do to be late, first morning back. Expect they’ll have a few words to say...’

‘Whistles and catcalls,’ Canadion added. ‘Banter. I shall probably blush.’

‘You look lovely when you do. And it’s becoming, in a newlywed, I suppose...’

Thiriston held the door for his husband, shut it after them, and took Canadion’s hand.

‘Of course, no fraternising on the parade ground.’

‘Of course. And remembering, that’s going to be the hard part... so to speak...’

‘How I’ll keep my hands to myself after ten days of us just being able to be free with each other...’

*

As expected, there were indeed cheers and whistles and cat-calls, all accompanied by laughter and smiles and good humour.

‘We’ve been busy, while you were away,’ Commander Govon said, trying to restore a little order. ‘As you will have noticed, we all have the proper uniforms now, so it will be easier to see which of our Grey Dragons are slouching on parade... and our fellow-companies are being kitted out in the next week or so, and we will all look very fine indeed. So let’s make sure we’re fine warriors, too, to match our fine clothes, yes? Our over-captain is on his way, and I can see Commander Pedir calling his reds into line... let’s fall in, shall we...?’

After muster, and the day orders given, Govon summoned those of them who were not in leadership training to the ranges where they were joined by some of Pedir’s Red Hearts and Bregon’s Black Dragons.

‘Short bows, this morning. Canadion, I’ll pass on to you what the healers said to me when I started back; if it hurts, you’re doing it wrong...’

A smattering of laughter but for once, Govon hadn’t been joking and turned to frown at the grinning warriors.

‘Canadion took injuries to the shoulder; this is not a matter of jest for such a fine shot as he... it is not that long since he won an archery contest against all comers. We will respect our brother-in-arms’ sacrifice of pain, mellyn-nin, or some of us might find we are on unexpected stable duty...’

Canadion flushed; he’d expected teasing and banter, but to have his commander intervene and support him was at once both touching and embarrassing.

‘In truth, I’m out of practice, too,’ Govon said. ‘I only began with the bow again two days back. And I am just glad our Argallor is not joining us this morning; he is sitting in on the captaincy classes so we can make as many mistakes as we like for the next hour at least...’

Govon loosed his first arrow, deliberately not taking particular care with his aim, but glad to see it landed somewhere inside the outer rings. He saw Canadion take a breath, suddenly looking shaky until Thiriston appeared at his shoulder; Amathel, who had already been at the target beyond Canadion’s, smiled good-naturedly and moved up so that Thiriston could take it over. 

The big elf nodded to her.

‘Thank you; it’s a courtesy.’

‘You’re welcome, Captain.’

Thiriston had his first arrow loosed and in its target before Canadion had even nocked and drawn. He looked uncomfortable, his shoulder at the wrong angle and he had to adjust his stance several times before he felt confident enough to fire, and then he only managed the outermost ring. Nobody commented though, or called out; with both Govon and Thiriston flanking him, none dared.

But Canadion lowered his head along with his bow, exhaling heavily. The Commander, about to loose his second shot, lowered his bow and went over.

‘What’s wrong, Canadion?’

‘My arm... I thought I was recovered, but there is a band of tightness around my arm when I draw, and my shoulder pains me... I thought I was healed, the bruises are gone...’

‘Well, I was sore at first, too. But it wore off after a few hours. Of course, we weren’t injured in the same way, just at the same time... Try again, carefully. Thiriston, do you want to come and help?’

Canadion tried again to nock his arrow and draw. But even with Thiriston standing at his shoulder, helping him into line, he shook his head and there was a tearful note in his voice.

‘I am sorry, it hurts too much...’

‘All right. Report to the healers. Thiriston, go with him.’

‘Commander... I’d really rather not... perhaps I am just out of practice, I...’

‘Why not start with something else, then, and see how you get on? Thiriston, take Canadion over to the far targets, take him through throwing a few knives, perhaps? That should help get his shoulder moving. Amathel, you go too, give Thiriston some competition, yes? And when we break, Canadion, Thiriston is going to take you to the Healers’ Hall or he’ll be on a charge for dereliction of duty, do you hear?’

‘Yes, Commander. Thank you, sir.’

Sending Amathel off to collect three sets of throwing knives from the armoury gave Thiriston a few minutes of comparative privacy with his husband as they waited by the targets.

‘You all right?’ he asked carefully; there was a glisten to Canadion’s eye that spoke of an excess of emotion, and this was the one place where he couldn’t give him a comforting hug.

Canadion nodded.

‘I am... embarrassed, perhaps? I thought I was healed, I did not think... I have had no trouble with my shoulder at home...’

‘You haven’t been drawing a bow at home. Different muscles, different stresses. Maybe when we get back, you need a soak in the bathing pool.’

‘That would be nice.’

‘Followed by a massage. Lavender oil...’

‘Mmm. Lovely... I feel better already...’

Thiriston laughed.

‘Glad to hear it.’

*

Arveldir bowed at the door to the king’s study.

‘If your majesty has a moment, I mentioned at our breakfast meeting I had requested some feasibility studies concerning distances in the forest...’

Thranduil looked up, a wary glint in his eye.

‘You did indeed, Arveldir, without making any mention of why I might need such studies bringing to my attention...’

‘One never knows, sire, when it might be handy to have this sort of information readily available...’

‘Very well, bring your reports, then...’ 

The advisor laid the papers out on the king’s desk on top of the documents already there. Thranduil scanned the titles of each, then sat back, his eyes measuring, his expression, if anything, displeased.

‘Estimated journey times to Dale on horseback, by barge, and on foot? And a selection of routes to Lothlórien, again with estimated journey times depending on method of transport, how efficient... Were we thinking of going somewhere, Arveldir?’

Arveldir spread his hands in innocent acknowledgement.

‘I was privy to your majesty’s conversation with Legolas, sire, in which you expressed an interest in an expedition to Dale...’

‘That only explains one of your documents.’

Arveldir had the grace to look uncomfortable as he sought for the proper words.

‘Healer Gaelbes, sire. If one of our healers were to be persuaded to offer to care for Princes Iauron and Tharmeduil on their voyage, even at this late hour...’

‘Thank you, Arveldir, that will be all on this topic.’

‘...it is still, just, possible, if one were to ride in haste...’

‘I note you have not included a timetable of how long it would take to ride to Imladris,’ Thranduil said sharply.

‘It shall be done, my lord king, but I did not foresee the need to include Imladris in my calculations...’

‘It might prove useful one day. If, for example, a former advisor to the Greenwood were to suddenly find he had displeased his king and in was need of alternative employment...’

Arveldir swallowed, but found a retort.

‘I think that most unlikely to happen, sire... such a one would prefer to spend the rest of his days mucking out the elk stables in lowly ignominy than to work for Elrond, however fallen from favour that one might be...’

Thranduil’s mouth worked as he tried not to permit himself the luxury of a small smile.

‘Apology accepted, Arveldir. But I am sure you do not have enough to occupy your hours, if you feel the need to fill them in this manner?’

‘My king is most generous... in fact, my days ahead look like to be quite full... and so, with your permission, I will return to my duties... shall I remove these over-officious documents from your majesty’s notice?’

Thranduil drifted his hand through the air.

‘No, leave them. They may be of use, somewhere... Thank you , Arveldir, that will be all for today. I hope.’

Arveldir bowed and removed himself from the king’s presence, aware as he closed the door that his hand was trembling.

*

Dismissed for the day to attend to Canadion’s injuries, Thiriston and his husband made their way to the Healers Halls where Healer Gyril led the way to a treatment room with a smile.

‘Forgive me if I say I am glad to see you, for I am, although sorry you need our help... how may I help you today?’

‘My arm and shoulder... it is all right, mostly, but when I try to draw...’

‘Show me the movement... is it sore even without a bow to pull? Show me the movement you would make?’

‘Yes... not as painful, but stiff, and I can’t lift my elbow as high...’ Canadion hissed as Gyril’s searching fingers pressed and prodded and then found exactly the worst spot. 

‘I see. I think it is just the muscles are tight, probably from a combination of damage from your fall and then lack of use – you were one to practice every day, I think?’

‘Yes, or at least, most days. I would never miss two days in a row.’

‘That’s true,’ Thiriston said. ‘As good as he naturally is, still, he liked to be better.’

‘I will give you a series of stretches and such to do. Perhaps your husband will help with them?’

‘Gladly,’ Thiriston said.

‘And if you use the same lavender oil as before, work it into his shoulder and upper arm here, and here, and gently work like so... be guided by your husband’s levels of discomfort...’

‘Do you have some more of that oil? We have only a little left...’

‘Yes, certainly.’ 

Gyril left, returning presently with a large bottle of lavender oil and a written list of instructions for how Canadion should work his damaged shoulder.

‘Very well,’ she said, handing over the supplies. ‘No archery for two days, and such other work only as is not uncomfortable. Work on your stretches and come back to see me then.’

‘Thank you, Gyril.’

‘So now, Captain Thiriston, take your husband away and look after him. Bring him back in two days; he should be much improved.’

*

Erestor was waiting outside Thranduil’s study, taking Arveldir’s arm and gently walking him away out of earshot before speaking.

‘How was your offering received?’

Arveldir shook his head. 

‘Not well, but... better than it could have been, I suppose. Still, it was necessary; it was the only way I could think of to confront his majesty with the folly of riding off to Dale or sending one of our healers to meet up with the expedition in Lothlórien...’

‘And you are certain there is no risk that our king will see it as a helpful suggestion...?’

‘Yes. That is to say, quite sure. Reasonably certain... you know Thranduil well enough by now, Erestor, to understand that telling him not to do something will only result in him turning all his attention towards that very thing... by presenting him with the hard facts of journeying outside the palace, he will decide for himself the folly of a trip into the forest.’ Arveldir sighed. ‘At least, I hope so.’


	330. Viewing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Grey Dragon Warriors inspect their prospective new quarters...

By the time the allotted two days were up and Thiriston presented Canadion for Healer Gyril’s attention once more, the penneth looked much happier, she thought.

‘Yes, indeed, with the exercising and the oil and with Thiriston helping, my shoulder is much freer now, and feels more comfortable.’

‘Show me the motion of the draw again, then.’

Canadion obliged, his arm and shoulder moving smoothly into the proper position.

‘And with no discomfort or pain at all!’

‘Very good, that is excellent! Then I think you can return to your practice – with caution. And not for too long at a time, do you hear? We do not want, as happened with your husband’s hand, a relapse...’

‘No, indeed, Healer Gyril! I am most grateful for your help, and if there is anything I can do in return...’

‘Well, it is just my job, but in fact, there may be... as you know, to our shame, we are not nearly brave enough about venturing into the forest. And yet... it is our forest, and we are its elves... Gaelbes says she is sure it is just that we are unused to the thought of going out, and perhaps we are more scared since Nestoril came back with tales of dragons and spiders...’

‘To be fair, Gyril, the dragons were not in the forest,’ Canadion said.

‘Too big to get under the trees,’ Thiriston added. ‘And we made a big dent in the spider population; those that are left will be as deep in the forest as they can get, I think. I can understand, though. You lot don’t get out much. That can’t help.’

‘No, indeed... so, I was wondering, would you be willing to take us out amongst the trees beyond the bounds of the palace? If your commander would spare you, would you be willing to volunteer, perhaps? We would feel safer, I think, with those we know...’

‘Gladly,’ Thiriston said. ‘Should brush up on your bow skills first. Just in case.’

‘Oh... of course...’

Canadion shook his head in shocked disbelief, smiling to try to make his incredulity seem friendly.

‘Healer Gyril, you surprise me! Did not you used to practice with Nestoril? I am sure she told us she held you all to regular practice...?’

‘Well, yes, but... I suppose it is another of those things we have got out of the habit of, since she has left.’

‘If it helps, and with my Commander’s permission, I will gladly oversee your practice,’ Canadion offered. ‘And that way, you can be sure I am not working too hard myself. I will mention the matter after muster, if you like.’

The matter almost slipped out of his mind, for there were other topics discussed at muster which proved a distraction.

‘There’s been word from the King’s Office that rooms are available now in the Grey Dragon Wing. So if any of you fancy being neighbours with Thiriston and Canadion, let me know,’ Commander Govon said. ‘I understand there are two spaces for single warriors, and another set of married quarters.’

‘Commander?’ Hador spoke up. ‘What of such as I? My wife is content in our current rooms, and would prefer to stay...’

‘Then of course, no-one will try to make you move. Besides, I understand these are not family quarters, as such. That will be for one of the subsequent phases of the building plan, I think.’

‘I would like to see what the rooms may be like, first. I am sure they cannot be worse than at present,’ Celeguel said. ‘And I am curious.’

‘After practice and before the day meal, we will take a look. Who is my runner today? Ah, Fonor, excellent. Do you take a message to the King’s Office to say the Grey Dragons want to inspect the new quarters.’

‘Commander.’ Fonor nodded. ‘I’m interested myself... my brother Parvon, he has been talking about how much work is going on, but has refused to let me see...’

‘Excellent. And, of course, if Hador is happy to stay where he currently is, there is enough room for all the other Grey Heart Warriors...’

‘Except yourself, Commander,’ Amathel said with a cheeky grin. ‘Or had you not thought?’

‘I suppose I will just have to put up with my current quarters in the royal wing,’ Govon said with an exaggerated sigh. ‘So, that is settled, then. I repeat – nobody is expected to take up these rooms against their wishes. You can stay in your single rooms with no windows, where there is barely room to stow yourselves and your kit, or not, as you please. Now, is there any other matter to raise before we begin...?’

‘Was speaking with one of the healers,’ Thiriston said, when it became apparent that Canadion had forgotten all about the conversation with Gyril. ‘They seem to be at a bit of a loss for who to train with these days... not been keeping up their archery, bit shy of the forest of a sudden...’

‘Well, we noticed the last, certainly,’ Govon said. ‘And?’

‘Remembering how the Court Guard trained with the Court, Commander. Perhaps offer to share a few targets with them. Especially as Canadion’s got permission to start training again, but with care...’

‘I see... Fonor, before you go dashing off to the King’s Office, take word to Healer Gaelbes. Our compliments, and would one or two of her staff care to present themselves at the short bow ranges for an informal practice under Canadion’s auspices...’

‘Very good, Commander.’

And so the morning passed, Gyril and Maereth appearing, with their bows (and an anxious expression on Maereth’s face) to be led to the far targets where Canadion and Thiriston gave them a basic refresher course, and Gyril was able to watch Canadion didn’t overuse his shoulder at the same time. It all went quite well, in truth, the healers proud of their efforts and their warrior helpers keen not to dishearten them.

‘That was a very good session,’ Canadion said. ‘Even if you did not let me loose more than half a quiver, Gyril!’

‘But you are aching now, I am sure?’ the healer asked and Canadion was forced to nod.

‘Only a little. So, will you send others of your fellow-healers to us tomorrow?’

‘If your commander agrees, yes.’

*

Gathering with Commander Govon and the rest of the Grey Dragons to visit their own wing and inspect the other quarters was a little strange. Thiriston glanced down at his husband.

‘If we left all tidy, we could invite them in to our rooms...’

‘Edwenith was going to tidy for us, she said. And I am sure I picked up the towels from the floor in the washing cascade...’

‘On the way back, maybe, then. Interesting to see what the other rooms will be like.’

And, really, they were left feeling that they had actually been rather fortunate.

The rooms on the other side of the corridor had no windows, since they faced inwards, but benefited from light wells over living and sleeping rooms, the subsequent little pools of light on the floor making interesting patterns. Instead of washing cascades, they had bathing pools, fed from the same springs that filled the communal pools at the end of the passage. Still, the general feeling was that the rooms were spacious, and the private hygiene facilities bordering on the luxurious.

‘I am convinced!’ Amathel said. ‘When might I move in?’

Govon laughed.

‘Well, I will lodge your interest with the King’s Office... there is another room, on the other side of the corridor...?’

‘Whoever is in here will be our neighbours,’ Canadion said, as Govon opened the door. ‘But that is all right – the walls are thick. I am sure we will not hear you, whoever we get...’

‘There is a window!’ Fonor exclaimed. ‘No, in fact, two windows!’

A window in both the large living space and the equally-large sleeping room; the hygiene facilities made up the rest of the accommodation and drew the commander’s attention.

‘No bathing pool here,’ Govon said. ‘But a washing cascade... I’ve heard a lot about these... how does that work, exactly?’

‘They are interesting, Commander,’ Canadion said. ‘One has to fill a tank, and the fire heats the water, and it is rather like being out in hot rain. But there is always the communal pool, if one can’t be bothered with filling the tank.’

‘I think I prefer a window to a bathing pool,’ Amathel said. ‘If we get to choose, I am quite happy to be your neighbour, Canadion.’

‘I am convinced, also,’ Celeguel said. ‘Although I would be happy across the corridor... but, Fonor? What about you?’

‘I think I need a little longer to decide... the subsequent rooms might be better...’

‘They might,’ Govon said. ‘But the next corridor in the wing isn’t due for refurbishment until we get more warriors; you might be waiting a while.’

‘Fair point,’ Fonor said. ‘And it is true, my warrior’s quarters are cramped, and dark...’

‘Well, I gather the rooms won’t be released until the Black and Red accommodations are complete, too, so you’ve all got time to think about it. Meanwhile, the corridor attendant has laid a day meal for us all in the common room... and we are fortunate to have someone joining us from the King’s Office to answer any further questions you might have, one who has overseen much of the work on these rooms...’

Govon led them down beyond the vacant single room to the common room beyond. Looking into the room, Thiriston saw first who the King’s Office representative was, chatting in a friendly way with Edwenith as she bustled around.

‘Question for you, Commander... are we still officially on duty?’

‘Well, as we’re breaking to eat, I suppose not... why do you ask...?’

Thiriston was watching his husband at the moment when he, too, saw who was awaiting them.

‘Thiriston, look, it’s my Ada...’

‘Calm yourself, penneth, not alone now...’

Even so, Canadion hurried over and brought his father forward, taking the chance to put an arm around him and give him a small, subtle hug.

‘Everyone! If you do not already know, this is Merenor, my father, who is part of the Innovation Department of the King’s Office... Adar, here is Commander Govon, and...’

‘You won’t think badly of me if I say, we’ve all already met?’ Merenor said with a laugh and a wink. ‘Commander Govon, not with your prince, I see?’

‘Master Merenor... no, Legolas has duties of state... It’s kind of you to give up your time today.’

‘Not at all, always happy to show off...’

It was a convivial gathering, and, after a whispered conversation with Edwenith assuring Thiriston that yes, all was tidy in their rooms and no, there had been no towels left accidentally on the floor, it was natural to invite everyone back to see what the rooms could look like, when furnished and occupied, and if there were a few glances at the bunting, it only took a few words from Thiriston: (‘Present from Arwen, kind of her...’) to make sure nothing was said to hurt Canadion’s feelings.

‘In fact, you are luckier than we were,’ Govon said. ‘Arwen left us a parting gift of crocheted cushions in what she called ‘neutral tones’... they looked like blotches of mud and dirt... Legolas relegated them to a cupboard as soon as she’d left...’

‘This is a lovely room, Thiriston!’ Amathel said from the living space. ‘All you need is a table and chairs, for when you have visitors, and it will really be perfect.

And, that evening, cuddling on the sofa with a fire burning brightly in the grate, the day’s work done and a requisition request submitted to Stores for one or two things to make the place complete, Canadion and Thiriston had to agree that table or no table, it really already was.


	331. An Honour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Triwathon gets a glimpse of the new quarters...

News of the completion of the Grey Warriors’ new quarters swiftly spread through the other Dragon Warrior companies. To forestall any grumbling about preference, it was decided that nobody else would move in until the Red Dragon Wing was also ready for occupation.

But that didn’t stop Commander Bregon sharing some especially good news with one of his command.

The day after the Greys’ inspection, a message was waiting when Triwathon came out of his leadership training. His presence being requested in West Two, he made his way thence where, after a few moments’ wait, he was joined by his commander... the fact that Bregon had been leading the training session he’d just come from made Triwathon instantly wonder if there was something clandestine about the meeting...

‘Ah, good, you’re here already. Now, I’ve something to show you, Triwathon, although you must keep it to yourself for a little while... I know that if anyone can keep a secret, you can... I have the keys for an hour... this way...’

Bregon led him through the gates and along the corridor to a door near the end on the right.

‘After you, Captain,’ he said, pushing the door open.

His attention occupied by the vastness of the chamber with its large window and wide fireplace, by the unfolding of the space to reveal even more room beyond, it took Triwathon a moment to realise what Bregon had said.

‘Captain?’ he echoed.

‘I know, you’re only half way through your training, but you’re certain to pass, and, what’s more, I’m, promoting you... I want you as my Second... congratulations, it’s well-deserved. You’ll begin your duties when you complete your training, but I thought you’d like to know now. And these rooms come with the promotion; they’re the best in the wing in terms of space and light – not all have windows on this side – and you’ve even got one of these new washing things... of course, again, you can’t move in yet...’

‘I don’t know what to say, Commander... I am grateful... I don’t deserve...’

‘Yes, you do,’ Bregon said firmly. ‘Besides, these are just single quarters... one bedroom, one living room... but the most spacious in this corridor. And don’t worry – it won’t be a narrow single bed we put in here for you...’

‘These are wonderful quarters. Thank you.’

‘Common room opposite, communal pool in the next corridor... an attendant on duty for meals and things.’

‘That’s luxury, indeed, for warriors used to keeping themselves in order!’

‘Well, I should get back. Take your time, drop the key off at the King’s Office when you’re done.’

And the rooms were wonderful, vast compared to his present quarters; each room bigger, even, than Glorfindel’s guest quarters... and a window, an actual window! It looked out across the forest, bringing a glimpse of green life into the space.

But...

There were no memories here, no sense of squashing up in a tiny, narrow bed with Glorfindel’s weight dipping it down and making the springs protest, no comfortable, almost-claustrophobic closeness...

This was what it would feel like, if Glorfindel didn’t come back; that there was too much space around him, too much emptiness to fill... it was an unwelcome reminder...

Bregon had meant well; these rooms were a mark of honour, to go with his promised promotion. So Triwathon knew he could not refuse them; they were a gift, yes, but more than that; they were a symbol, a sign of how the kingdom was changing, becoming more accommodating. So for that reason, too, he had to accept; when he received his promotion, he would be expected to lead by example, and that would start here, with gracious acceptance of these very fine, much-too-roomy rooms.

And, of course, when he returned the key to the King’s Office, it would have to be Parvon who was there to take it would it not? Triwathon saw the fellow’s eyes brighten briefly before he tried to make his delighted smile more proper as he reacted to Triwathon’s sombre mood.

‘Is all well, Captain? Your commander said you were looking at the rooms laid aside for you in the Black Dragons Wing... if they are not to your liking...?’

‘No, indeed, the accommodations are wonderful, so roomy and light... I will not know what to do with all that space...’

A new voice joined in.

‘You’ll be filling them up with Balrog-slayer soon enough, won’t you?’

‘Master Merenor, good day to you!’

Using Merenor’s appearance as an excuse to retreat from Parvon’s admiration with a polite nod, Triwathon escaped, and joined the latest member of the Office of Innovation on the other side of the large office.

‘Triwathon... you’ve taken a look at your new rooms, then? I fitted the washing cascade myself, you know...’

‘The rooms are wonderful. Just, as I say, so very spacious...’

Yes. Merenor knew what it was like to be alone in rooms that needed someone else there to make them comfortable. He smiled in his friendly way with an added, avuncular, twinkle.

‘Ah, well, your friend will be back before you know it...’

‘At present he will still be heading away from the forest,’ Triwathon said, having spent more time than was probably healthy in working out Glorfindel’s route. ‘It will be a few more weeks at least before he is heading home.’

‘Ah, you must miss him! What you need to do is find a way to keep him in mind without it mattering quite so much.’

‘In fact, I am busy with my work most of the time...’

‘Yes. It’s the odd hours when you’re not busy, those are the hard ones... If I may suggest… When some human traders got caught out in the storms last year and had to overwinter in our village, the most recently-married one spent many a long evening working on a gift for his spouse. He said it meant he could think of her, but not miss her, since it gave him a reason to look ahead to their reunion...’

‘An interesting thought, Master Merenor... and I know Glorfindel will return, he promised...’

‘But sometimes, the knowing something and the feeling it are not the same... so perhaps something tangible to work on will help make it more real.’

‘You’re very considerate to offer advice to me, sir.’

‘Ah, well, you’re welcome; I’ve had a change in circumstances myself, you know; single and seeking... in fact, I’m almost tempted to offer to help you fill the time until your Balrog-slayer returns...’

‘You are most kind, and you flatter me, but were you to do so, Master Merenor, I would have to decline; I am afraid it would seem a little odd to me, as you are the father of my friend Canadion... besides, I told Glorfindel I would wait...’

‘It seems such a waste, penneth... but that was the most gracious and flattering rejection I have ever suffered...’ 

Merenor’s smile showed he was not suffering at all, and Triwathon made so bold as to smile in response.

‘I am sure you will not be alone for long, Master Merenor; such a charming and friendly companion as I am sure you would prove, how could it be otherwise...? Do you have someone in mind? Who is like to be the fortunate person?’

‘The one who can run away the fastest!’ 

Another voice, Hanben, looking out of his office door with disapproval writ large on his face. 

‘Merenor, when you have done flirting with the Captain, we have a meeting, I believe?’

‘Of course, Master Hanben.’

‘My thanks, Master Merenor, for your advice and information concerning the washing cascade,’ Triwathon said clearly, trying to spare Merenor a reprimand. 

The older elf went so far as to wink at him, and pat his shoulder.

‘Don’t you worry about me, lad... ‘tis worth a scold if it’s from Master Hanben, his eyes are so lovely when he’s cross... and it’s nice to know he cares... you think about what I said, now. Find yourself a project, you’ll feel better for it.’

*

‘What was all that about?’ Hanben asked, pretending disinterest.

‘Oh, just Triwathon brought back the key to his prospective new rooms. Parvon was looking at the poor captain as if he was edible and himself three mealtimes past his last dinner...’

Hanben sniffed and Merenor couldn’t resist pushing his luck.

‘Could put in a good word for you, although he’s adamant he’s waiting for his Balrog-slayer...’

‘That will not be necessary! I am quite capable of speaking up for myself, should I ever find anyone I wish to connect with in such a way, thank you, Merenor!’

‘I’m sure you are, Master Hanben... I’ll be listening out, just in case I should hear my name...’

‘So, work on the Red Dragon wing, has that begun yet?’

‘This morning, as intended. Oh, while I think... although the rooms are all finished in the Black Dragon Wing, the planned Common Room needs windows or lightwells installing... windows are better, but the crews are arguing for lightwells, as they’re easier. But the Grey Dragon common room has windows and it seems better to make them all as equal as possible...’

‘Yes, yes... of course there must be equity... the rooms in the Red Dragon Wing must be brought on, all the warriors are waiting now – except for your son, of course...’

‘A lovely thing for our king to do, to bestow such fine rooms on my lad and his husband as a wedding gift... it’s almost an incentive for us to marry, is it not?’

‘I beg your pardon? Master Merenor, was that a proposal...?’

‘What? No!’ Merenor exclaimed, wishing he dared say otherwise. ‘Have you been working with glue again, Master Hanben, with the doors closed...? I meant, an incentive for the population. Especially those who are unconventional in their preferences.’

‘I think you had better get back to work, Master Merenor.’

‘Just tell me what you want, Master Hanben, and I will do my utmost to serve...’

*

A project.

Through the afternoon’s practice, the thought kept returning to Triwathon. He couldn’t be working, practicing, studying all the time, it was true. Perhaps Merenor was right, something to keep him occupied, and focussed on the future would do him good...

In his small single quarters, empty of everything except memories, he wondered what he could do, what he could make for Glorfindel that wouldn’t look too romantic or hopeful... after all, there was no future for their affectionate friendship beyond Glorfindel’s return, beyond the moment... Deciding to take advantage of the standing invitation to use Glorfindel’s guest quarters, he headed over, intending to indulge in the luxury of the private pool...

It was after, as he was drying off on the towel Glorfindel had left in exchange for one of his own, that Triwathon had the idea. Something simple, really, but personal, requiring attention and application and learning, something not too romantic or emotional, something perhaps even amusing, if presented properly...

The next day, in his downtime between morning training and evening duty, he made his way through the corridors of the working sections of the palace to where his friend the dyer worked.

Arrangements made, and he set off to make the next part of his plan a possibility, trading on an acquaintanceship more than a friendship, dropping in on Commander Govon’s sister Merlinith.

‘…that is, if you do not mind?’ he said as he explained what he hoped to achieve and why. ‘I do not know how long it will take to teach such a thing to a beginner who can barely sew up a rip in a tunic…’

‘I will be glad to help, Triwathon, if you do not mind sitting with Araspen and I of an evening? I would think it will take a few sessions, for what you intend. When do you wish to start?’

‘I am away for a few days; when I return, perhaps?’

‘Of course. Are you going somewhere exciting?’

Triwathon laughed. 

‘Hardly; as part of my training, I am taking charge of two guards and a flet for a night or two. And, yet, yes; my first command, it is exciting…’

‘Ai, that is where my brother started! I am sure you will like it, but do not like it too much, Captain – or you might decide a three-guard flet is exactly what you want to do with the next few centuries, and before you know it, you will have been doing it for millennia…’

‘I suppose we can’t all be rescued from spider-bite sickness by princes, can we?’ Triwathon said with a smile. ‘Well, I suppose there is a lot to be said for being content to serve where you are sent… but, perhaps, ambition is no bad thing, in small measure. Good day to you, Merlinith, Araspen. I will seek you out when I am back.’

*

The mood amongst the other trainee captains, he found, when he gathered with them at the muster point that evening, matched his own. There were four of them, all told, the others being Elchanar, Othneth, and Celeguel, whom he knew best and who now started up a conversation with him.

‘I do not know if I am excited at the prospect, or bored at the very thought of it!’ Celeguel said, shifting her pack so it didn’t hamper access to her bow and quiver. ‘Imagine! A two-hour hike to take charge of a flet and two warriors, and after you and I, Triwathon, walked to the Langflood, fought spiders and dragons in service of our king and then walked back again?’

‘I know.’ Triwathon grinned across at her. ‘But this is the start of something, of being trusted to lead, not just to follow. And to be directly responsible for two other souls… It is different, even though it is the same.’

‘You can trust Commander Bregon to make sure our lieutenants are quite capable of taking charge, should they need to,’ Celeguel said.

She was right, too; when Bregon arrived with the complement for the flet teams, it turned out that everyone was assigned an experienced lieutenant, as well as a junior warrior from the regulars. Triwathon considered himself fortunate to have Faenith with him. His other charge, Sarnor, he knew slightly as a good shot and an easy temper, if not the most brilliant mind in the guard.

‘These are your assignments… Celeguel, you’re heading down the South Trail, flet four… signal to flet three when you’re passing them, Elchanar, you’re along the trail to the hythe, the forward flet with the lookout post… Othneth, head along the main trail with Elchanar, but do you go three flets along; there’s nobody else there presently for you to signal to, you’ll be on your own, but it’s a main trail and you’re not so far out… if you need to, you can call on each other for help… Triwathon, you’re going along the line of the river, towards the northern outpost. Flet nine, which seems a long way, but they were built close together to monitor the journey of the princes once you get out from the palace. Four is occupied, and they’re expecting to hear from you the far side of midnight. Did anyone check the alert status before leaving?’

A few nodded; Celeguel spoke out.

‘No reports of spider activity, river running low and smooth, possibility of rain in a day or so, no reports of wargs or orcs, all seems calm.’

‘All seems calm, exactly. Now, I promise you I have no little surprises lurking for you first-timers as I do with some of the advanced classes, so anything you meet out there is something you need to deal with for yourselves. Are you ready? Very well, off you go and best of luck. And I will see you back here in time for the day meal on the third day from now. Warriors, move out!’


	332. Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil misses his breakfast meeting...

So far, the breakfast meeting had gone well; all the business of the day dealt with, and on to more subjective matters, less urgent things.

Erestor inclined his head and took a drink of spiced tea before continuing his conversation with Legolas.

‘And so, it has been some time since the Feasting Hall was graced with a royal presence, ernilen. Since your honoured father seems bored with the public spectacle, perhaps you might preside one night soon? Or perhaps some might think there is cause for concern…?’

‘We’re promised to Merlinith and Araspen tonight,’ Govon said, idly stealing a piece of toast from Legolas’ plate. ‘Now, we could back out… ask her to join us in the hall… but she’s gone to a lot of trouble…’

‘Tomorrow night, Erestor.’ Legolas dug in to his breakfast, moving the plate out of reach of Govon’s questing cutlery with a grin. ‘Unless you want me to have a word with Adar and see if I can get him to turn up…?’

‘I am sure tomorrow night will be adequate… I understand his majesty was most interested in the journey of the delegation from Dale, yesterday? I have not yet seen the full account of the meeting, and Arveldir was too close to the trauma of the event to do anything but shake his head…’

‘Interested…?’ Legolas gave a snort. ‘You’ve not been here long enough yet, Erestor, to have seen him like this before, but sometimes Adar gets hold of a notion and runs with it… he was asking them all manner of things about the roads and the trails and…’

He broke off to speak to Govon.

‘This is about them wanting to build a wider bridge below the falls, to improve the road journey. But they want to impose tolls on it. Now, as the footings would be on our side of the river, Father said no, if there are to be tolls, they will be his tolls, and if they want to make the journey better, they should improve the roads, make them easier and safer all the way to Dale first… of course, they thought it was because our elves operate the ferry a league below the bridge and Adar was looking after our interests… it got quite heated. Finally Adar got up and said there would be no new bridge until the roads were properly upgraded and even then he would need to see proof, and there would be no tolls for anyone… and, how bad could the existing methods of crossing the river be as they didn’t seem to have hampered the delegates from getting here today... and he left, swishing his robes. It was quite a performance.’

‘Indeed, it made quite an impression on the delegation, which has, I understand, retreated in disarray. But really, his majesty may have gone too far…’

‘He’s always been one to believe better too far than not far enough. But I expect it doesn’t make poor Arveldir’s job any easier.’

‘No, indeed…’ Erestor sighed. ‘Is all well with his majesty, may I ask?’

‘That’s never an easy question to answer,’ Legolas said, while Govon grinned. ‘I think the most I can say is that this is, for him, fairly normal…’

Erestor shook his head in pitying disapproval.

‘Moving on, my prince, have you given thought to whether there will be a formal opening to the Dragon’s Wing quarters and if so, how the occasion should be…’

A hasty knocking on the door interrupted, and Govon went to see, stepping back quickly as Arveldir hurried in, shaking his head, his eyes tight with worry.

‘Forgive the interruption, but have you seen your father today, Legolas?’

‘No… I wasn’t expecting to, though…’

‘He didn’t answer when I knocked for our meeting; it seems he is not in his rooms, nor the practice chamber…’ There was a note of restrained panic in Arveldir’s voice. ‘...I am at a loss, this is quite unlike him…’

‘Sit down,’ Govon said, taking charge. ‘And think; where would he go, what would he do? We know he’s been a bit out-of-sorts lately… Legolas? What would your father do?’

‘Find someone to spar with, maybe… visit Nelleron… if he’s worried about something, he’ll often go and talk to Nelleron about it…’

‘He’s not been to the practice room… Nelleron, yes, that is a good idea…’ Arveldir dropped his head onto his hand with a sigh. ‘I do not know when I have been quite so worried about your father, Legolas, he has not been… not been well, not really, not since your brothers left… he has attempted to lose himself in work…’

‘And in the Dorwinion,’ Govon added quietly.

‘…but he has been trying so hard to keep us all in good heart that he has forgotten his own well-being, as usual… I must admit, I am worried, I feel responsible…’

‘My brothers!’ Legolas said with a start. ‘Yes! Adar sometimes goes to the Sacred Grove, to look at the fëa-trees… Erestor, take Arveldir back to your rooms and look after him; give him breakfast, or something... Govon and I will go to the stables, and if we don’t find him there, to the Sacred Grove. You just… try to keep calm, don’t worry. It’s Ada, what trouble could he possibly get into that he can’t get himself out of with just a look?’

‘Have someone send word to Thiriston, he is to take muster this morning in my stead,’ Govon said. ‘Or I’ll have Rawon breathing down my neck.’

Arveldir nodded and allowed himself to be helped to his feet, Erestor putting a careful arm around his waist.

‘Come, let me take you to your room, as Legolas says… how long will it take to get to the Grove and back?’

‘Less than an hour. ’ Legolas slung his bow and quiver, passed Govon’s over to him. ‘We’ll come to you, Arveldir, as soon as we know something… we’d best be discreet, though, don’t want everyone worrying for nothing…’

‘That’s probably wise, ernilen,’ Arveldir nodded. ‘Thank you; I am sure it is nothing, but if it is not…’

*

‘What is your father thinking?’ Govon asked as they walked briskly through the palace towards the doors closest to the stables. ‘Is it some sort of test, to see how you’d cope in an emergency? Or too much Dorwinion last night, will we find him asleep in the bed of one of the chambermaids?’

Not quite worried enough to glare, Legolas shook his head with a grin.

‘Not the latter, whatever else, he’s far too high-minded for that; asleep in Nelleron’s stall, rather, with an empty bottle at his side…’

But when they got to the elk’s paddock, the stall was open and Nelleron not to be seen.

‘Ah.’ 

‘Oh.’

Govon kicked through the bedding straw in the vain hope of disturbing a sleeping king, but no.

‘The harness has gone,’ Legolas said over his shoulder. ‘And none of the staff ever take Nelleron out for exercise this early, which means...’

‘Which means your father was here…’

‘Yes.’ Legolas kept to himself the fact that it suggested his father was planning on going further than the Sacred Grove; Nelleron was only usually encumbered with trappings if Thranduil had things to carry. ‘Well, come on; there’s no point lingering here. Let’s get to the Grove.’

Anxious though they were, Legolas and Govon paused to bow to the trees outside the Sacred Grove before entering. Govon looked around with wondering eyes.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen it in daylight before,’ he said. ‘Just for our avowing, and the wedding, of course. It feels so different…’

‘Yes. I have always found it beautiful, and just a little sad. Well, it is obvious Adar isn’t here. I didn’t think he would be; he usually visits on foot and, besides, there was no sign of Nelleron on the trail. But it was worth a try. And, anyway, the trees might know something…’ 

Legolas walked amongst the trees, stopping here and there to touch a trunk, stroke the bark while Govon watched in respectful silence

‘Ada,’ the prince said, coming to a stop in front of a stately willow and moving close to press his face against the crenelated bark to whisper against it. ‘What’s wrong, Ada? What are you up to…?’

Opening his mind and heart and fëa to the tree, Legolas drank in its ambience, soaking up all the signals he could. Finally, with a sigh, he pulled away, shaking his head.

‘I don’t know, I really don’t… so much weight on him, you wouldn’t think... I suppose I only had a taste of it, when he was injured, a couple of days and then just a camp to run, not a kingdom... I don’t know how he does it...’

‘You can’t tell what’s up?’

‘No. Well, there’s much on his mind... but how much of that is new, and how much is just being Adar... there’s... Ai, he’s so alone... I should try to do more, but...’

‘You already do more, my fair elf.’

‘I don’t know... I’m the only son he’s got left, now... he didn’t want Flora to leave with the gwinig, you could tell... I wonder if that’s what was behind the way he spoke to the Dale people yesterday, making the journey easier...?’

‘Melleth...? You don’t think that’s where he’s gone, do you? To visit Flora?’

‘To visit Flora? No, of course not, that would be... would be... she’d have a fit, if he just turned up...’

‘Would he care, though? If he’s in this odd mood, would it just seem natural to him, a little ride out to Flora’s, it would only take him, what...? Two days, on Nellron?’

‘Maybe less... but... no, he’d leave word, I’m sure of it...’

‘It’s something to think about, though. Perhaps?’

Legolas sighed heavily.

‘Perhaps. Well, we’d better take the news back to Arveldir. And decide what we’re going to do about it.’

*

Arveldir had managed to gather his frayed nerves together a little by the time Erestor showed Legolas and Govon into their rooms.

‘Is there any news?’ Arveldir asked, reading the answer in the prince’s eyes.

‘My father hasn’t been to the Sacred Grove; Nelleron, and his harness, are gone from the stables.’

The advisor shook his head in dismay, and Erestor gently patted his hand.

‘This is not your fault, my friend,’ he said softly. ‘You have been working too hard, worrying too much; so many things have happened of late...’

‘Yes. I see now it was our king’s way of keeping occupied so that he did not fall into one of his slumps... I had hoped we had avoided that this time, but...’

‘So the king has done this before?’ Erestor asked.

‘Once,’ Legolas said. ‘Not long after my mother died... it was a shock for us all, of course, but Adar held the kingdom together. Then, just when we thought the people were recovering and he was going to have time for us brothers, since we needed him too, he seemed to fall apart. And one morning, he just wasn’t there.’

‘He had left the evening previously, we discovered later,’ Arveldir said. ‘It was Nestoril found him and brought him back, but he was gone two days in total. We were able to keep the matter private; no sense worrying the populace.’

‘He’d gone to the Elk-tamers’ preserves, the private lands they keep for their breeding programmes,’ Legolas said. ‘My mother was one of the Royal Elk-tamers before they met...’

‘Is it far?’ Erestor said. ‘Should we seek him there?’

Legolas shook his head.

‘I don’t think so. Of all the things I read from his fëa-tree, missing my mother wasn’t one of them.’

Arveldir rubbed his free hand over his face and sighed.

‘No, I tend to agree there... oh, I am sure it is my fault... Healer Gaelbes had come with some preposterous notion of sacrificing herself for the protection of her other healers – you are aware you honoured father has been disappointed in their performance of late...?’ He waited for Legolas to nod before continuing. ‘She was going to ride to Lothlórien and offer herself in Nestoril’s place... a ridiculous idea, she would barely have had time had she set off at once, and then, she would have needed an armed escort which would have built more delay... Thranduil dismissed her, of course, but I wondered whether it had made him think of his sons again, and if there would be time for him to go to bid them a final farewell... so I presented him with detailed routes and timings, all of which showed the impossibility of such a trip...’

‘I read from his fëa-tree that my brothers are very much on his mind... and you know Ada thrives on ‘impossible’, Arveldir; it’s just the sort of challenge he’d take on, to prove you wrong...’

‘Yes, which is why I did not say it could not be done... and his majesty was pleased to say the documents were over-officious...’

‘Documents?’ Govon put it. ‘More than one?’

‘I thought it better not to present just the single option, lest it look more tempting... knowing he had suggested to you, Ernilen, a ride out to Dale... and then, that dreadful encounter with the good burghers and civil engineers yesterday...’

‘We should go to his study,’ Legolas said. ‘There might be some hints there.’

‘Yes, indeed,’ Erestor said. ‘And time is passing...’

‘He’s probably already long gone,’ Legolas said. ‘An hour spent deciding where to look won’t make much difference now, and could be time well-spent.’

But Thranduil’s rooms held no clues. Nor did his study; Arveldir’s documents were rolled up together and cast casually aside on top of a stack of old reports concerning the Children of the Forest.

‘Now what?’ Govon said. ‘Do we rout the guard and put everyone in a panic?’

‘Muster the Dragon Warriors,’ Legolas suggested. ‘Send them out discreetly, a few along the track to Dale, and some along the Lothlórien routes. Whatever made you plot out four different trails south, Arveldir?’

‘I was simply trying to show his majesty that all choices were equally doomed to fail...’

‘And then, the trees themselves might know something,’ Legolas said. ‘Arveldir, you and Erestor are in charge while we’re gone. I’ll keep you informed.’

‘But, ernilen, we cannot afford to lose you, too...’

‘Arveldir, we’ll need Legolas, as Argallor to give the orders across the companies,’ Govon said. ‘I’ll make sure no harm comes to him, don’t worry.’

‘But...’

Govon had already turned away, deep in guard business with his Argallor. 

‘Pedir’s lot will be good in the trees. And of course, the Court Guard as was, we know how the king and his elk move through the forest...’

‘True. Well, that’s settled then. Let me get my Argallor cloak and I’m with you.’


	333. Prints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arveldir tries not to panic, Legolas arranges search parties... and Triwathon discovers something interesting...

Once Legolas and Govon had gone, Arveldir dropped his head onto his chest with a shaky sigh. Erestor gathered him against his body, pulling his head onto his shoulder.

‘Be calm, mellon-nin.’

Arveldir had allowed the hug, even started to relax into it, but at these words, pulled away.

‘How can I, Erestor? My king is missing and I fear it is my fault! My lack of watchfulness, my misinterpreting of his moods... he could be anywhere, he could be injured, perhaps... there might be spiders, or... or wargs, it has been a while since there were wargs, true, and we do not generally have problems with them around the palace, and only ever in the worst of winter, but...’

‘It is not likely, then, is it, my dear friend, that there are wargs to consider? Do you think, perhaps, you are worrying overmuch?’

‘No,’ the advisor said, with a ghost of a rueful smile. ‘Yes, perhaps there will not be wargs. But my king is still missing, he has taken his elk, and he could be anywhere by now!’

‘Really? You last saw him when, exactly?’

‘After the meeting with the Dale delegation; in the afternoon, yesterday. I saw them out after his majesty had left the Throne Room.’

‘Then that is less than a day; he cannot be quite anywhere...’

‘Perhaps my concern made me exaggerate.’

‘Quite understandably. Now, if you are feeling a little calmer, we should begin making discreet enquiries throughout the palace.’

‘Discreet? As in ‘have any of you seen our king lately?’ How, exactly, to ask such a thing and stay discreet?’

‘One could say... ‘Master Parvon, I seem to have misplaced a note from his majesty saying he was going riding... I do not suppose you happen to know where he might be headed?’ perhaps?’

Arveldir shook his head.

‘It is a good thought, but nobody would be fooled for a moment – you or I, misplace something? Unimaginable!’ He sighed, and found a wan smile. ‘But you cheer me, my friend. No, I think we must put our hope in the Dragon Warriors – and in our prince.’

*

It had been some time since Triwathon had slept out of doors, the captain-in-training thought as he woke to dappled light filtering through the leaves overhead. He stretched with care on the narrow flet and sat up to look around him. 

Across the boards, Sarnor was still in reverie, his glazed eyes staring emptily upwards, while Faenith was standing with a hand on the trunk of the tree, gazing out into the forest. She looked round as Triwathon rolled onto his feet.

‘Good morning, Captain.’

‘Good morning; I’ve slept later than I intended; my apologies.'

Faenith shook her head. ‘You took the first watch, after all. I took over from Sarnor not two hours ago; it is not more than an hour past muster time, in the palace.’

‘And how was the watch?’

‘Peaceful. Just the usual noises of the forest; small creatures stirring, the song of the trees... nothing of significance.’

‘Very good. I’ll take over for your last hour.’

‘Thank you, Captain. I’m rested enough; may I go to the river?’

‘If you bring back some water for breakfast.’

‘Of course, Captain.’

*

Of course, they should have expected depleted numbers, Legolas realised. Bregon had sent out four trainees the previous evening, and each had a Dragon Warrior as well as a regular guard with them, so the eighteen Dragon Hearts were become ten... it was barely enough...

‘Commanders, if I can have a moment...?’ Legolas said, as soon as Rawon had finished his inspection, and was looking to hand over. ‘I have need of all the Dragon Hearts today, if that won’t put you to too much trouble?’

‘Feel free,’ Bregon said with a shrug.

‘Has something happened?’ Pedir asked. ‘That is, my warriors are at your disposal, of course, ernilen. And if I may help, also...?’

‘Thank you, I was hoping to have your expertise. And Commander Bregon, if you’re not busy...?’

Bregon gave a good-natured smile. 

‘Nothing that won’t keep, Argallor. Especially as all my warriors are under your command.’

‘Excellent. My thanks.’

Returning to where the Dragon Warriors waited, he turned to address them.

‘All right, there’s been a change in the day’s orders,’ he said. ‘Meet outside Callordor Govon’s office for instructions in ten minutes. Someone – who’s Runner today? Ah, good, Amathel. Seek out Arveldir and ask him for the maps. Bring them – or him, with them, to me in the office as swiftly as you might. Dismissed. Commanders – will you join me?’

Inside Govon’s office, he propped himself against the edge of the desk and eyed the three Commanders. How much to say was a problem; Govon knew all, of course...

But that was down to nothing more than coincidence, really, him being there at the breakfast meeting when Arveldir had arrived in a fluster, all three were his Commanders, equally deserving of trust...

‘You’re right, Pedir,’ he began after a moment. ‘Something has happened. At some point between yesterday afternoon and this morning’s breakfast meetings, my father went out riding on his elk, and he has not yet returned.’

Bregon and Pedir exchanged glances; Legolas gave them a moment before continuing.

‘The first I knew of it was when Lord Arveldir came to my morning meeting with Erestor to say his majesty was not where he was expected to be. Now, it may simply be that the king has gone out to greet the dawn in the forest, leaving word, somewhere, and the message has not been relayed to us, and he might be back at any moment. But it may also be that he’s managed to get himself into trouble, somewhere...’ He paused at a knock on the door; Arveldir and Erestor with the prospective routes... ‘Come in, and my thanks. Would you lay out the maps...? Excellent. Commanders, we think the king may be on one or other of the marked trails here...’

Bregon tilted his head to see. ‘Five routes, ten warriors... send them out by twos?’

‘Yes. I’d like Govon with me, and a couple of the Grey Dragons from the original Court Guard to explore away from the probable routes... but that would mean you and Bregon helping out, Pedir...’

‘Of course,’ Pedir said. ‘Laemen, he can be my lieutenant.’

‘And I’ll gladly help; Rhonir can work with me.’

‘Argallor, Thiriston has shown himself skilled at reading the forest,’ Govon suggested. ‘And Canadion with him?’

‘They’ll do, yes. Commander Bregon, if you could let us know where your trainees are lodged...?’

‘It’s even possible they might know something; they left yestereve...’ Bregon looked over the map and pointed. 'I've two units headed this way, they will take up positions here and here... Triwathon’s out of the way to the north, here... and another team this way... plus flets around them are already populated...’

‘We should enquire of the flet guards,’ Legolas said. ‘A leading question, but not an out-and-out enquiry.’

‘Rawon gets daily reports from all the outpost flets anyway... I suppose we should let him know what’s going on,’ Bregon said. ‘But then it will run through the regulars like fleas on a warg...’

Govon grinned suddenly.

‘Well... we could say... our king, interested in seeing how keen we all are, has ridden out to test our response capability...'

‘We could... if we had to...’ Arveldir replied. ‘But I am not sure how it would help...?’

‘Since, if Rawon thinks it’s an initiative test for the guard, he is less likely to mention the king is abroad...’

Arveldir sighed and shook his head.

‘I do not know! Indeed, I am quite afraid it will be all over the palace in an hour that Thranduil is missing, run off into the forest in a most inappropriate manner not at all fitting to his station...’

‘Oh, he wouldn’t do that, Arveldir,’ Legolas said. ‘One thing about our king; he never forgets his dignity. Well, so Govon and I, with Thiriston and Canadion, will cast around for any word from the forest. The rest of you, take a trail each, you’re looking for elk spoor, any sign our king has passed that way... you should have no problems, Nelleron’s antlers are so wide they’re likely to score the foliage on either side of the narrower trails... head out for half a day and send word back as soon as you find anything.’

‘And if we don’t?’

‘Then we reconvene here this evening. But I am sure we will have news,’ Legolas said firmly.

Because, quite simply, they had to find his father.

*

An over-excited bird call from the direction of the river alerted Triwathon to the fact that Faenith had found something. Since the call woke Sarnor, the trainee-captain decided he could safely declare the night watches finished and go and see what the fuss was about.

He found his allegedly-experienced lieutenant down at the water’s edge, obviously excited about something.

‘Look! Look!’ she exclaimed. ‘Prints! Have you seen the like before? They are huge!’

Indeed, there were several large two-toed prints pressed into the soft earth around the shore of the river.

‘Indeed, I have never seen prints bigger,’ Triwathon agreed. ‘Did you hear any elk come through during your watch? For I did not.’

‘No, nothing so large... a creature this size, it would have made considerable noise!’

‘Well, make a note in the duty log – it is not a significant event, but it will serve to show we are observant, at least.’

‘Yes, Captain.’

‘And since you’re taking the water back, Lieutenant, you could ask Sarnor to start the fire.’

‘Will do, sir.’

Left alone with the prints, Triwathon cast around, seeking further details to log in the report... an elk had come to the water to drink... so what did it matter?

...So, of all the many places where an elk could drink, it picked the point closest to one of the main trails? And, when one looks back along the trail... yes, it seems a large animal had passed along the track, brushing against the foliage to either side... and scraping the bark of one of the trees, high up... so, antlers... wide antlers, or why catch against the bark? No more prints on the back trail, but then, the ground was dry there... but close to the river, and where one might expect a wild creature to take the easy route along the edge of the water, here not especially overgrown, the prints led almost directly back to the main trail... and it was unusual, too, for a wild elk to spend so much time on a frequently-marched route...

There! Ahead, two clear prints in the softer earth where the trail ran close to the waterside, just where the trees converged, and...

Something dangling and glinting; it looked almost as if the bush was holding something out to him, a small and glittery thing, flat and polished with a hole drilled into it and a thread – no, not a thread – a length of crocheted chain threaded through it... a dragon scale, such as once had decorated Nelleron’s antlers...

Carefully he detached the scale and its crocheted chain, wrapping the yarn around and putting the whole thing into his pocket. Well, that would be something to tell his lieutenants, that Nelleron had escaped his stables and was on the rut...!

Except...

It was a little early for the rut; there were always notices posted, reminding the unwary that the forests could be full of over-emotional bucks... and wasn’t Nelleron part of the Elk-Tamers’ breeding programme? They wouldn’t just let him out, and Triwathon was fairly certain that, even if they did, they would insist on taking off the decorations from his antlers first...

No, this had to be one of those ‘little surprises’ Bregon said he wasn’t going to subject them to. Only, you could generally trust Bregon. And it wasn’t likely the commander would have access to Nelleron’s antler decorations...

Maybe it was from higher up, this test, then? A trial of trustworthiness, of discretion? For Argallor Legolas, now, he would have access to the elk, and might have his own reasons for seeing what Triwathon would make of the unexpected antler decoration...

Deciding not to mention the matter to Faenith and Sarnor, he headed back to the glade at the foot of the flet-tree where a little cookfire was beginning to show signs of productivity.

‘Did you find anything else?’ Faenith asked.

Was it likely she was in on the test (if such it was) too? Would he have noticed the prints, if she had not called his attention to them...?

Suddenly, he wondered who he could trust.

‘One or two more tracks, nothing more. It seems an elk, a large-antlered creature, came along the main trail, possibly some hours ahead of us, to judge from the wilting of the leaves broken by its passing, paused to drink at the river, and then went off along the path ahead. We need to watch out, in case the rut has started a few weeks early. So we must keep ourselves alert. But I do not think it is of significance. They are only prints. Just prints.’


	334. A Shining, Golden Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the search for Thranduil begins...

If Legolas and Govon had been hoping to get everyone underway without encountering Over-captain Rawon, they were disappointed. True, the routes and instructions had been assigned, and they were but moments away from setting out along their various trails, but, still, Rawon’s loud voice hailed them briskly.

‘Argallor, Commanders, what is this?’

Seeing an exchange of furtive looks, and realising the foolishness of demanding explanations from Legolas, who could turn in a heartbeat from amenable Argallor to icily superior prince, he turned to Govon as the most likely to give him answers.

‘I heard something about the king... Well?’

Glancing over at Legolas, at the other commanders, inspiration struck suddenly.

‘You mean, you do not know, Over-captain?’

‘Know what?’

Govon slid his eyes sideways towards Legolas and addressed him instead.

‘Argallor, do you think we should...?’

‘Not if we can help it,’ Legolas said. ‘Rawon... to speak as my father’s son for a moment, and not as Argallor... Adar had an idea and... well, if he has not told you about it, perhaps he had a reason for that and to thwart his intentions...’

‘I see,’ Rawon said, not seeing in the slightest but feeling vaguely uneasy and wondering if to enquire further might make his future position less comfortable. ‘Very well, direct and private orders from the king... but if there were any danger, you would say so?’

‘Of course, Over-captain,’ Govon said.

‘But naturally, Rawon,’ Legolas said. ‘Commanders, will you give your orders?’

The other warriors dispatched on their respective routes, Rawon retreated to drill some of his regulars, and Govon turned his attention to Thiriston and Canadion, still standing smartly and awaiting instruction.

‘Stand down and listen. You two are with us today. Thiriston, you read the forest as well as any warrior I know and, Canadion, you’re practically family anyway.’

‘Which may not seem appropriate,’ Legolas put in, seeing Canadion restrain himself from asking. ‘But it is, since you pair, of all the warriors, are going to be given the facts of the matter.’

‘We’re looking for the king’s elk,’ Govon said. ‘Who may have gone missing from his stables as long ago as yesterday afternoon.’

‘But, if I may, do not the elk-handlers at the stable know?’ Canadion asked.

‘Nobody is admitting to anything. It quite often happens that the elk is taken for exercise during the evening, and once the last feeds are done, nobody checks until morning. And, sometimes, apparently, Nelleron hides amongst the trees in his paddock just for the joy of it... it is, as Arveldir has already noted, most unsatisfactory...’

‘Suppose the king isn’t happy that his elk is lost?’ Thiriston said. ‘Or... No... That’s not it, is it? Not just the elk that’s missing...?’

‘Exactly so. We think it probable that the king has ridden out and has forgotten to say where. Or the one trusted with the message has failed to pass it on. Now, it could be that my father has simply risen early and gone out, but Arveldir is rather worried that this is not the case. We need to read the forest to see if there is any hint of him... I begin to think he’s not following any of the suggested trails...’

‘Understood. Where shall we start, ernilen? And do we stay together, or split the work? You read the forest better than I, after all...’

‘A sweep. We’ll start over the bridge, you begin at the trail to the Sacred Grove, we work towards each other and meet up approximately at the gate in the Healers’ Hall gardens.’

‘Very good, my prince.’

*

‘The trouble is,’ Legolas complained gently as he released himself from commune with the fourth tree he’d consulted so far, ‘that time is so very fluid for the trees. As for us, the years go past in a flicker... but trees have less reason to mark the passing of the days... so to pin something down to within a few hours... to find the context... Adar and Nelleron did, indeed, ride past here, towards the sun’s setting, but not at the time of setting... and it was after the last snows... but before the last rains...’

‘Well, it hasn’t rained for two days now... so not here, then.’

‘No. I’ll try the elm across the way, there, next.’

And on from tree to tree with a stroke of the bark and a greeting to each, sliding through the undergrowth towards the next trail... then the process of finding a suitable tree – one that was talkative, not sleepy, attuned enough to recognise the fëa of the king, and time spent connecting, chatting first about the quality of the air, the richness of the water-softened soil, the patterns of the sunlight... and finally, Legolas could bring the attention of the tree to the matter of the king and his elk...

They met with Thiriston and Canadion at the gate more than an hour later.

‘Good news, my prince!’ Canadion said. ‘Thiriston is sure he has word of our king!’

‘Yes? That is excellent indeed – we have no tidings at all, not of recent sightings...’

‘This way, ernilen, Commander... An oak, one I’ve known from when both it and I were saplings. It projects a sense of the elk and the king, after the rains, after the full moon, before the last setting sun. And there is more possible evidence, also... we did not examine it too closely lest it be damaged...’

Thiriston led them easily through the forest to a stalwart oak where he stopped and stroked its bark, beckoning Legolas forwards.

‘If you will, my prince?’

‘Oh, I don’t doubt your interpretations, Thiriston,’ Legolas said. ‘But I will greet your tree.’

He advanced and laid his hand against the deeply crenelated bark, letting his awareness seep through his fingers into the tree’s heartwood, announcing himself and feeling the surge and patterns of the life of the great oak, making the connection and taking a moment before presenting his query to the tree...

Disengaging some minutes later, he nodded.

‘Yes, it sounds like Adar. My thanks, Thiriston; I am grateful.’

‘We’re close to the main route to the hythe,’ Govon pointed out. ‘And Bregon sent some of his trainees this way.’

‘True. But I don’t understand, why would Adar go to the hythe? Unless he really is just out for a ride? And if so, he’s been out all night...’

‘Canadion found something else,’ the big elf said. ‘It’s not on the road to the hythe, it’s down this way.’

‘Lead on, then, Canadion.’

A seldom-used trail it was, close, one of the many almost-invisible tracks through the forest. The Silvans knew them, and used them from time to time, as need demanded.   
This particular track meandered off from the main route at more-or-less right angles, bending away and into the depths of the forest. After about ten minutes, Canadion stopped and pointed ahead.

‘You can see the young silver birch there? The one on the right, with the cross banding on the bark at shoulder height?’

‘Yes, we see,’ Legolas said.

‘Look higher. Ernilen, you will remember at what height Nelleron carried his antlers; the path is narrow here, and...’

And there was a faint scoring on the bark, as if a wide set of antlers had caught in passing.

‘Well spotted, Canadion. Any other evidence?’

‘As you can see, some of the foliage has been bent aside by the passing of a large body. But once I found this, we went back to await you.’

‘Well, we’ve plenty of time before we need to turn back. Shall we explore on? Will you take the trail, Canadion, Govon? Thiriston and I will go through the canopy on alternate sides of the track.’

‘I’ll take the near side, if I may, ernilen,’ Thiriston said. ‘There are more oaks ahead, and that’s where my affinity lies.’

Legolas nodded.

‘No need for secrecy. Just shout to keep in touch.’

Here and there along the track, other signs; broken leaves, bent branches. Up in the trees, Legolas and Thiriston were reading the forest as they went, but it took time to be certain, to be sure. Even so, a few of the trees remembered antlers stirring their lower branches, moving aside at the request of a shining, golden thought that passed by before the last sunset, brighter than the new day...

‘A shining, golden thought, your father will like that!’ Govon said with a grin when the appellation was passed on to him as they gathered further along the trail.

‘It seems to have been very recent, too,’ Legolas said. ‘There’s no doubt, now, we’re no longer just finding traces of him, we’re on his trail.’

‘But... we are going to need to turn back soon,’ Govon said.

‘We can push on for a little while; I doubt we’ll catch up with my father; he’s been out all night and yet there is no sense of alarm from the forest. It’s reasonable to assume he isn’t lying injured anywhere, the trees would have told us, and Adar seems to have a definite route in mind.’

‘What about a destination?’ Govon asked. ‘After all, there isn’t a lot out here, except hunting trails.’

‘True. Well, back to the canopy, Thiriston. The trail diverges a mile or so ahead, I think; we’ll reconvene there.’

And at the splitting of the trail, nothing.

In fact, apart from the rumour of the trees, there had been no trace of Thranduil or Nelleron for half a mile or more.

‘Now what?’ Thiriston asked.

‘Firstly, thank you, both of you, for finding signs of my father and the elk,’ Legolas said. ‘We should head back, and see how the others got on...’

‘But... ernilen, if we have found our king’s trail, then how could any of the others...?’

‘They’ve been led to believe this is all a training exercise, Canadion,’ Govon said. ‘And it would be to the benefit of all concerned if they continue to think so.’

‘Of course,’ Canadion said quickly. ‘So our king could have left several trails, possibly.’

Govon, who hadn’t thought of that particular addition to the story, raised an appreciative eyebrow.

‘It’s quite possible,’ he said. ‘Well done, Canadion!’

*

To Govon’s private amusement, on their return to the office for the reports session, they found that traces of Thranduil and Nelleron had been found on two of the trails south, both fairly close to the route taken home from the ill-fated meeting with Imladris. But as the warriors making the report hadn’t been part of that company, Legolas didn’t mention the fact.

‘What about tangible evidence?’ Legolas asked the gathered search parties. ‘Strands of elk-hair in the brush at the side of the trails? Spoor?’

Heads shaking all around.

‘Some bent foliage,’ one said. ‘And rumour of elk from the trees. But... perhaps more than one, so...’

‘Well, not to worry. Well done, all of you, that’s good work. We’ll have written reports of your findings for tomorrow, thank you. And dismissed, everyone; enjoy your dinners.’

‘And that’s it?’ Govon asked when they were on their way to the King’s Office. ‘Well done and good work, enjoy your dinners?’

‘Well, what should I have said to them? We know where the king went, but we’re not telling you because then you might realise he’s actually lost? At least now we can eliminate some of the possibilities, which should please Arveldir...’

But arriving at the King’s Office, they were met by Parvon, the assistant.

‘He is not here, I am afraid, ernilen,’ Parvon said. ‘Master Erestor took him off about an hour ago.’

‘Something about blackberrying,’ Merenor added, from within an open-doored office where he was doing something strange with leather and wood. ‘But they were headed towards Arveldir’s private study, I think...’

*

There was a few moments’ delay before Erestor opened the door to Govon’s knock. 

‘Will you step in, Commander, my prince? Have you news?’

‘My prince, is all well?’ Arveldir asked, coming forward to greet them. 

The advisor looked a little dishevelled, but indicated seats and found wine to pass round as if all was well.

‘Yes, there is news, and good news, at that.’

‘Thank the Valar!’ Erestor muttered.

‘It is limited,’ Legolas added. ‘But with Thiriston and Canadion’s help, we have found my father’s trail. He passed along the first stages of the road to the hythe before sunset yesterday, on his elk, and appears to have turned inwards along one of the hunting trails...’

Already Arveldir was unrolling a map of the relevant part of the forest for inspection.

‘Well, we can say he is not headed for Dale, then!’ The advisor let out a sigh of relief. ‘Which means less likelihood of having to find my way through a major diplomatic incident with the good merchants... really, his majesty was most determined in the negotiations...’

‘But where is our king going?’ Erestor asked. ‘I do not know your forest well, but it seems to me there is nothing in that direction except trees and, eventually, hills...’

‘Just hunting trails,’ Govon said. ‘But if you were determined, you could use them to get behind the outpost flets – they more or less ring the palace area, you know, and then extend out along the major routes... if you were wanting to escape notice...’

‘As certainly seems to be the case,’ Arveldir said in clipped tones. ‘Oh, when his majesty returns, I will have a thing or two to say to him...’

‘But he is well, he is safe?’ Erestor asked.

‘It seems so – the forest would have told if there had been any accident. So it seems more than just going out for a ride, it appears my father intended a journey...’

‘We have established, not Dale, not the hythe... and, yes, he might wish to avoid notice from the flet guards... but as for heading to Lothlórien to bid farewell to your brothers, my prince, he would not be in time for that, not even on Nelleron, and taking this route would add a day to the journey...’

‘I wonder...’ Govon furtled amongst the maps, much to Arveldir’s displeasure, until he came up with one that showed all the forest and the lands south. ‘Lothlórien is out of reach, yes – but weren’t they meeting up with Cirdan’s envoy there, and travelling down to meet up with a small ship below the falls of Rauros? Now, it’s a longer journey from here, but if the travelling party were to rest for a day or two – as might be likely... they still have to make their way down the river, while if you were to ride like the hordes of Morgoth were at your back on a big, swift elk...’

‘...you would have no time to spare for fancy diversions around the watch flets!’ Arveldir put in, retrieving the map and rolling it up. ‘No, on reflection, why would our king ride out to bid the princes another farewell? He is not the sort to linger on partings...’

Govon shrugged; it had not been his idea that the king would ride south, anyway.

‘So, Rawon thinks this is all some kind of elaborate test of the guard’s response-times, only the commanders and Thiriston and Canadion know what’s going on. And only us, and Canadion and Thiriston, know where the king’s trail is.’ Legolas sipped at his wine. ‘All we have to do now is work out why.’

‘What do we do next?’ Erestor asked.

‘We should give thought to what my father might be up to. We should reconvene in the morning – the breakfast meeting would be a good time – to discuss our thoughts.’ Legolas dipped his head. ‘Next, Govon and I have to change and go to supper with Merlinith and Araspen. If we don’t go, she’ll be all upset... and, mellyn-nin, one upsets Merlinith at one’s peril.’


	335. On the Trail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas, and Govon, set out to follow the king...

Pausing for one last look at his sleeping spouse was a mistake, since Legolas couldn't help but bend to place a final kiss on his forehead.

Of course, as soon as he did, Govon reached out for him, to make more of the touch of lips to forehead.

'Why are you not in bed, my fair elf?'

'I have to go out, friend captain. I think I know what Ada's up to.'

Govon pushed up in the bed, abandoning all hope of an amorous interlude.

'You know where he is?'

‘Perhaps.’ Legolas nodded. 'But I have to go alone. He won't be glad to see me, I think. It's... too private for him.'

'But it's late, you can't be wandering in the forest alone...'

Legolas sighed.

'No, it’s just early. Very, very early. You can come with me part way, if you like. I'll be glad of the company, but we need to hurry.'

Govon was already dressing.

‘...I must just write a note for Arveldir, so he won’t be tearing his hair out when he arrives for the breakfast meeting and finds us gone as well...’

'Oh, good, then I can read it, too... unless you’re going to tell me what this is all about?'

'I can't say. It's... if I'm right, he's not going to want to be found... you know how private he is.'

Govon shook his head.

'So I'm to leave my bed in the dark of night and go tramping through the forest and Ada-in-honour is too private for me to know why?'

Legolas grinned as he threw Govon's archery kit across to him.

'Go back to bed, then.'

'No.' Govon grinned back as he caught and slung his quiver and arrows. 'Well? I thought we were in a hurry?'

‘Let me just finish this note...’

*

'I love the forest like this,' Legolas said once they were underway. 'I know it is dark, and dangerous at times, but... so are we.'

'Yes. There's something about a night march.'

'Over the bridge and towards the river. Not too direct... we know flet four has a watch, so we need to assume some of the others are also occupied.'

'Up to the canopy?'

Legolas shook his head. 'How can we hold hands in the canopy?'

Govon laughed and took the hand extended to him.

'True. We have a clear hour before we need to worry about flet guards.'

Legolas’ hand in his was warm and friendly, and if it meant they would be a fraction of a second slower to respond, were there danger, they were close enough to the palace, and within the protective circle of the flets, for it to not matter.

‘One thing I don’t understand,’ Govon said as Legolas took them onto one of the smaller trails. ‘Why are we not retracing our steps from this morning?’

‘I was thinking earlier. The right-hand trail leads only to the trout streams. Beyond that, there’s not much until the forest falls away into willow meads and marshes. Now, I know Ada’s fëa-tree is a willow, but the ground’s not good for the elk... thinking about what you said, about using the hunting trails to get behind the watch flets... Ada would know flet four’s occupied from the daily reports... we can cut out a good loop of the trail this way.’

‘And after flet four? You do know where he’s gone, I hope, you’re not just guessing?’

‘Nothing is certain with Adar, you know that...’ Legolas sighed. ‘I have an idea or two... he might have decided to ride out to some of the northern settlements...’

‘Without saying? Why?’

‘Because Arveldir would have tried to talk him out of it, I think. Because how could he visit one, and not all? The others would feel slighted... so it would become a Royal Procession, a state visit, with all the village elders informed, and the settlements brushed and polished and tidied up for the occasion. Everything not perfect hidden away. And so you never get a sense of what life is really like there...’

‘A bit like tonight at Merlinith’s?’ Govon suggested, making Legolas laugh.

‘Yes, I suppose... she went to such an effort, and it was lovely. But I know from when we were courting, that’s not how she usually lives; there’s always bits of sewing on the chair by the fire, and books lying around. I think, for whatever reason, Ada just wants to reconnect with the people of the forest, the Silvans who haven’t been living in or around the palace for so long that they’ve begun to feel too easy, too settled... of course, I could be wrong.’

‘And it only explains, why not tell Arveldir? It doesn’t answer why go off in the first place... unless there’s something you’re not saying?’

‘We’re going to need to cut behind the line of flets soon,’ Legolas said. ‘Time to head up into the canopy. We’ll follow the line of the beech for twenty minutes, then look for the sweet chestnuts and bear east of north for a time before swinging round. Come on, give me a kiss; it’ll be the last chance for a while – and let’s get moving.’

*

The darkness was no handicap. The sleepy trees rustled and stirred as Legolas and Govon ran along their branches, leapt from one to another. Roosting birds chuckled alarm calls occasionally, but in general, the two moved so silently, so swiftly that they were gone before the wildlife could do much more than stir in sleep.

After more than two hours had slid by, Govon reached out a hand to stay Legolas’ advance.

‘We’re getting near flet nine, I think.’

‘Yes.’

‘Triwathon’s there with two flet guards, of course. Captain’s training.’

‘I know.’ Legolas’ grin flashed brightly. ‘That’s where we’re headed. If my guess is right, there’s only one trail wide enough for Nelleron’s antlers, and Father will have joined it at the last possible moment – just before flet nine. If we’re going to pick up his trail, it’s a good place to start.’

*

‘Captain?’

Faenith’s low voice broke into Triwathon’s reverie and he came alert at once.

‘Faenith, what is it?’

‘Signals in the forest.’

‘Identifiers?’

‘None yet. But it included the ‘outpost alert’ signal. Came from canopy south east of the backtrail. I haven’t replied yet.’

Triwathon got to his feet and buckled on his quiver, slinging his bow. It was, he judged, an hour or so from dawn, well into Faenith’s watch. Across the flet, Sarnor was also awake, looking curiously out into the darkness.

A series of falling birdcalls soared through the canopy, a query call for the outpost.

Clearing his throat, Triwathon cupped his hands in front of his face and sent off the identify query and adding his own identification call at the end.

Presently, from closer at hand now, the reply; two calls, two different signals.

‘Did you get that?’ Faenith asked.

‘Yes, I know those calls. Commander Govon, and our Argallor Legolas. Light a lamp, Sarnor; I think reverie is over for the night.’

Presently, a shiver in the trees, a rustle, and low voices.

‘Triwathon, may we approach?’

‘Be welcome, Argallor, Commander Govon.’

And Legolas stepped into the circle of lamplight, followed by Govon, who grinned.

‘Congratulations on your first command, Triwathon. We thought we’d make it a little bit more interesting for you. Anything to report?’

Triwathon laughed.

‘Begging your pardon, Commander, but not to you. To my own Commander, or the senior rank present. Ernilen Argallor, may I make my report to you?’

Legolas grinned.

‘I see you’re getting the hang of things nicely, Triwathon. Yes, go ahead.’

‘Quiet, good weather, the forest is easy. Yester morn, Faenith found tracks at the river... spoor of a large elk. Subsequent investigation showed the animal had been on the back trail, come down to drink at the river, and then moved on along the main trail. From damage to the foliage, I would estimate it came through sometime during the afternoon before the night we got here.’

‘Interesting. How far along the trail?’

‘At least a quarter of a mile; I didn’t look further on, having the flet to guard. I’ll show you, when the daylight comes.’

‘Very well.’

‘We’ll be breaking our fast, soon. Will you join us?’

*

It had been hard not to betray any interest in the tracks with Sarnor and Faenith present, hard not to start questioning there and then, but Legolas kept quiet and so Govon, too, feigned interest so mild that it was almost bordering on disinterest. Whether or not Triwathon was fooled, they couldn’t have said, but certainly, as soon as it was light and the dawn chorus had subsided into the more normal patterns of birdsong for the day, Legolas got to his feet.

‘You’d better show me these tracks, then.’

‘Of course, Argallor. I should say, Faenith discovered them first.’

‘Noted.’

‘Sarnor, Faenith, it’s time we began packing up. I’ll be at the river with the Argallor. Commander, would you care to join us?’

‘Thanks... I think I will.’

They stared at the now-less-than-pristine tracks in the water’s edge for a few moments in silence.

‘Was there something else, Triwathon?’ Legolas asked, and the trainee captain nodded and beckoned along the trail.

‘If you see here, my prince... and, on this shrub...’ He reached inside his jerkin and retrieved the crochet-wrapped dragon scale. ‘I think you might recognise it.’

‘Indeed. Triwathon, do any of the others know about this?’

‘No, ernilen. I thought... I wasn’t sure if the tracks were a test or such, but the scale? That’s from the king’s elk, and I deemed it unlikely Nelleron would be part of any test of observation.’

‘Thank you, Triwathon. I know we can rely on you to keep this matter to yourself...’

‘Of course, ernilen.’

‘Our thanks. Commander Govon will stay at the flet, and return with you to the palace.’

‘Oh, I will, will i?’ Govon asked.

‘Yes. You can bring a small party – very small – to the flet here in three days. I may be longer, but if so, I’ll send word. Triwathon, I’ll raid your supplies for some lembas, and then I’ll be on my way.’

‘I’ll organise that for you now, my prince.’

‘I’ll come back to the foot of the flet for it.’

Alone with Legolas, Govon moved closer.

‘Really? You’re going on ahead, alone... without me?’

‘Really, I am. I am sorry, Govon. Adar isn’t going to be pleased to see me... I don’t want you getting caught up in this. It’s daylight now, I can make it to shelter by nightfall, if that’s what’s worrying you...’

‘It’s more that I’ll miss you.’

‘And I you. But I need someone to calm Arveldir down, and I know I can trust you for that... or at least to get Erestor on our side, and he can do the soothing...’

‘I suppose we’re too near the flet for a proper farewell...?’

‘Not at all. Now, come here and kiss me, my friend captain.’

‘Not quite what I meant... perhaps I should have said an improper farewell?’

Legolas laughed.

‘Much too near, you know what you do to me, they might think we were being attacked...’

He drew closer, snuggling his arms around his fëa-mate as he lifted to a kiss that was almost, but not quite, chaste.

‘I love you, Govon, friend husband, friend captain, and I am sorry I cannot take you with me.’

Govon sighed.

‘As long as you are safe, I suppose...’

‘Thank you. I will be fine. After all, Adar has come this way. If there were any danger, he, and Nelleron, will have eradicated it.’  
It was hard, parting from Govon at the flet, and Legolas could see the resignation in Govon’s eyes. He noted, also, that Triwathon looked at them both with sympathy, and his voice, when he spoke, was more gentle than usual.

‘Be well, Argallor, my prince. All has been calm, you should meet with no difficulties, certainly as far as flet twelve. If you need it, you can resupply there.’

‘Thank you, Captain.’ Legolas had no intention of going along the trail of flets, but he wasn’t telling Triwathon that. ‘Govon, good luck with Arveldir; I’ll see you soon.’

Legolas waited for Govon’s nod of acknowledgement and then was gone, along the trail after his father and Nelleron, into the northern reaches of the forest at an easy lope.

He reached out to the forest as he ran, projecting an image of his father, that shining, golden thought, opening his mind to word from the woodland realm enfolding him, allowing himself to be drawn and led forwards. He passed beneath flet ten, empty at present, and saw a bent back leaf. Pausing, he checked for the buried earthenware crock where the dry stores were kept, and found them less than full, suggesting someone had passed by recently and stopped to replenish supplies.

He continued on, always asking, always listening, and morning drew past mid-morning and on towards noon when the forest steered him off the guard trail and on to a small hunting track. He went more slowly now, keen not to lose touch with his father’s progress. Although he had a pretty good idea where he was going – and all the evidence suggested he was right – there was always the chance that Adar would change his mind, turn off somewhere.

Presently the forest opened up, became less dense and Legolas moved through dappled shade from the tall and elegant silver birch with their soft, sweet voices in harmony with the abundance of rowan that shared this particular valley. Occasional scuffs in the leaf litter suggested a large creature had been through recently, and the trees projecting a sense of dignified golden light reinforced Legolas’ sense that he was still following.

The ground ahead rose, and through the slender silvered trunks Legolas could see touches of gold and red tinting the trees as autumn advanced across the forest. Where the red tones were in shadow, they looked almost like burnished burgundy, reminding him of the colours of Govon’s hair.

Too hard, to leave him behind, unfair... but Adar would not want anyone to know, not even Legolas, it seemed, where he was going, what he was up to.

Silver birch and rowan gave way to elm and ash, sweet chestnut and hazel as morning passed into afternoon. Legolas stopped to eat lembas and sip water, his back to a hazel, and thought about the colour of his husband’s eyes. Govon would be back at the palace now, giving Triwathon something to report about, perhaps giving Arveldir some reassurance.

Well. Time was pressing. Legolas knew full well there was no chance that he, on foot, would catch up with his father on the trail, but he was growing more and more certain with every tree he spoke to that his guess was right and it was just a case of finding the right village before nightfall. 

Either that or spend the night in reverie in the canopy.

The forest was helpful, complicit, even, and allowed him to hasten through, encouraging him on, so that he made excellent time and passed through a half-wild orchard of pear and apple and quince just as the light was beginning to grow thin and the sun lost its warmth.

He slowed, stopped, got his bearings.

Many years since he’d been to these flet villages, and then on the main routes, part of a formal royal visit, not on these little, private paths. But he was a mile out, no more than two at most, he thought, and continued on in light-hearted hope.

Twenty minutes later, it happened. The trees had been growing quiet, and he had assumed it was because he was nearing his destination. Certainly there was no sense of danger from anywhere around him.

But suddenly there was a swift signalled call, one he didn’t recognise, and a rustle, and even as he went to draw his knives something cannoned into him and knocked him to the floor. Acting instinctively, he rolled, getting to his feet to find himself surround by a dozen pairs of hostile, feral eyes and from somewhere, a low and guttural growl reminded him that this forest was full of surprises...


	336. The Woodland King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil goes riding...

The meeting with the people of Dale had been everything Thranduil had expected, only worse. Short-sighted, selfish, money-grabbing humans wanting only to squeeze every last penny from the populace, charging them taxes for a roads they would not be able to afford to use, since it was to end in a toll bridge with footings on Thranduil’s lands...

Well, he had certainly directed their thoughts into a more proper way of thinking...!

Not that it afforded him much pleasure that he had lost his temper so much that his face had flickered and the ghost of his dragonscars had haunted him for a moment; he had seen their faces change, drain of colour, and knew the argument won, the meeting over, but where once he would have delighted in their discomposure, now he felt only impatience and contempt.

Exiting the Throne Room, he had retired to his rooms for an hour to pace and fret and brood...

It was no good. He had been feeling increasingly constrained, trammelled, trapped, and although he had spoken of riding out with Legolas, the dread on Arveldir’s face had given him pause and, on reflection, no horse could match Nelleron’s pace; for such a journey as Thranduil had in mind, Legolas would not be able to keep up and, in fact, might not like his father’s intended destination.

And who could wonder at that, if they knew?

But if he stayed here, Thranduil knew, something in him would shatter. The only thing of late that eased the tightness, the constriction of his life, was the Dorwinion, and Arveldir had been monitoring how many bottles left the cellars and made their way to the king’s rooms, and he wondered how long it would be before the ultimate insult – watered wine – would be offered.

Oh, he knew the advisor was worried – Arveldir had lived through Thranduil’s dark times before... but this time, what was there to lift him out of them again? Whence, now, would come any light in the darkness?

Only if Thranduil sought his own salvation would he have any chance of avoiding that terrible plunge into the abyss of despair.

He changed his regal finery for something more suited to the forest; a dark green wool cloak to drape over his grey shirt and tunic, buckled a lhang to his belt and made his way to the stables by the back corridors, waiting until the stable attendants were elsewhere before slipping into Nellron’s stall.

The elk snuffed a greeting and Thranduil instantly felt himself growing calmer as he buried his fingers into the thick pelt and scratched Nelleron’s neck.

‘Will you bear me company, dear friend?’ he murmured. ‘Will you carry me through our forest, help me on my search?’

*

It took but moments to find the harness for Nelleron, to swing into place on the elk’s back, to attach the bedroll and small pack Thranduil had brought behind the light cloth saddle. Pointing the elk’s nose across the paddock towards the forest, he rode towards the fence, encouraging Nelleron on, and with a leap they cleared the obstacle, and were between the trees and out of sight of the palace.

A few moments to listen to the forest, to acknowledge the greetings of the trees – for he was their king, they in his care – and Thranduil turned Nelleron towards the main route to the hythe.

While he rode, he considered his options. There was always a light watch on the flets at this time of year, encircling the bounds of the palace, and the last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself...

It was a fine day for riding through the woods, however, the autumn settling its gentle colours across the trees, brushing them with gold and orange and red and Thranduil’s troubled fëa soothed a little more as he fell into the easy patterns of the trees around him.

Knowing where he wanted to go, he allowed himself to open to the forest and it to guide him, he to guide Nelleron through the glorious soft and growing lives around him, down the back trails and round, slowly round, to head for the river so the elk could drink.

Even with the trees moving kindly out of the way, Nelleron’s antlers were a wide spread, and as they approached the river, it became necessary to join the main flet trail, just for a little while. Thranduil dismounted so the elk could drink, watching as Nelleron buried his muzzle into the shallows, sucking up the water and lifting his great head with a wary eye on his surroundings.

‘Do not fear, mellon-nin,’ Thranduil said softly. ‘All is still, and quiet. You are safe, for our forest is enfolding us tonight.’

Yet there was something, and the forest bore news of it to the king... a small party of laughing walking thoughts, heading this way, far off, still, out in the beyond, but still...

‘Of course. Nelleron, you are right, as ever. There is a watch coming to the flet... one of Bregon’s training sessions, I suppose. Well, we had better move on, I think. When you are ready, of course.’

To stretch his legs as well as to give Nelleron’s back a rest, Thranduil walked now, leading the way, trusting the elk to follow. He paused presently as a rustle suggested a problem, looking back in time to see his friend shaking his antlers clear of the undergrowth.

‘Magnificent, those antlers of yours. Shedding soon, of course. You will move more freely, but you will have nowhere to hang your bells and fripperies for a time.’

*

An hour brought them to the glade at the foot of flet ten, as dusk was folding its blanket around the trees and flooding the undergrowth with ink. Thranduil unharnessed Nelleron and rubbed the furry face.

‘We are stopping here for the night. I will be just above you, on the flet. Call, if you are lonely, or anxious, but the trees will keep our perimeter secure tonight. Go and forage now, but do not go far. Yes? I will light a small fire and sit for a while. Come if I call, mellon-nin. There will be dried blackberries for your breakfast.’

His fire lit, for gazing into more than for warmth, Thranduil settled back amongst the tree roots with a sigh. 

In truth, he should be feeling lonely, out here, with no-one for company other than the trees. But somehow, that was not the case. Instead, it was as if layers of loneliness were dropping away from him as the air of the forest permeated his thoughts, his heart, his fëa... 

It was not good, perhaps, to live all the time in caves surrounded by stone. The rockwork was a fortress, yes, but it had begun to feel like a prison...

Briefly he spared a thought for those in the palace, for his son, his advisor... they would be worried, he supposed, if they had missed him; he ought to have told them he was riding out...

But Arveldir would have wanted him to take an escort, make a proper, formal trip of it, and that was not what Thranduil wanted. And Legolas...

He had so nearly asked Legolas to come with him.

But for them both to be away from the palace, and to separate his son from his husband would have been unkind. And then, where he was going, and why... if Legolas had misunderstood...

There seemed to be such a weight of expectation on his son’s shoulders, lately. And that was not, had never been, Thranduil’s intention. But however often he said, it does not matter that you will not be a father, it seemed instead as if it mattered more, so he had stopped saying it, focussing rather on showing he approved his son’s modern marriage, even if it did mean no elflings.

In truth, he really did not disapprove. Govon was a loving and caring mate, patient – perhaps too patient – with the demands made on a prince of the realm... he really must make a point of talking to Govon more, not just play-fighting with him, there was a keen mind there, a laughing heart behind the skilled blades.

Still, Legolas was at home, and if he knew his father was gone, then he had Govon to comfort and reassure him, and if Arveldir realised his king was missing, then he had Erestor to soothe his anxieties.

No doubt there would be a party on his trail at first light. 

Of course, he would be at his destination before they caught up with him, and that was the important thing. 

An hour, that was all he needed. Longer would be better, but an hour would do.

Finally, having eaten half a wafer of lembas and banked the fire, Thranduil picked up his bedroll and ascended the elm in which the guard flet was seated to settle on the platform. Wrapped around in his cloak and looking up through the branches, Thranduil watched the diamond twinkle of the stars until a peaceful reverie stole over him.

*

The whisper of the trees woke him as the darkness was turning to blue and he found an easy smile on his face for the first time in months, a sense of peace in his heart. From below, he heard a rustling and he leaned to look down at the base of the tree.

Nelleron, rubbing his head against a neighbouring beech, back from his night walks.

‘Good day to you, mellon-nin,’ Thranduil called down.

Hearing the familiar voice, Nelleron finished his scratching and looked round with a grunt. Thranduil gathered up his bedroll and descended to greet the animal, finding a little bag of dried blackberries in his pack to feed to his friend.

‘And so, I will down to the stream for a wash, replenish my store of lembas and dried fruit – you like the blackberries, and you may have those later, yes, but I want the apricots... and then we shall be off. By the end of today, you will have shelter and proper care, and so we will ride swiftly on.’

Within twenty minutes he was mounted up, all traces of his fire extinguished, hidden, and he rode swiftly through the forest, still communing, still communicating, but at a different level now, more easily and freely after a night spent amongst the trees.

The trail sped by under Nelleron’s easy lope, and soon they were on the hunting track that eventually led to silver birch and rowan as the forest eased and opened, elm and ash following, the sweet chestnut and hazels, gentle, friendly trees... 

‘Steady, mellon-nin, hold for a moment.’ 

Bringing Nelleron to a halt, Thranduil slid from his back and went to commune with a particularly beautiful sweet chestnut, its delicate leaves starting to fizzle with autumnal fire, spiky seed casings beginning to show promise for later in the season. Into its sentience he sent himself, a message to spread out to any who might hear, pass the word on: 

_I am coming._

*  
Afternoon was warm and heavy under the canopy when Nelleron found the pear and apple orchard, growing in an exuberant, half-tended sprawl across the valley, the fruit delicately fragrant as it ripened on the boughs, and Thranduil found himself suddenly lighter of heart than he had for... for years, when he considered the matter.

He exhaled and could almost sense the cares leaving him with his breath. Only a respite, he feared; this would be just a brief interlude, of course, a few days away from his duties in the palace, but he would not think of that now. Instead, he would make the most of this, try to make it enough, to make it last.

A few minutes more, Nelleron lifted his head to scent the air, and Thranduil halted.

‘Come forth, my children!’ he called. ‘Show yourselves!’

Down from the canopy ahead, around, a scuffle and a scamper and Silvans began to emerge from every direction, laughing and joyful, a score or more, not children, but young adults, new to their maturity, their glorious strength, rich in their delight in the day, in each other, in the visitor before them. None were older than Legolas, and many were younger, but all were vibrant, joyous, full of life and laughter, just as Silvans should be.

Running up to within a respectful distance, they dropped to the proper obeisance, red and russet and auburn and chestnut heads bowed in respectful silence. 

‘You may rise, younglings,’ he said. ‘And send one ahead to your village, let the elders know I am here, yes, alone, yes, just to sit with the village for a time, as I used to.’

A young ellon at the back got to his feet and bowed before running off swiftly, and the others hesitated, wanting to approach, not wanting to overstep the mark; this elegant, beautiful lord was their king, after all.

Swinging off Nelleron’s back, he smiled around.

‘Lead on, then! My elk has been running most of the day and we are both in need of refreshment.’

‘My lord king,’ one said, approaching with a bow, ‘we have heard tales from the palace... that there are changes... is all well?’

‘Things change, but slowly, and all is well. I will talk later, if you wish, about the news from the palace.’

‘My lord king, that would be wonderful! We have been too long without your stories, sire!’

The walk to the village went swiftly, the youngsters changing place every few minutes so that each had their chance to walk beside the king, or the elk in silent escort, to make a story for future telling: On this day, I walked with our king, I led his elk, I carried his cloak, he thanked me, he smiled on me.

Presently there was a proper, wide track, the trees standing back neatly, and a wide glade opened out amongst the trees. High in the canopy Thranduil could see the home talain were the villagers slept and spent their private time, while a small cluster of shelters beneath were centres of industry; food preparation, weapons-crafting, making and sorting and all the activities conducive to the life of a small community.

A welcoming party advanced and bowed, a small child kneeling to proffer a woven garland of autumnal leaves and sprigs of berries. Thranduil set it on his head, and wondered that it fitted him more happily, more easily, than any formal crown. For here, he was not Thranduil Oropherion, mighty ruler powerful political force. Here, he was just a woodland king, and these were his true subjects.

‘Hir nin, we greet you,’ the child said.

‘My thanks, youngling,’ he replied. ‘I greet you, and your family, and your village.’

And that was an end to formality.

Some came to lead away the elk, others to lead away the king, and he found himself greeted once more outside a wooden pavilion by the village elders.

‘Hir nin, we had no word to expect you,’ one said. ‘Forgive that we are unprepared.’

‘You are prepared enough,’ Thranduil said. ‘This is not a visit of state, and your young people met me with polite words. They do you credit.’

‘Our thanks.’

One came forward, the others stepping aside for him, an older ellon, who looked at Thranduil with easy courtesy, smiling as if he were kin.

‘My lord king.’

‘Einior Brambenos.’

Brambenos bowed, extended his hands for Thranduil to clasp arms with him in greeting.

‘Come, my lord, sit with me. They will bring refreshments, and later, we will have a feast as we used to, in the foredays, amongst the trees after darkness falls.’

‘That sounds delightful,’ Thranduil said, and followed the elders into the pavilion to sit on a wooden chair set higher than the Einior’s while the wine cups went round.

The formalities over, the villagers gathered outside to sit and listen to their king as he talked with the elders. He spoke words of kindness, of the beauty of the forest around the village, of their industry and how well they looked, how proper, how Silvan, and every word seemed a gift to them, as if they lived for the praise of their king.

‘Your young people are truly delightful,’ he said, turning to Brambenos to signify the talking was turning to conversation now. ‘So fine, and vital! Our young ones are the heart of the land, and to see them so joyous delights me.’

‘And us, hir nin. We have the young of all three villages with us presently, so we are blessed to be more lively than usual. They will go to the next village in a month or so, and all will be back in their proper homes for Yule. It is a good system, to have our unmarried young ones mix and mingle together, and although the village seems quiet when they are all gone to the next place, still, it is only a short time before they are home.’

‘There is a similar system in the southern villages. It can only do good, to let the young ones mingle and learn each other, good for the villages too.’

‘Yes. We wonder, sometimes, about an exchange with the southern clans, but it seems so far away. And they seem to mix more with humans and dwarves. Not that there is anything wrong with other races, but it is not what we are used to.’

There was silence for a few moments. Presently Brambenos waved to get the attention of the villagers outside.

‘Well, you do not need to wait attendance on us any longer! Now we must discuss the new edicts and depositions we have heard tell of, and understand it amongst ourselves. You may go back to your tasks, there is a feast to prepare! Our king will honour us then.’

The Einior poured more wine and beckoned the other village elders forward.

‘If you will share your thoughts with us, sire, and we may share our concerns with you, some of the messages we have had sounded strange to us...’

‘In part, that is why I am here, for I knew you would have questions not answered in the missives. There is sad news, and happy news, but one dwells on most recent events, I suppose...’

He spoke of Iauron and Tharmeduil, of how both his sons had been heroes, in their different ways. He spoke of dragons and spiders and earth tremors, and paused at the nodding heads around him.

‘We felt the world shake, and then came spiders. They rushed by us, which was fortunate, for our younglings were at the village on the hill when it happened, and our defence reduced. But they passed like a nightmare, a league west of us.’

‘I am glad you escaped unharmed.’

‘And we heard a tale of marriage...?’

‘There have been two marriages, in truth. The one planned – Iauron to Arwen of Imladris – that will not happen, not this side of the seas, for the lady is bravely insisting she will stand with my son and sail with him. But unexpectedly, my Legolas found his fëa-mate, and they were bonded for now, tomorrow, forever. His fëa-mate, Commander Govon, is Callordor of the new Grey Dragon Company which forms part of my personal guard. He favours the old ways, and has brought the tradition of warrior paint back into use.’

‘So this is true, then, that your youngest son has married a warrior.’ Brambenos said. ‘It shames me, almost, to admit we wondered.’

‘One of the several new edicts encourages modern couples to be more free in talking of being married, being husband and husband together, or wife and wife. I know it is perhaps unexpected, but it seemed to us to be unkind not to acknowledge those whose affection and attachment is as sincere and enduring as those of more traditional couples. In fact, our second wedding was of Canadion Merenorion to Thiriston Cut-Face, now both serving in the Grey Dragons.’

‘It is accepted, now, then?’ one asked. ‘That our sons can marry other people’s sons, and our daughters take ellith to wife?’

‘If they so choose, and are fëa-mates, why should they not? After all, did not the Valar ensure for each of us there would be that perfect beloved? That they have chosen for some of our children sons instead of daughters, daughters in place of sons, who are we to argue?’

‘But... they used to say... afflicted...’

‘We no longer say that,’ Thranduil said calmly. ‘Instead, we say, ‘modern couples’. It is more respectful to the fëar of those concerned.’ 

From there it was but a short step to the scandalous announcement that nobody had dared believe, that it was not a sin against the Valar for those in short vows, against their wishes, to have their unions annulled. Thranduil tried to be patient, to explain all the reasons why, all the reasons why not, and, really, it was just the same as the messages had said, he was not adding to the information. Instead, he was explaining it, legitimising it, somehow making it all right for the villagers to admit, yes, such a one, married for elflings, but elflings never came, and not a love match, just one made in hope, and meanwhile, someone had left the village with a broken heart, and faded from grief...

‘There need be no more fading from grief,’ the king said. ‘It is not a thing to be done lightly, true, but it can be done. Indeed, it has been, and one of the parties has already found a fëa-mate.’ 

At least, he assumed that was why Cullasbes had been so quick to take up with someone else.

Presently the village elders seemed more involved in talking matters over between themselves than with him, and Thranduil gave a sigh of relief which did not go unnoticed; the Einior smiled and refilled Thranduil’s goblet.

‘Hir nin, there is a resting place prepared for you, if you wish it. You have given us much to think about, and you may be glad of a little peace and quiet before the feast. Let me show you the way.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Einior - here used to signify a village elder, in this case, the chieftain of the village.


	337. The Feast and After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil talks with the Einior

The villagers had been busy while Thranduil talked with the elders, erecting a tall tent and furnishing it with chair and table and cot, bringing in such things as they thought he might need, wine and water, bread and cheese and fruit. Two of the youngsters stationed themselves outside, on guard duty, apparently, taking up their positions with serious intent and dancing hearts at being given so important a task.

Thranduil smiled to himself, pulled off his boots and lay down on the bed, not to reverie, but to relax, to contemplate the differences between life in the palace and out amongst the villages.

The practice of each village fostering all the young people for a month at a time, with a month in between at home, had been happening for as long as Thranduil could remember. It increased bonds of friendship, encouraged closeness between the communities, and provided more opportunities. 

He had wondered, in the past, about inviting the villages to send their young adults to the palace, and presently it seemed like a better idea than ever, on the surface... but no sooner had it occurred than the thought of these light and joyous fëar brought into the enclosed spaces of the palace darkened his heart, somehow... no, perhaps it was not such a good idea, really. Unless those families living in the talain around the palace, inside its protective circle of flets, would be willing to foster them...

He had not intended to reverie, but when he came back from his thoughts, it was dark outside and a soft voice calling, ‘Hir nin, are you busy?’

‘Not at the moment, no.’

‘My lord, may we bring you light? It is nearly time for the feast, we will lead you, if you choose.’

‘Very well. A moment... and your names are...?’

There were six of them, an ellon and an elleth from each of the three villages, and they reeled off their names at great speed with shy laughter, but he thought he had heard them all. In fact, several of the names were familiar to him, from previous visits, two for other reasons. He knew whose parents to ask after, who had siblings, and he chatted his escort out of their nervousness as he allowed them to lead him to along a lantern-bedecked trail into the forest.

A little way into the forest a wide glade met them, lanterns had been hung on the trees, logs sliced into rings made seats, fires burned brightly and the smell of roasted meats was rich in the glade. Music played, singing, and the Einior came to bow and offer Thranduil the seat of honour and another child brought forward a fresh garland for his crown. Smiling, he removed the other, daytime wreath, plucking a sprig of berries from it and fastening them into his cloak before allowing the new greenery to be placed on his head.

Thranduil sat, and ate hot roast meat and baked vegetables, and drank, and hoped in some vague way that Nelleron never saw him enjoying venison... 

The wine was passable, more than passable considering it was brewed from forest fruits, elderberry and blackberry, sloe and bullice, rich red and hearty, and the singing was good, heartfelt and sweet, and the dancing was wild and exuberant, and Thranduil began to feel this was where he really belonged.

In a lull, Brambenos turned to the king. 

'We did not think to see anyone this side of the New Year festivals,' he said. 'Not with the news of your sons. We were sorry to hear it.' 

'Thank you. We feel their loss.' 

'And then when there was no healer from the palace to see how we got on...' 

'Yes. The head of our Healers' Hall has gone with Iauron and Tharmeduil, to keep them well on the journey. We miss her organisational skills, and although she left instructions, somehow, nobody was sent. Perhaps you can tell me how things are instead?’

‘Ah, we are fine, as you see. Hale and happy. There are no names to add to the list of those we must not say until the Night of the Names; considering the shaking earth, the spiders, we are thankful for that. There will be three young couples standing for betrothals at the New Year Festivals, and two more will be ready to take vows then.’

‘That is excellent news.’

‘I wonder if there will be more, following the discussions we had this day. One of our young bucks, he has privately told me there is an ellon he greatly admires... so now I may tell him to proceed without fear.’

‘Good, very good. And have you any elflings born this summer?’

‘Sadly, no. But we have some little ones running around somewhere...’

‘Yes, indeed. Pray thank the ones who presented the garlands.’

‘Of course. And... if I may make so bold as to ask – it is not widely known... a peredhel has been whispered of...?’

‘Ah. Yes, Iauron’s parting gift, one could say.’

‘I see. You will be interested, as you always are interested, in those amongst us who have been disadvantaged by events. Particularly the Children of the Forest...’

Thranduil nodded once, briefly.

‘So it is fortunate, in a way, that you came to us this month, for all five are here – including the two who are of especial interest, – amongst their friends, mingling and mixing in and being happy and learning what they are good at, what they enjoy the most.’

‘Certainly all your young people are a credit to you, and to the other villages.’

‘Some are already thinking of how they can serve the kingdom; several, including one of the Children, wish to be in the guard. More are keen to be hunters; we have many excellent archers, and they have organised themselves into a sort of guard company; those amongst us with more knowledge and skill keep a careful eye on them, of course, but they patrol the boundaries. Your presence is a delight to them, for they are honoured to help guard their king.’

‘Then I shall allow myself to be guarded with good grace.’ 

Thranduil smiled, remembering the welcome he had received from the young persons; in fact, he had only known they were there because the forest had known him, had told him.

‘And I should, perhaps, mention that tomorrow I expect a small troop to come seeking me...I... may not have left adequate word as to my intentions...’

‘I see. So our guard will be put to the test!’

‘Not at all. When my Silvans arrive, your Silvans can greet them.’

*

The feast continued well into the night, everyone enjoying the opportunity to celebrate, to spend time in presence of their king. He, of course, made sure he had a word for everyone, a moment to listen, to acknowledge, and although he must have spoken to the entire village at least once, and the young adults several times each, he did not feel tired, he was not bored, he did not find them tedious, officious, annoying. Instead, he was refreshed and entertained by it all, and allowed himself to be escorted to his tent in a very good mood indeed.

Sadly, it was not to last.

Not expecting to have elves stationed outside his lodgings, he was surprised to hear a soft voice just as he was preparing for bed a little while later.

‘Hir nin? Are you there, sire?’

He reminded himself to be courteous; this was an intrusion on his privacy, really; he had heard Brambenos give the order to guard the perimeter, but not to station anyone outside.

‘What is the matter?’ he asked, going to the opening of the tent.

There was an elleth, one of the youngsters, a Child of the Forest, no less, with auburn hair and grey-blue eyes, and she bowed to him.

‘I have come to see if there is anything you lack, my lord?’

‘Not a thing, my thanks.’

He made to turn away, but she spoke again, hastily, nervously.

‘My lord, are you sure you do not want anything? Anything at all?’

In the lamplight he could see her cheeks were red, as if she had pinched them to bring the colour to her skin, had bitten her lips to make them red and swollen.

Ah. He understood suddenly; she meant to offer him her company for the night.

Of course, there were far too many reasons why he must decline, but he had no wish to hurt her feelings.

‘There is something, now I think of it,’ he said. ‘A matter I meant to bring before your Einior earlier which slipped my mind – it is best mentioned tonight, I think. Would you please escort me to his presence?’

She sighed and pouted and pretended not to, so he had pity on her, and pretended not to see her disappointment, and talked to her in an avuncular fashion until she had led him to the foot of a tall and robust elm.

‘Our Einior is above. He will still be awake, I think. It is not so very late... is it?’

‘My thanks,’ he said. ‘You may go now to your own rest; I will find my own way back to my lodgings.’

Thranduil watched after her until she had faded amongst the shadows, intending to wait a little longer and then seek out Nelleron and bed down with his elk as bodyguard.

But from above came a voice.

‘Will you step up, hir nin, for a last drink, perhaps?’

‘I will, Brambenos.’

The Einior looked as if he really had not been about to go to bed, and his smile was friendly.

‘I hoped we would find time to talk, privately, but I had not expected your company tonight.’

‘I had an unexpected visitor who asked if there was anything I needed. It seemed wise to me to suggest an escort to your talan.’

‘I think I can probably guess who – our Daughter of the Forest? Little vixen!’

‘Indeed. I have managed, I think, not to let her see I knew her meaning; I would not hurt her feelings. And I rather think I know where she gets it from...’

‘I will keep her away from you tomorrow... no, don’t worry, I’ll make sure she’s given an important task; it will be one that keeps her out of your way, that’s all.’

‘Thank you.’

‘So, tell me: Legolas. Is he truly happy?’

Thranduil smiled into his wine cup.

‘He truly is. At first I was unsure – I did not think I could like it, should like it... but I found I did not really care, not once I saw how much happier my son became.’

‘And so you are reforming all the avowing traditions, just so your son’s relationship is made acceptable...’

‘I like to think, rather, that Legolas has encouraged reform in some perhaps outmoded ways of thinking...’

Brambenos laughed.

‘And what does Arveldir think of all these new edicts?’

‘Arveldir has lately found love himself.’

‘Oh?’

‘A clever fellow with a lhang-sharp intellect and quite a fine wit. Formerly worked for Elrond, but he’s a better ellon than that suggests... what will happen if he decides to return to Imladris at some point, I do not know, I may well find myself without an advisor... he makes Arveldir brave, though, we have some rather fun conversations these days... ‘

‘Of course, it is not the same as having a friend.’

‘But I have friendship here.’

‘Of course. But we are two days away, and if you rode out too often, people would wonder why.’

‘Yes, I know.’ Thranduil allowed a sigh to ghost out of him. ‘I miss Legolas’ mother, Brambenos.’

‘We all do, Thranduil.’ The Einior’s eyes slid sideways. ‘You might remarry.’

‘I was never married. She would only have short vows from me, remember?’

‘That’s not answering the question.’

‘Was it a question? I heard, rather, a statement... but no, there is no-one now.’

‘Well, at least you still have Legolas. Are we likely to see him tomorrow, riding beside his new husband at the head of a column of Silvan warriors, come to rescue their king from the forest?’

‘Sweet Eru, I do hope not!’ Thranduil shuddered. ‘How would I explain to him, yes, I came to see the Children of the Forest, the possible heirs to the kingdom, just to make sure they are well, just for a glimpse of your brother, again, without it sounding like an accusation? Or as if I do not value him, the son I have left, as much as those from whom we have parted? Sometimes, Brambenos... I lack for words.’

Brambenos mutely refilled Thranduil’s wine cup and his guest drank, gathering his thoughts before continuing.

‘I do not think Arveldir will let Legolas out of his sight while I am from the palace. They will send a troop, perhaps... probably with Commander Govon at their head, unless the only way to keep Legolas at home is to put Govon in charge of him.’

‘I will send our young guardians out with instructions to greet and reassure any Silvans who come this way. And I will put your would-be comforter in charge – it will restore her personal pride, and keep her out from under our feet. And I will hope she does not find any enemies in the forest, for she will take out her temper on them...’

‘Good. Still, I have been reassured on one of the points that was bothering me, at least.

‘Oh?’

‘Indeed. That she does not know who her father is. She would never have approached me, else.’ Thranduil set down his wine cup. ‘Thank you for rescuing me, Brambenos.’

‘Not at all. If you wish, you may use my talan tonight and I will take your tent. Although I do not think you will be disturbed again tonight.’

‘No, do not trouble. Now a little time has passed, I am sure all will be well.’ 

Even so, when he got back to his quarters, Thranduil fastened up the fabric panels tightly and set a trip hazard just inside, in case of intruders.

But morning came without further disturbance and Thranduil left his quarters to seek out Nelleron and bid him good morning.

He found the elk subject to the attention of three of the young adults and several small children in the care of their parents, being groomed and petted and pampered and wearing a very smug expression, for an elk, Thranduil thought.

‘I came to see how you passed the night, mellon-nin,’ he said, finding dried blackberries to offer. ‘But I can quite see you are busy.’

Smiles at this, and the young adults drew respectfully back.

‘Thank you for the care you have bestowed on the elk,’ he went on, smiling around at them. ‘He is obviously far too pretty for me to ride on now, and so I will have to walk home...’

‘You are not going?’ one said. ‘Not so soon?’

‘No, not so soon. And then, I shall be visiting your other villages first, I think.’

‘That will be wonderful, sire!’

‘My mother is in Hill Village, she will be so pleased to see you, hir nin! Everyone will!’

About to answer with a comment about it must be very quiet in Hill Village if the arrival of an elf on an elk would cause such excitement, he stopped as he heard a mother whisper to her small elfling.

‘No, penneth, I really do not think the elk does give rides to elflings. Why, he is the Royal Elk, that is why...’

‘In fact, it rather depends on the elflings,’ Thranduil said. ‘You there... Gronir? Nelleron seems to like you. If you will, and if the naneths and adas permit, you can lead Nelleron around the glade with an elfling installed... Nelleron, walking only, and no jumping, or these will be the last blackberries you see today. I will sit over there, and I shall be watching.’

‘But, hir nin... do you not want breakfast?’

‘Perhaps it could be brought to me?’

Three of the young people ran off to see to this request while the soft saddle was put in place. The mother of the elfling got to her feet to bow.

‘You are greatly kind, my king.’

‘Not at all. My own sons used to ride my elk, when they were small.’

Breakfast was brought and laid for him under the trees, and presently Brambenos joined him.

‘Hir nin, this is a kindness to our young ones.’

‘Nelleron is fond of elflings,’ Thranduil replied absently. The friendly tone of conversation from the night before was, perforce, lacking this morning in front of the villagers, but still, there was an air of relaxed formality that was, in itself, friendly. ‘I remember when my own sons were small, and I would bear them before me on the elk. They considered it such a treat.’

Presently the elk-rides were over, all the village children having had their turn, and Nelleron was once more the centre of a little crowd of attentive well-wishers.

‘Yes. But to allow our young people to lead your elk, to show them the trust of their king... it is much to them. Sadly, I need to interrupt and give them their orders for the day.’

‘Then I will reclaim my elk and all will be my fault, not yours.’

Thranduil listened in under cover of removing the saddle cloth and finding more treats for Nelleron as Brambenos gathered his young warriors, beckoning in the ones who had not been on elk-duty.

‘An important task for you today, my hunters,’ he began, when all were assembled. ‘Later on, we expect a troop of Silvans seeking their king. They may be armed and anxious. You will range the perimeter, troop one to the back, troop two around the orchard, and when you have word, make sure you signal them that all is well. Send word back to us.’ He waited for them to nod understanding and then pointed at various members of the guard, already sorted into two little groups. ‘Captain of the back troop... you. Here’s your second... orchard troop, you will lead, he’s your second today...’

Yes. The little madam from last night, she had been given the captaincy of the orchard troop. Suddenly she seemed taller, prouder, and her voice was crisp.

‘Einior, sir, what of other dangers? Are we to protect the village, and our king, from other intruders?’

‘Of course... but what were you thinking of, especially?’

‘Wolves, wargs, spiders...’

Sweet Eru, no! You could not let these only-just-not-children take on such monsters...

But Brambenos was trying not to laugh.

‘You know the rules! Anything with more legs than you, or more teeth than you, or more eyes than you, retreat and report straight back here and we will defend the village as a village. But I doubt you will have trouble. Anything else... well, I leave it to your discretion. Only do not arrest too many squirrels, will you? And I want you all home for nightfall – if the Silvans haven’t arrived by then, well, they’ll have to find their own way to us.’

The day passed in easy tranquillity for Thranduil. Losing a little of their awe of him after the elk-riding session, he found many of the elflings coming to bow and ask questions which, from any adult, would have been grossly impertinent. Instead, from the splendour of his pavilion, he found himself answering questions about why he didn’t braid his hair like sensible elflings did, how old did you have to be to have an elk of your very own, and did roast spider really taste nasty? And then one tripped up and bumped a knee, and before he knew what was happening he was offering consolation and cuddles, the naneths watching on and trying not to grin, and the little one sniffling and finding that dried apricots did take away the sting of a banged leg, and from there it was, do you know any stories and there were sticky fingers in his hair, dirt on his boots, improbable stains on his cloak and it was, quite possibly, the happiest afternoon he had known for a long time.

‘If I can interrupt?’ Brambenos said from the doorway and Thranduil looked up, surprised to find it was drawing towards evening.

Naneths and elflings drew back, except for the child currently taking an unexpected reverie on the king’s lap.

‘Yes, Einior?’

‘There is no word yet from the forest of any kind of troop approaching... should we be worried?’

‘If they had set off at first light yesterday, they should have been here by now...’

But that was assuming they had noticed him missing the same day he had ridden out... and, of course, he had not been dining in the feasting hall of late, they would not have thought his absence worthy of note... and he had been keeping Arveldir busy...

‘I suppose it is possible I was not missed straight away.’

‘Not missed...? You mean, sire, that really, nobody knows where you are? When you said you had not left adequate word, you meant you had not left any word?’ Brambenos shook his head. ‘And so your warriors might think you have been abducted, taken prisoner, and they will come amongst my young people with drawn bows and long knives and...’

‘It will not come to that; the forest will tell them, your young people will tell them; none of my warriors are ones to attack without cause.’

‘But...’

‘Einior, Einior!’ a voice called from outside. ‘I seek our Einior!’

‘Over here!’

One of the young guard, eyes bright with excitement, chest heaving, bowed quickly.

‘Hir nin, Einior, there was... in the woods... something has happened!’


	338. The Silvan Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas finds out the source of that gutteral, threatening growl...

The guttural, feral growl came from the throat of no animal, Legolas realised, staying his hands as he reached for his knives. His attacker was a Silvan, an elleth younger than he with dramatic red hair and who now stared at him, weighing him up, slowly circling. More Silvans enclosed them, preventing any chance of retreat.

But why? What was going on? All the villages were loyal to his father.

Weren’t they?

He spread his hands in token of peace, and tried to speak.

‘I’m looking for...’

The elleth rushed at him, head down, and he barely had time to spin away, to mark her position as she turned back and ran, attempting a flying kick that failed as he waited, grabbed her foot in flight, and pushed against the kick so that she arced awkwardly in the air and landed on her back, giving him time to whip his eyes around, to reassess. Twelve of them, why had they not all attacked? Inexperience? 

Whatever the reason, they were Silvans, they were all very young, he had no wish to hurt them.

He heard a quick exchange of Silvan dialect.

_‘...Sinda, like our king...’_

_‘..Einior said, anyone not Silvan...’_

_‘...but he is...’_

His attacker rushed him again; this time Legolas closed with her, tried to find the point between shoulder and neck that he’d learned from Glorfindel; the elleth was wiry and strong, twisting, writhing away with a snarl, her small fists drumming hard into his ribs, winding him. He grabbed her wrists, twisting, and she planted her foot against the side of his knee and kicked so that even as she broke away his leg buckled.

He was up again as she came back, swinging for another kick, and as at first, he grabbed her foot and pushed. 

‘Learn from your mistakes, penneth,’ he muttered, but she had, and as he pushed, she leaned forward to shove, and although he dropped back, still he held on, and twisted, causing her to fall to the ground, whence she called out, and now, finally, the others joined the fray.

Scrambling up, Legolas found himself the centre of a throng of reaching, grasping hands as he ducked and turned, trying to restrain the power behind his punches and kicks, but, really, there were too many now for him to be as careful... he winded one with a blow to the sternum, another came at him, and he had no choice but to use a left cross, he put his elbows to good use as three more tried to close with him, kicked another in the stomach, planted the heel of his had under a chin and shoved upwards, throwing that ellon onto his back where he lay stunned, turned out from under the questing hands, fighting all the way, to finally find himself tripped and rolled onto his back, a surprisingly heavy weight across his hips as his first assailant sat astride him, knife drawn and at his throat, pinning him down, and the fire of humiliation burned in her feral eyes and her lips parted in a snarl of gloating smile...

‘I yield,’ Legolas said at once. ‘Now, have you seen my father?’

‘What are you?’ she demanded, her eyes locked on his face. ‘A Sinda spy?’

‘A spy? No, of course not! I’m looking for...’

She bounced on him suddenly, writhing over his groin in what was, for him, a very unpleasant sensation. He saw confusion in her eyes as his body didn’t react, and he wondered if she’d tried that particular move before with better effect on other ellyn.

‘I am not a spy,’ he repeated, striving for a calm tone. ‘I’ve come looking for my father, have you seen him? You can’t miss him, rides an elk, with bells on?’

For the first time the elleth looked unsure.

‘You’re lying,’ she said. ‘You can’t be one of the princes, they have sailed. I heard the Einior talking about it.’

‘Shouldn’t you let him up?’ one of the other Silvans suggested, hesitant. ‘He can’t get away, we’ve got him in our sights...’

‘No!’ she said. ‘You heard what the Einior said – do not let anyone through who is not Silvan. He is not Silvan!’

Legolas took advantage of the elleth’s momentary break in concentration, grabbing her knife hand and pulling that arm over his head, his other hand reaching for the pressure point and as he found the right spot and she tensed and then relaxed, he turned so that her body was in front of him as he got to his knees and looked around. She waved a hand and began to smile the easy, languid smile of one drunk or in the throes of a Námo special.

‘Let her go!’ someone demanded. ‘We will shoot, if we must.’

‘What did you do to our captain?’ another asked.

‘She will be fine; you would not wish me to drop her, would you?’ 

Now he had time to look around him properly and see what damage he’d done.

Three of the Silvans were out cold, their friends kneeling over them, trying to help. Several more would have black eyes or bruised chins shortly and he felt quite sorry for them as their eyes smouldered the fury of defeat and humiliation.

But two were unharmed enough, had the wits enough, to have arrows trained on him from different quarters of the field.

‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I had no wish to hurt any of you. But I am looking for my father. He went missing from the palace two days ago now, and if you don’t know where he is, then I need to keep looking. Now, your friend will be fine in an hour or so, she’s just a little dazed...’

‘Our orders were to only allow Silvans through. I’m in charge while our captain is... indisposed.’ 

The one speaking – the second-in-command – faltered. He was not so ignorant of the world outside his village that he didn’t recognise the Sinda before him. But, the princes had sailed...

‘My mother was Silvan, does that count?’ Legolas said calmly. ‘I cannot name her to you, but my father is Thranduil. Some of your trees suggested he’d passed this way; if you know anything, please tell me now.’

The second hesitated, then sighed and gave a nod.

‘Yes, he is with us. Our apologies. But our orders...’

‘Yes, your orders.’ Legolas carefully laid the elleth down where she smiled happily at the sky. ‘Will you not send to your village? You fought well, and bravely, but some of your friends are injured, and may need a healer.’

‘We have sent already... hir nin...? They did say you had sailed.’

‘My older brothers, not me.’

‘Yes. We see that.’

‘So, am I your prisoner? Would you like me to hand over my weapons?’

The ellon’s jaw slackened as he realised, finally, that, yes, this Sinda was well armed, in fact and no, he hadn’t even gone so far as to draw his knives...

‘That won’t be necessary... I am sure it is just a misunderstanding.’

Legolas nodded and got to his feet.

‘I thank you for your courtesy. But, you know, by rights you should insist. No point worrying about possible treason if out of politeness you let an enemy through. Do you want help with your injured?’

‘Just... our captain.’ The second glanced at where the red-haired elleth was now smiling and giggling softly up at the sky. ‘She is not one to... this is not her normal behaviour...’

‘It will not last.’

More than one watching Silvan sighed at this, causing Legolas to grin.

‘Like that, is she?’

‘Full of courage, my lord, brave and fierce and strong...’

‘Yes, indeed, I noticed the strength.’

‘And she fights unfairly against we ellyn, when we practice... that wriggle, when she has one pinned? When she...?’

‘I know exactly what you mean.’

‘... she will be annoyed, when she realised it did not work on you. But we find it very disconcerting... I wonder, is it something one might learn, how not to respond?’

‘Ah. Well, you see... I am married, and so only my spouse interests me. Do you have a name?’

‘Narunir, hir nin.’

‘I am Legolas. May I help your friends now, Narunir?’

Narunir nodded, and finally lowered his bow, signalling his companion to do the same.

Legolas went across to where the unconscious elves were starting to wake and stir, introducing himself, apologising, acknowledging their mettle. 

‘For although it did take eight of you to best me, still, best me you did... how do you feel? Any dizziness?’

While he was gently examining the shoulder of one ellon, a stir went through the guard and those who could drew themselves up and bowed.

And there was a voice, a cool and languid drawl, but Legolas felt his face breaking into a silly smile of relief at the sound of it.

‘Really, ion-nin, whatever have you been doing with the young warriors?’

Legolas hid the smile, got up, bowed, and went across to where his father waited on Nelleron. With him were several other persons on horseback, one of whom dismounted and immediately hurried over to inspect the injured.

‘Adar, I just stopped to chat with them, that’s all, honestly... we decided to test each other out...’

‘Hmm... and you had cause to use the Námo special?’

‘Only on one, the captain. A tenacious fighter.’

Thranduil nodded, recognising the giggling elleth as his nocturnal visitor... things were really not going her way at present, were they?

‘Come, Legolas, make your bows to Brambenos, the chief elder of the village,’ Thranduil said, indicating the Einior beside him.

‘Hir nin,’ Legolas bowed politely to the elder. ‘Your warriors defend your village bravely.’

‘And are sometimes too good at following orders, perhaps. Our pardon, my prince, if you have been inconvenienced.’

‘Not at all,’ Legolas said politely. ‘I always enjoy meeting new people.’

‘Does Arveldir know you’re out?’ Thranduil asked.

‘Yes, and so does Govon. He will be waiting at flet nine two days from now for news.’

‘You should have brought him with you. Really, Legolas, sometimes I wonder at the way you treat that husband of yours...’ 

‘Hir nin?’ Brambenos inclined his head to get the king’s attention. ‘If you will, I’ll wait and come back with our guard; you know the way?’

‘Indeed. It is not far, Legolas. Shall we go?’

‘Yes, of course.’ 

Legolas fell into step alongside Nelleron, waiting until they were well out of earshot before he spoke.

‘Ada, we were worried about you! Arveldir was half convinced you’d gone off to Lothlórien! Either that or you’d followed the delegation from Dale to harangue them about the roads some more!’

Thranduil allowed himself to smile and, sure they were out of sight as well as earshot, swung down from Nelleron’s back to walk next to his son and put an idle arm around his shoulders in an easy, affectionate gesture that surprised them both, really.

‘And I thought you would pick up my trail at once! When did anyone bother to notice I had gone?’

‘When Arveldir arrived for your breakfast meeting. Really, Adar, everyone was trying to respect your privacy, give you a little space to breathe, and you take off on the elk?’

‘Privacy? When Arveldir monitors my every sip of Dorwinion, when there are eyes on me everywhere?’

‘Ada, if there were eyes on you everywhere, they would have seen you escaping!’

‘Escaping?’

‘We were going to ride out together, why didn’t you say something? I’d have come with you.’

‘Arveldir would have made too much of an occasion of it. He would not have allowed us both from the palace without an armed escort, and then it would have become a parade, and it is only courtesy to let a village know when you are descending on them with a dozen extra mouths to feed and beds to find...’

‘It’s got nothing to do with the Children of the Forest, then?’

‘No.’ The denial stuck in Thranduil’s conscience and he sighed and qualified his reply. ‘Not quite all of them... and it is my duty to see how our woodland communities get on, there was no report this year from the Healers’ Hall. Now, I understand they have found someone who can enquire of the southern settlements, but not for these northern villages, and so...’

‘You’re looking better, though. You’ve lost that sort of haunted look...’

‘I? Haunted?’

‘Well, weighed down by state, maybe. It’s not been easy for you.’

‘Or you, ion-nin. Do not think that, just because I have lost two sons, I am incapable of valuing the son I have still with me. In fact, if anything, you grow in worth...’

‘Oh, do not say that, Ada! I will feel I have to be on my best behaviour, all the time...!’

To his surprise – and his son’s – Thranduil laughed.

‘So, who amongst those young heroes is my nephew, or niece?’ Legolas asked.

‘Ah. I am careful not to enquire too closely... it is the wish of the families that their relationship be kept hidden... I will not say that to hide the truth is right, but since your brother made his presence felt, as it were, under his false name, it is better thus, perhaps. One could guess, however, but...’

Feeling an urgent need to change the subject, Thranduil paused to hold his son at arms’ length and examine him for damage.

‘I see... you will have a bruise on your temple and perhaps a black eye... you move as if there is something wrong with your ribs... really, Legolas... there were only twelve of them... you need to practice more!’

Legolas stared at his father as he felt that arm go around his shoulders again and they set off once more towards the village.

‘Yes, Ada,’ he said.


	339. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Grey Dragons are reunited with their king, and Legolas with his spouse.

The soft grey air of dawn was cool as Govon and his small troop arrived at flet nine after a brisk night march through the forest.

‘Up into the flet, Fonor, Canadion,’ he commanded. ‘Thiriston, would you mind asking the trees if there’s been any news, first?’

‘Commander.’ Thiriston stepped up and touched the tree’s rough bark, frowning in concentration. ‘Busy, lately. Shining gold twice... laughing thoughts...’

‘Commander?’ Canadion’s voice came down from above. ‘When you have a moment...’

‘What is it, Canadion?’

‘In the next tree over, somebody is waving from the canopy.’

Govon swarmed up the tree and onto the flet to follow Canadion’s gaze. Sure enough, some thirty feet away high in the branches of a tall sycamore, he could make out two – no, three Silvans, and one was indeed waving.

‘Well met,’ he called out. ‘I am Govon, of the Grey Dragon Warriors. We are here to meet our prince and our Argallor, Legolas.

‘Narunir, acting Day Captain for the Three Village Guard. I have here a missive under seal for you. Shall we meet below?’

‘Agreed.’

So everyone descended to the forest floor again, meeting up in the open space before the flet.

Narunir bowed and passed over the sealed message. Govon read it though and nodded.

‘It is good news,’ he began. ‘Our king is safe; it is he himself writes; all is well, he and Legolas are visiting the Three Villages, and we are to advance with the hunter guard to Orchard Village. Once there, he says, I am to hand over command to my second and consider myself off duty. So, Thiriston, do not get too relaxed – there will be work for you to do.’

There was also a small note just for Govon in Legolas’ hand.

(‘Adar wants everyone to see it is fine for ellyn to marry with other ellyn. If you were on duty, it would be inappropriate to greet you in the way I intend. I have missed you...’)

...but Govon kept the contents to himself, although suddenly he wanted to hurry on.

‘Captain, will you sit, break bread with us before we return?’

No, he wanted to leave straight away... but he could not, he ought not risk offending these friendly Silvans with whom his king, and his husband the prince, had found shelter.

‘We are grateful, yes. Have you been waiting long?’

‘We arrived last evening, so we would be alert and ready when you arrived. Forgive me – is Captain the proper term of address?’

‘Govon is our Callordor,’ Thiriston said. ‘We usually call him Commander.’

‘To my face at least,’ Govon said with a grin. ‘Thank you for your generous hospitality; we are pleased to share food with you. Will you tell us, as we eat, about your village?’

‘Gladly.’

There were four of them, all easy and in tune with their surroundings in a way he’d almost forgotten it was possible to be, all very young, to Govon’s mind, younger than Canadion, who became the subject of great curiosity once the formal polite exchanges were done with and everyone starting to relax with each other.

‘And you are lately married, I think?’ an elleth asked. ‘For we have been hearing much, about how tradition is changing, and modern relationships also are marriages now.’

Canadion nodded, trying to hide the smile that always started when anyone said the word ‘married’, to him.

‘And Thiriston is my husband, and the king himself was our witness. And my Adar was present...’

Govon grinned, shaking his head good-naturedly.

‘And there was bunting,’ he said. ‘All-in-all, it was quite a party.’

Presently, the meal done, the Silvan escort tidied away the remains and got to their feet expectantly.

‘Unless your company needs longer to rest, Commander?’

‘We are fine, thank you. I am eager to see my king again. And my prince.’

‘Then come up into the canopy; we know all the short runs home.’

Without seeming to position themselves so, the Silvan escort each took a Grey Dragon warrior as their own especial charge, not interfering, or pointing out the better handholds, but staying near enough to be observed, and to chat.

They liked to chat, it seemed.

‘We were honoured by the visit of your king,’ Narunir told Govon. ‘And he is so easy with us, seemingly so honoured by such service as we give. While we four were sent to greet you, others of my hunters have been deemed worthy to escort him, and our prince, to the other two villages, where they will be feasted and honoured. And that is well, for I am from the Village of the Crystal Cascades, furthest along, and since Orchard Village is first on the trail, it gets all the visitors and news before Cascades and Hillside. We do not mind, but it is nice to be remembered.’

‘Our king is different, in the palace,’ Govon said. ‘There, he has to be formal, and distant. But I have ridden out with him, and know that, once away, once amongst his trees, he remembers himself.’

‘Yes, indeed. And our prince, the trees love him. While it is grievous sad that the older princes have sailed, yet we would rather have Legolas here than the others.’

Govon smiled to himself and was about to comment when Narunir went on.

‘He is so much his father’s son. And he fights superbly, too.’

‘Yes, indeed, he has much skill, and... Narunir?’ Govon’s heart quickened, his stomach swooping with concern and he came to a dead stop in the canopy. ‘When did you see my Legolas fight?’

‘Oh, it was... the king said there would be a troop of Silvans, we came looking, to escort them in. Our Einior said not to let anyone else through, and the Day Captain, she follows her orders, that one – when we saw him approaching, she said he must be a Sinda spy from Lothlórien, and she decided to... to apprehend him, and...’ Narunir paused, realising this story was not going down well. Nor had Govon’s use of the word ‘my’ escaped his notice and it crossed his mind that, perhaps, when Legolas had said he was married, this might be to whom... moreover, it explained why the Day Captain’s favourite trick hadn’t worked... ‘And... and in the finish, once he had dealt with the Day Captain, we soon sorted it out. He was only a little hurt...’

Govon turned his face from Narunir and shouted aloud into the forest.

‘Everyone! Double time, now! We are in haste!’

‘But... Commander, he was only slightly...’

‘I will see the extent of my prince’s injuries for myself, Captain, before I believe that. Now, which way is swiftest?’

*

‘Legolas, you are pacing again.’

‘Sorry, Ada.’ Legolas halted part way across the short space of the pavilion and gave a sheepish grin. ‘It is just... ‘

‘You have missed your spouse. Of course, you did not have to leave him behind.’

‘If you’d just said what you were doing, Adar, I would not even have had to make the decision.’

‘Ha. Well, I am sure they will be here before nightfall. The hunters know their forest well.’ 

‘Nightfall! That is two hours away!’

‘And will stamping around like a restless hart make the time pass any faster?’

‘Yes.’

‘He cannot possibly be here for an hour at least. Not even if he arrived at the flet at daybreak; it took me six hours on Nelleron, and while, I grant, it is faster in the canopy, and with a guide, even so, he will have needed to rest his company, to meet with the hunters.’

‘I should go out to meet him. At least to the orchard...’

‘No, ion-nin. We agreed; he will be brought to me, introduced to the Einior, and then you come forward and greet him in a properly affectionate manner.’

‘I am looking forward to that...’

‘Perhaps not too enthusiastic, Legolas. Not in front of your father. I doubt my nerves could take it...’

‘Ada! You give with the one hand and take away with the other...’

Thranduil smiled to himself.

‘I am sure I can trust your judgement, ion-nin.’

After a moment or two, Thranduil spoke again, changing the subject.

‘We will need to set out for the palace tomorrow, I suppose. I do not dare think Arveldir will be happy if I am much longer from home. And no doubt I will have to attend the Feasting Hall for several nights in a row before his nerves settle down once more.’

‘Well, you were missed, Adar; even Araspen asked me if you were well, since you’d not been present in the Hall for so long.’

‘I do not like to make my subjects see me when I am out of sorts; it is not who I am to them.’

‘You’re their king, Ada, whether you’re in a good mood or not. They would share in your troubles, if they could.’

‘May the Valar preserve me from my subject’s pity! I hope I have a little more dignity than that!’

‘I just mean, you are loved, respected...’

A stir outside, an excited voice, and one of the Silvans bowing at the entrance to the pavilion.

‘Hir-nin, our company has been sighted at the orchard with the warriors from the palace. They will be here soon.’

Legolas grinned.

‘I thought you said they’d be hours, yet? Well? Do you need your garland passing, or something?’

‘I can manage, Legolas, thank you. Go and... and calm yourself. You will be sent for.’

*

Every nerve was thrumming, every sense heightened by anxiety as Govon came down from the canopy to lope along the track to the village, Narunir keeping up, just, perplexed at the change in the formerly-charming Commander.

Still, he considered himself in charge of the escort, and just outside the village, he called a halt.

‘Just around the turn of the path now is the approach. We would like to bring you in with honour, Commander, Captains...’

‘Will it take long?’ Govon asked.

‘Commander?’ Thiriston said. ‘Is all well?’

Govon took breath to speak, exhaling instead.

‘Captain Narunir, my second-in-command Captain Thiriston will take over from here; I am no longer on duty. Thiriston, you have the watch.’

‘Yes, Commander. Fall in behind the escort, we’re going to meet our king. With high heads to honour him... advance!’

Not on duty now, temporarily free of orders, Govon took his place and fell into step. It really was only moments until there was the open space beneath the trees, the village buildings, his king opening his arms as they all bowed to him, rising at his command.

‘Commander Govon, come forward. Here is Einior Brambenos...’

Where was Legolas? Was he really only slightly injured? 

He remembered his manners enough to bow and address the village elder with polite respect.

‘Mae govannen, Einior. We are grateful for the honour of your escort.’

‘You are Govon, the honour-son of the king?’

‘I... yes, hir nin.’

‘Be welcome.’

‘Thank you, lord.’

‘Govon,’ Thranduil said. ‘Someone wants to see you...’

And Legolas was stepping forward from the shadow of the trees.

Forgetting all else, Govon hurried forward, his eyes sweeping his husband’s body, taking in the yellowing of a fading black eye, the redness to his cheek.

Before Legolas could speak, could open his arms to offer a hug, Govon grabbed his hand and pulled him into the light, his fingers gentle on Legolas’ chin, turning and twisting, examining the damage.

‘What did you think you were doing?’ he demanded. ‘Fighting Silvan hunters? And open-hand? Twelve of them? Can I not leave you alone for two days without you get into trouble? Who did this to you, who?’

Legolas grinned and removed Govon’s hand from his face, linking fingers with him.

‘I missed you, too, friend captain.

‘When I heard...’

‘Well, you did not hear all, obviously, or you would have realised I am fine...’

Govon realised he was trembling, his breathing shuddery and shallow with relief. He made himself answer lightly, aware that most of the village had just witnessed their reunion, and almost all of those present were grinning behind his back.

‘Good. Well, then. In that case, you won’t be needing any particular attention...’

‘From a healer? No, of course not.’

‘Not what I meant. It’s a pity, I’ve been thinking, these last ten miles, how I was going to honour your injuries, but since you’re fine...’

Legolas swallowed, caught up in the promise of Govon’s hazel gaze.

‘Ah. Well, actually, now I come to think of it...’

‘Govon,’ Thranduil’s voice intruded, amused. ‘I wish you to be on duty enough to make a proper report to my son, as you did whilst you were Commander of my honour guard.’

‘Of course, sire.’

‘And, Legolas, while you have Govon in your quarters for his debriefing, you might find him some of that excellent elderberry wine while you are about it, he looks as if he could do with a tonic. Someone will fetch you in time for the feast. Captain Thiriston will make the other duty report to me, I am sure.’

‘Yes, Adar,’ Legolas said, trying not to grin. ‘Govon, come with me. Duty report.’

‘Yes, my prince. Whatever you say.’


	340. 'A Most Unpleasant Experience...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Govon gives his report...

‘Well, if those are our king’s wishes, Commander, you had better follow me,’ Legolas said, trying not to smirk. 

‘Yes, my prince.’ 

Govon kept his face neutral, but his eyes danced as he followed Legolas into the green shadows of the trees. 

‘I have been gifted a talan, it is wonderful, my friend captain.’ Legolas entwined his fingers with Govon’s and squeezed his hand. ‘Beyond the first circle of living talain, so it is quieter.’

‘That’s probably a good idea. And you’ll be able to climb into the host tree? You’re really not seriously hurt?’

‘Once you have made your report, I will make mine,’ Legolas said. ‘Now, come on! I want to show you everything!’

‘Including the talan?’

*

The talan was set high in the crown of a sycamore, and branches fed through the floor to reach up and punctuate the wooden platform at intervals. Panels woven from willow were fixed to the railings, enclosing the sides, and fine fabrics draped above made a silken, tented roof, filtering the light softly. Somehow a couch had been brought up, seating, a low table set with fruit and wine and cups. A bright rug spread on the planks added colour, and lanterns decorated the branches.

‘This is lovely,’ Govon said. ‘Better than a campaign tent.’

‘Yes, our friends have been most thoughtful and very hospitable. And there is also the advantage that the tree here will be an excellent sentry.’

Legolas took a seat on the deeply padded couch, his arm going across the back as he patted the seat next to him.

‘Although by rights, I should expect you to stand to attention while you deliver your report...’

Govon reached down, grabbing Legolas’ hand and pulling him up and into his arms.

‘My fair elf, I already am,’ he said softly. ‘Or are you not close enough to tell?’

Legolas sighed and smiled and slid his hands up Govon’s back, gently embracing his shoulders.

‘Ai, I have missed you... well? Report, my friend captain?’

‘Um... now?’

‘Yes, now. Well?’

Govon swallowed, gathering his thoughts as Legolas’ hands drifted up to finger through his hair.

‘I... returning to the palace as instructed with Acting Captain Triwathon and his lieutenants, all went as expected. Reported to Bregon privately of Triwathon’s discretion and commended his actions throughout. Repeated my praise to Rawon, without a full explanation, of course.’

‘Of course.’

Legolas brought his lips to Govon’s ear lobe in a soft kiss.

‘Carry on, my friend captain,’ he murmured. ‘You spoke to Arveldir?’

Govon made himself focus; the warmth of his fëa-mate’s breath in his ear, on his neck, hands now leaving his hair and instead working on the fastenings of his cloak.

‘Yes, my prince. He was pleased to have news of the king. I think.’

‘You think?’ Legolas allowed his tongue to slide around the contours of Govon’s ear to the tip, hearing his beloved gasp as the cloak fell away. ‘You are not certain?’

‘It... can be difficult to tell, with Arveldir. He was... displeased, I think, that I had not brought his majesty home with me, that you’d gone on alone...’

‘Hmm.’ Legolas began unbuckling the slender straps that held Govon’s quiver in place, freed him of his back-slung weapons. ‘Poor Govon. I expect you got quite a tongue-lashing...’

‘Not... not yet,’ Govon said, drawing a sharp breath as Legolas’ teeth nipped his ear. ‘I... explained the situation, as best I could, Arveldir wanted to send out all the Dragons at once...’

Now those clever hands were fiddling with the ties of his jerkin, sliding beneath to unfasten the clasps of his tunic, pushing the jerkin off, the prince’s lips moving in ghost kisses down the side of Govon’s face until he found his throat. Legolas spoke against the commander’s skin, causing his senses to swoon.

‘And, Commander?’

‘We... Erestor backed me up – I told Arveldir that your orders were otherwise...’

His fëa-mate’s lips on his neck, warm, exciting touches of tongue, overwhelming.

‘...informed him of your instructions, selected warriors to come with me, set off at the appropriate time... Ai, Valar! Legolas, if you keep doing that...’

‘Report, please?’

The lacings on his shirt were undone, the lacings on his leggings following suit.

‘We met... met the Silvan hunter guard... broke bread with them...then they brought us here to you. End of report, my prince. Please, can I kiss you now?’

‘Well... you were not quite clear in places. Perhaps I had better have it again...’

But Govon couldn’t help it; he cupped Legolas’ face tenderly between his hands and kissed him, his eyes closing, his mouth opening to slide his tongue in, surrendering to the moment, the heat, the need as Legolas held him, pressed against him, responding with every strand of his being, trembling, both of them, holding each other up until the kiss finally ended.

Legolas’ eyes were wide and dark, his breath fast as he licked his lips.

‘Maybe I gathered enough, the report can keep.’

‘Yes; your turn now,’ Govon said as he was stripped of his tunic and shirt, staying the eager hands that reached for his leggings. ‘This fight you were in...’

‘Oh, that.’

‘Yes, that. Twelve of them?’

‘Only one at first, their acting captain...’

While Legolas spoke, Govon busied himself with his fair elf’s garments, divesting him of coat and tunic with gentle care, not quite sure what he’d find beneath the raiment.

‘...she fought like a fury, as if she was angry, that it was personal. When she couldn’t take me alone, she called on the others to help. Of course, Silvans, I couldn’t use my weapons, didn’t want to injure any of them...’

He paused for Govon to pull the shirt off for him, heard his husband’s shocked inhalation as he saw the clustered bruising on his ribs, now green and yellow as it aged and faded.

‘That was from the captain,’ Legolas admitted. ‘But there was worse...’

‘Worse?’ Govon’s voice was dismayed. ‘Melleth...’

‘Wait a minute; I’ll get to that. So, they closed on me. Well, most of them did, I think there were two with the presence of mind to keep out of it. They all fought well, but mostly didn’t want to hurt me any more than I did them... they had a sense the captain was mistaken, I think... so I was just trying to push them off... I winded a couple, someone got in a lucky hit or two, caused the bruises you can see on my face... I think the captain had been waiting for them to swamp me, because suddenly she was there again, I was down... let me show you...’

Legolas lay down on the rug, on his back.

‘She was astride me, kneeling, a knife pointed at my throat... come, sit across me, let me show you...’ 

‘What?’ Govon settled over his husband’s groin. ‘Like this?’

‘...ah, yes a bit like that only not at all and... and then she...’

‘What, my fair elf? What did she do to you?’

‘She wriggled.’

‘She...?’

‘And sort of... sort of writhed, and it was awful, Govon! It was... I found out later it is what she does when she fights ellyn, most of them are distracted, but for me it was just... just a most unpleasant experience!’

Govon nodded, torn between laughter at Legolas’ dismay and outrage that one would dare do something like that to his husband.

‘What happened then?’ he asked instead.

‘When she saw it wasn’t working, she said something to one of the other hunters and I grabbed her knife arm, dragged her forward so I could get to her neck... you know Glorfindel’s Námo Special? That. She was still giggling two hours later, I believe...’

‘Well, good. Although properly she deserves worse...’

‘Ai, she’s had the worse, since. She can’t quite believe what pass for her charms didn’t work on me. And all her friends look at her and grin. But, really, Govon, I preferred being drum-punched in the ribs...’

‘I think it’s time I took a proper look at your wounds, then, my fair elf.’ Govon pulled off Legolas’ boots, began untying the lacings of his leggings. ‘Just to make sure there’s been no lasting damage...’

‘That sounds like a very good idea,’ his fair elf gasped, raising his hips to facilitate the removal of his clothes. ‘But you are a little overdressed, yes?’

‘Oh, I’m working on that, do not fear,’ Govon told him, and, once he had his husband properly, beautifully naked, hurried out of the remainder of his own clothes, bringing a pillow from the couch for Legolas’ head and lying beside him, head propped on one hand while the other drifted down across the beautiful bright hair. 

‘So... a black eye, or what’s left of it.’

He leaned over to kiss Legolas’ brow, to cover the fading bruises with delicate touches of lip and tongue.

‘Is that better, my beloved fair elf?’

‘A little. Yes. I think... maybe a little more.’

‘A little more.’ 

Govon repeated his tender ministrations, and then moved to the bruise on the cheekbone.

‘Who did this to you?’

‘I do not know. One or other of the hunters. But it is fading now.’

‘Good. I don’t like to see your beautiful face damaged, melleth. I get this little ball of rage and fire in my heart when you are hurt, and it chokes at me. Let me kiss that bruise away.’

‘Well, since you ask...’

Legolas smiled as Govon’s tongue dipped and danced tenderly across the marks on his skin. Really, there was no pain there, and the gentle contact was a comfort, a consolation. He extended his hand, allowing his fingers to stroke over Govon’s heart.

‘What are you doing?’ Govon asked between kisses.

‘Trying to melt the rage and fire from your heart, my love.’

Govon lifted his head to fix his eyes on his husband’s beautiful, languid gaze.

‘I’ll be well of it soon. Just let me look after your other hurts. Your side looks sore, though... perhaps I’d better work my way down there slowly...’

‘Take all the time you need,’ Legolas said, relaxing in the hands of his lover. ‘But... a kiss, first?’

A kiss, delicate touches, Govon sliding down his husband’s body towards the clustered bruising, his lips and tongue soft to begin, but his whole being focussed on his task, reading the responses of skin and muscle, he added delicate teeth, little, teasing sucks around the area, smoothing the bruises with the silkiest of sweeps before moving on ever further, clasping Legolas’ hips in his hands and repositioning himself between his husband’s thighs, resting his face against his lower belly and just stilling, enjoying the sensation of hot, warm flesh, the sweetly fragrant musk of his fëa-mate’s scent.

‘Ah. And here, the most grievous of injuries, an aggressive assault indeed... distressing for you, my love. Let me replace the bad sensations with pleasant ones...’

‘What... what did you have in mind?’ Legolas asked, although, he had a fair idea...

‘This,’ Govon said, sweeping his hands over Legolas’ hips, stroking and touching, inhaling, taking his beloved’s erection into his mouth and bringing all the talents of his clever tongue to bear, and, distantly, he heard Legolas sigh with delight, felt his husband’s hands caress his hair, and gave himself up to his task with his entire being, taking his time, slowing, teasing, making Legolas wait, changing, settling, finding something new, still, to bring to his husband’s pleasure, knowing that this was just the first part of an encounter that would end with them both sated and embarrassing company at the feast later...

The thought made him smile, the changing shape of his mouth having unexpected consequences, and Legolas gasped and bucked and shuddered, and Govon swallowed, and held on to his beloved until he stilled, and then softly released him to move back up, to hold him in his arms and hug him close, even as Legolas’ hand slid between their bodies, as he sought Govon’s mouth for a strangely salted kiss, and it was good to be together again, at last.


	341. Homewards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil has an idea, and next day, sets off for home.

Thranduil noted with private approval that both Legolas and Govon looked relaxed and content when they arrived for the feast. He also noted they arrived holding hands in a loose, comfortable sort of way that earned them more than a few curious glances.

Nor was he unaware of the chagrined expression that crossed the face of the elleth who had propositioned him; having by now heard his son’s account of her fighting tactics, he was hardly surprised to see her looking at Govon as if he was to blame for her lack of success.

The elflings came forward then with garland crowns for all the visiting guests, Thranduil and Brambenos being honoured first. Legolas and Govon were led to places of honour near to the king and the Einior, the Grey Dragons (all having been told they were strictly off duty tonight) around them, and the festivities began.

‘I do not think I have ever seen Legolas so happy,’ Brambenos said to the king in a lull between a display of dancing and a song. ‘We hardly need lanterns; his expression when he looks at his fëa-mate lights up the entire glade! So much better to allow our young people to find their own mates, don’t you think?’

‘In this instance, certainly. Where my eldest is concerned, I should probably have locked him up for the first millennia of his adult life and then had a serious talk with him before letting him loose on the populace...’

Brambenos began to laugh as Thranduil shook his head and continued.

‘...I doubt it would have made any difference; he would simply have attempted to make up for lost time. Ah, well, he will be sailing soon, and if Arwen is determined to sail with him, than I would not wonder if she will marry him at last in the Undying Lands and I not there to see it.’ Thranduil sighed, resigned, but smiled as he looked at Legolas, attempting to stuff food into Govon’s mouth as the commander tried to drink from his wine cup. ‘But my youngest son is in his glowing time, and it is a great consolation in these sad times to see him flourishing.’

‘The days will turn, my friend, and the years will bear the sorrows off into the past, and we will all move towards the hope of future reunions,’ Brambenos said. ‘Meanwhile, your Silvans will still be here, in the villages, whenever you need a reminder of who you really are.’

‘Indeed, Brambenos. I will try not to keep away so long next time.’ The king sighed. ‘Nor do I really wish to leave yet. But Arveldir still does not know for certain that I am safe. And so I must take my leave of you tomorrow.’

‘I suspected as much. And a part of me would wish you to stay, you and your son and his husband. We need such lessons as they have to teach as much as our young people were hoping to learn from your warriors how to fight. But perhaps another time.’

‘Could not those lessons be learned equally from my warriors? Canadion and Thiriston could stay; even Fonor could remain; I do not need a full escort with me. After all, I rode out here alone and I am quite capable of finding my way back with just my son and honour-son with me.’

‘That would be very interesting; they are the ones you spoke of as married, did you not?’

‘Yes, and so have they have far more to demonstrate than just fighting. But Canadion is a champion archer, Thiriston the best knife thrower I know – I had to cheat in order to best him, once – while Fonor is a fine sword fighter. I am sure both my warriors and your young persons could learn of each other.’ Thranduil paused and carefully didn’t look at one elleth in particular. ‘Although I fear some have much to learn.’

‘Oh, that one! She asked me this morning if she could go home today, quietly, by herself, and then recanted when she realised that to turn up, alone, would only worry her naneth, and the naneths of the other young ones, and would lead to questions which might shame her more than staying could. And so she begged my pardon and is trying to look happy to be here.’

‘It can be awkward, being young.’

‘Thranduil, you and I, mellon-nin, we were never young.’

*

No-one could have been immune to the poison glances the erstwhile day captain was shooting in Govon’s direction, and after catching the tail end of several stares, the commander filled a cup with wine and, under cover of handing it to his husband, mentioned the matter.

‘There’s a flame-haired penneth over there, she’s been staring at me as if I just stole her last arrow or worse...’

‘Ah, yes, that is my assailant... I suppose I should urge you not to take revenge on her, for she is very young, but I really do not wish to...’

‘There may be many sorts of revenge, my fair elf,’ Govon said, and leaned over to kiss him briefly on the lips.

The music did not waver, the singing continued, the dancing did not stop. But almost everyone at the feast who was in a position to see paused what they were doing to stare at the short moment of tenderness.

‘For you are mine, my most fair elf, and I will have it seen that you are, and that I am yours, also,’ Govon said softly. ‘So are you going to kiss me back?’

‘My friend captain, I thought you would never ask,’ Legolas said with a grin, and although the kiss was comparatively chaste, it was loving, and public, and unashamed.

‘Is this the sort of behaviour you permit at court these days, my king?’ Brambenos asked, his voice tolerant, amused.

‘Only amongst avowed and married couples,’ Thranduil replied with lazy indulgence. ‘And these two are comparatively newly married, and have been parted. A few allowances can be made, I think.’

‘Oh, I was not complaining,’ Brambenos said. ‘In fact, your son’s visit is proving highly educational.’

Legolas overheard and turned towards Brambenos, not in the least abashed.

‘I beg your pardon, hir nin Einior! I promise I will behave with propriety from now on. Of course, I cannot speak for my husband...’

‘Peace, Legolas!’ Brambenos said, laughing. ‘But if you do not stay for quite all the festivities, we will understand.’

‘And probably guess why we’re dodging out early,’ Govon muttered.

Legolas laughed.

‘Well, then, we had better stay until daybreak,’ he said. ‘Since you are suddenly coy.’

‘Coy? As if this afternoon’s interlude took place in utter silence, and the ears of Silvans are less acute than they were... or that none have eyes for the purpling on your throat...’

The festivities presently moving from formal feasting to relaxed mingling and talking and drinking of wine, Legolas tugged Govon’s hand and pulled him to his feet to wander through the gathering, exchanging words here and there.

‘Who exactly is the Einior?’ Govon asked quietly. ‘He and your father seem remarkably informal with each other?’

‘Ah. Brambenos is a kinsman on my mother’s side of the family, my great-uncle. He’s known Adar almost forever. I think they are friends; certainly Ada greatly respects him.’

‘Gossiping, Legolas?’ Thranduil intercepted them, laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘But yes, indeed. Brambenos has great wisdom, Govon, and if ever you and Legolas need advice, and I am not within reach, he will help you always. As long as you do not utterly shock the entire village, that is. Now, there is a purpose to my interruption. We must ride home tomorrow, of course.’

‘Of course,’ Govon agreed.

‘Brambenos has hinted he would like some of our warriors to stay, under cover of demonstrating fighting techniques to the young hunter guard. It would also encourage them to learn other things, perhaps, if Thiriston and Canadion will stay. I propose we three return together, and they, and Fonor, stay on for a time. Will you see how the thought sits with your second for me, Govon? I have no wish to make it an order...’

‘I’ll have a word with him later, Honour-Ada.’

‘Good. Because if Thiriston won’t stay, I feel you probably ought to in his place...’

‘I’m sure they will quite see the necessity, and will enjoy a little time in the forest,’ Govon said hastily. ‘At least, they will by the time I’ve finished explaining to them...’

*

But when Govon went across to broach the subject, instead of unwillingness, Thiriston nodded his head, and Canadion gave a delighted squeak.

‘Commander, that would be lovely!’ the young husband said. ‘This part of the forest is so friendly, and welcoming...’

‘Yes, very friendly.’ Thiriston had Canadion drawn close, his arms around the young warrior’s waist. ‘So are the ellith. Seem to be having trouble with the concept of ‘Canadion is married’, though.’

‘Well, I’m sure you will quickly make that plain to them,’ Govon said. ‘I will need to discuss details with the Einior, but it shouldn’t be for too long; I will need my second back, after all.’

‘There is something,’ Thiriston said. ‘My honour-ada will be heading off to his old village sometime soon. We should be back to see him off. Only polite.’

‘Yes, that’s fine,’ Govon said, and saw Canadion’s smile beam out in relief. ‘If Brambenos wants a longer session, I’ll arrange a relief company. And, in case you need telling, watch out for the red-head...’

‘Rusgwen?’ Canadion said, following Govon’s gaze. ‘Oh, we already know about her. She wanted to touch my face, where I was dragon burnt. I don’t think she’s used to being told ‘no’...’

‘Problems?’

‘No, Thiriston growled at her and she apologised.’

‘Well done. I don’t know if you heard, but...’

‘Oh, we know all about the fight with our prince,’ Canadion said, grinning. ‘All the ellyn think he is a hero! Do you think he could show Thiriston that Námo Special before you leave?’

‘I’ll ask, but somehow, I don’t think Thiriston will need it.’

*

By the time the village gathered next morning to say farewell to their king, and his elk, all was settled: Thiriston, Canadion and Fonor would stay until relieved by a hand-picked selection of warriors from the Dragon companies.

‘Not that you would not have been chosen for the task,’ Govon said, ‘but to show the contrasts in our different skills. And whomever we send will be daunted to think they have to equal you, three Grey Dragon Warriors. So leave them some work to do.’

‘We will, Commander,’ Thiriston said. ‘May we have leave to form an honour guard, as far as the orchard?’

‘Our king would like that.’

So they set off, the Grey Dragons at the head of the column, Legolas walking beside his father on Nelleron, and the young hunters walking beside, behind, around with their heads high and a sense of honour about their light, loping steps.

At the orchard, Thiriston called a halt.

‘Thiriston, we thank you for the honour of your escort, you, and you young warriors. You are persons to be proud of, to delight in, tell your families your king said so.’ 

The village troop bowed, Thranduil lifted a hand in salute, and he rode on homewards, his son and honour-son at his side, and lighter of heart than he had been for months.


	342. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil returns home to an unexpected welcome...

The day was growing cool and drowsy by the time Thranduil, Legolas and Govon came within hail of flet four and heard the whistled calls from the sentries there.

One came down to greet them, offer refreshment, pass on a message to Govon.

‘You will be met on the outskirts of the palace enclave; Lord Arveldir, I understand, has a plan for his majesty’s return.’

‘It sounds as though we’ve been missed.’ Govon said, and returned to Thranduil and Legolas. ‘What is your wish, my king? Will you rest an hour, or would you rather press on for home?’

‘Home, I think,’ Thranduil said. ‘It should take no more than two hours from here; I will walk awhile. Nelleron needs a rest and thus I can mount up again when we close on the boundary.’

Continuing on, the trees rustling their leaves in greeting, the paths growing increasingly familiar, Thranduil felt his spirits begin to dip.

Legolas noticed, and bumped his shoulder into his father’s as they walked.

‘Ada?’

Thranduil’s head whipped round to look at his son. Almost unconsciously he straightened the edges of his cloak, trimmed the set of his tunic, lifted his chin.

‘What, Legolas?’

‘Welcome home. And if you can set your crown aside one night, come and have supper with Govon and I.’

‘Really, ion-nin?’

‘Yes, why not?’

Thranduil raised an eyebrow and made a miniscule gesture to Legolas’ far side where Govon was walking.

‘Oh, don’t mind me, Adar-in-Honour! We can even ask Merlinith and Araspen over, make a real family party of it...’

‘Most thoughtful. No. Perhaps you and Govon should come to me, instead?’

‘As long as we do something, Adar,’ Legolas said. ‘Arveldir has been on the brink of lecturing me for not taking better care of you for weeks now.’

‘I appreciate your concern, Legolas, but there is no need. And you have my permission to take me to task, should you think you need to, in the future. But I am sure all will be well. Now, we should take care for the order of our going; it will not be too long before we meet the welcome Arveldir has for us.’

But when they reached the markers for the outer approach to the palace and Thranduil took to his steed again, at the point where they might reasonably expect an escort, the trails were empty; it was only as they approached the bridge that they heard a sequence call and Triwathon was bowing on the path before them.

‘Good day my lord king, my prince. I hope the day finds you well?’

‘Captain Triwathon. We are quite well.’

‘Sire, Lord Arveldir begs that you will make your way round to the entrance closest to Nelleron’s stabling, where Master Erestor is awaiting you.’

‘Does he so? Very well, Captain, our thanks.’

‘Sire? It is good to see you; welcome home.’

‘We are grateful, Triwathon. Dismissed.’

Thranduil inclined his head as Triwathon bowed him across the bridge before turning smartly on his heel and heading off about his business... and was this the same warrior who, not so long ago, addressed him with fear and ‘O my King!’ and trembled at his temerity at addressing his liege-lord? He was certainly shaping well, and no doubt would be a more than capable captain.

Triwathon aside, whatever was Arveldir playing at? This was hardly the way to welcome home one’s king, through the side door, was it?

Erestor was waiting at the doorway, however, and bowed deeply, coming forward to take hold of Nelleron’s harness.

‘My king, welcome home, we were most concerned! It is good to see you looking so well, however.’

‘Thank you, Erestor. Would you happen to know if all is well with the main gates? Or has some mishap befallen, so that I am required to enter here, almost like a skulking thief?’

‘Sire, I beg your pardon! Lord Arveldir thought that, since your majesty chose to leave without fanfare, you would prefer to return in equally modest fashion... besides, many of the palace occupants are still ignorant of the fact that you have been from home, to call their attention to the fact with a formal welcome might be confusing for them. So it was thought.’

‘I see.’ Thranduil slid down from Nelleron’s back. ‘Arveldir’s nose was put out of joint when I absconded, he has been worried, and this is his revenge on me. Very good. Pray tell him, Erestor, that I have missed him, too. It is not too late for me to dine in the feasting hall tonight; tell him to arrange a suitable top table, Legolas and Govon will be joining us, and have invitations sent to Araspen and Merlinith, as well.’

Erestor inclined his head, hiding a smile.

‘You have been missed, sire, truly. The place has not been the same without you.’

‘Thank you, Erestor. You can also tell Arveldir that Nelleron has served above and beyond his normal duties and is especially deserving of the dried fruits he likes. And he has missed my chief advisor most greatly, and so Arveldir may have the honour of bestowing said treats at once.’

‘As my king wishes,’ Erestor said, careful not to allow his mouth to twitch with humour. ‘I will see Nelleron to his stall and convey your orders at once.’

*

Knowing his extra orders would delay the serving of the meal by a considerable margin, Thranduil did not hurry to his rooms. Instead, he walked back with Legolas and Govon first.

‘You have at least an hour,’ he told them. ‘However, do try not to be too late to table; Arveldir will be stressed enough as it is.’

‘Oh, I don’t know, Ada,’ Legolas said with a grin. ‘You’ve made sure he’ll get to spend some nice, relaxing time with Nelleron. Very considerate of you.’

Thranduil indulged himself in a smile.

‘One likes to think one considers the needs of all one’s staff. Until dinner, then, Legolas. Govon, no uniform tonight, you are present as family tonight, not Commander.’

‘Understood, Honour-Ada,’ Govon said, grinning. ‘I’m sure I can find something.’

Thranduil shook his head and set off for his own quarters. No doubt those two would be late, busy reacquainting themselves with the bathing pool. Not a bad notion, all told; the village had been delightfully traditional and rustic, but that did mean equally rustic washing arrangements... not that he was averse to washing in streams and pools, and, indeed had done so often on the journey to and from the meeting with Imladris, but it was not appropriate for a king amongst his subjects.

Still, he mused as he found his way into the heated calm of his own bathing pool, it had done him good to get out of the palace for a few days, unattended except by Nelleron and, later, by his son and a minimal escort.

The water welcomed him with its silken heat and his sigh of content echoed around the chamber.

What exactly had it been, about the Three Village community, that had soothed his fëa so? The connection with the forest must have had something to do with it, being out in the open air, under the shifting canopy, beneath the glittering skies. But more than that, the intimacy of sharing village life... the Silvans had respected him, but had not been afraid; they had approached, spoken to him easily, invited him to share their concerns and delights and lives. They had simply assumed he would be interested, and involved him in their days. And he had been interested.

Perhaps that was something he could do here. Oh, not send word for all the elflings to line up for Nelleron-rides... but he could involve himself more... he could look at the work going on around the palace, visit the King’s Office and ask about the latest innovations. He could participate in some of the practice sparring amongst the Dragon Warriors... there were many things he could do to make his duties seem more personal, more important on an individual level.

He smiled to himself, imagining the expression on Arveldir’s face when he announced that he was going to tour the renovations, and reluctantly left the waters to prepare for the feast.

Arveldir was waiting just outside the king’s private door to the feasting hall.

‘Welcome home, sire,’ he said, his voice formal and clipped.

‘Yes. Don’t say it so loudly, Arveldir, someone might overhear you and guess I have been absent.’

In spite of himself, Arveldir smiled, and Thranduil lifted a lazy eyebrow.

‘But while we are on the subject, I must confess I was dismayed that you did not notice sooner that I had gone... most remiss of you, Arveldir. You ought to have realised I was from home as soon as the cellarer informed you that no Dorwinion had been sent to my chambers.’

The advisor feigned surprise.

‘And why should it be cause for suspicion, my king, simply if you choose not to indulge in wine for one night?’

‘No matter. I will overlook it on this occasion, as you are generally not so lacking. But I am sure Erestor would have noticed. Unless distracted by blackberries, of course. Did you know they make an excellent wine from them, in Orchard Village?’

‘Indeed I did, sire. Such a waste. But the elderberry makes a most palatable vintage instead. Ah. Your other guests are assembled, my king; shall I prepare the room for you?’

‘Very well. And, Arveldir?’

‘Sire?’

‘I know you have been worried that both I and Legolas were from home at the same time. Still, the palace does not quite seem to have fallen into ruin while I was gone. Well done.’

‘Thank you, sire.’

‘Very well; you may announce me. And do not be late for the meeting tomorrow, there is much to discuss.’

‘Indeed? Ought I to be worried?’ 

Thranduil smiled loftily.

‘Oh, unequivocally. Now, do lead on; all that fresh air has given me an appetite.’


	343. Elderberry Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor realises Canadion hasn't come home with the king...

Of course, although many of the denizens of the palace were sublimely unaware that their king had been missing for almost a week, and their prince gone for half that, the occupants of the King’s Office were fully cognisant of the fact – even if they were part of the Innovation Department and it was really none of their business.

Merenor had known, of course, since Canadion had been involved in the initial search, and had confided in his father. And, despite it going against his nature to keep such a fascinating tale to himself, he hadn’t said a word, even when the news became more widely known around the office.

Then Canadion had ridden off with Thiriston and Fonor to seek the king, and Merenor had, frankly, missed him. Which was silly, since they’d formerly spent years without seeing one another... 

But it was different, now. Merenor had allowed himself to trust that he and his youngest son would have the opportunity to see each other more or less when they wished, and he felt they were still making up for lost time.

So when Triwathon brought news of the king’s return, Merenor shut himself away in the Innovations Office and danced around the room with a grin on his face until Hanben walked in a few moments later.

‘I hope you are going to tell me your contortions are necessary to the function of whatever it is you are meant to be doing, Merenor?’

‘Ai, Hanben! I have just had the news that... someone who has not been away, of course, will be home soon. And that means my Canadion will be back, too!’

Hanben’s brows drew together fractionally and he exhaled as if annoyed.

‘Sit down, Merenor.’

‘I will, but...’

‘Merenor. Calm yourself. Triwathon has just told Parvon – and then exited hastily, I might add... that the escort warriors have remained behind in the village.’

‘Oh.’

‘All is well, but they will be a few days longer gone. I am sorry to bring you this news.’

‘I see. Canadion, too?’

Hanben nodded, wanting to shy away from the disappointment in his assistant’s eyes.

‘I am sorry. But at least you will have time to polish your homecoming dance.’ He risked his slow smile as he said it, and was relieved that Merenor nodded, and straightened his shoulders a little. ‘I understand it is not for much longer, anyway. Now come, tell me, how did you get on today? Have the crews done with the next block of accommodations yet?’

‘Ah, yes, they got on quite well. We’ll be ready to look at the next corridor soon.’

‘Excellent.’ Hanben nodded, glad to see Merenor coping with the news, glad to see the disappointment gone from those dramatic amber-ringed eyes. ‘The work teams do know, I hope, that our Dragon Warriors cannot begin to move in until sufficient accommodation is ready for them all?’

‘They do indeed, I have been reminding them... of course, not all the warriors want new rooms, those in married quarters already are content to stay where they are.’

‘Arveldir promised us a list, but it seems to have slipped his mind. No doubt the king has been making more demands on his time.’ Hanben lowered his voice. ‘Even though he has not actually been here.’

‘Well, a list would be helpful, it’s true.’

‘We need to make sure the shared areas are of the highest finish, also.’

‘Yes. I’m really pleased with the completed communal pools... though it has been pointed out that there are ellith as well as ellyn living in the same corridor, and should there be two pools each?’

Hanben shook his head.

‘They are all adults, they are all warriors and have been for decades! What did they use to do? And it is not as if they will not have access either to their own pool or washing cascade!’

Merenor found a hint of a smile at Hanben’s tone.

‘I will pass that on, but I doubt my voice will have quite the authority yours does...’

‘It will come in time. Is this something new you are working on?’ Hanben wandered to Merenor’s workstation where something resembling a bundle of sticks was balanced awkwardly on the table. ‘And if so... why?’

‘Ah, my cantilevers... yes, I was thinking about the way in which spiders fold up their limbs and wondered if there might be a practical application.’ 

Merenor went to the contraption, holding it by a long, central stave, and pushed at the surrounding pieces of wood, sliding them up the device to a point near the top where they locked. Now there was a dome of laths, radiating out from the centre not unlike spokes from a hub, and Merenor lifted it high, standing beneath.

‘I thought, one could cover it with fabric – the sort we have been using for the washing cascade screens – and it might be a useful cover to keep the rain off.’

‘Because we have no hoods? Because elves have suddenly ceased to be waterproof?’

Merenor shrugged. 

‘To be frank, I was intrigued by the engineering challenge, and made the device before I thought of practical applications....’

Hanben swallowed. He had been joking...! Had his tone not adequately conveyed that?

‘May I see?’ he asked, keen to make amends.

Merenor unhooked the supporting clips and the struts released, sliding the outer spokes back into place. He nodded, and passed it to Hanben.

‘You know, this is really very clever. Intricate, delicate, but robust, too... I like it. There is a sort of beauty to the symmetry, Merenor.’

‘Thank you. I know it may not be useful, but it was keeping me awake, thinking about how to make all the joints function... I had to create it, whether it has a purpose or not. By the way, how is your project coming along?’

‘My project?’

‘Yes – the thing you’ve been working on so hard lately, that makes you sigh but you won’t let anyone help you with. Not even Feren, never mind me...?’

‘Ah, well... Enough of work for the day. I intend dining in the Feasting Hall tonight; we may not officially welcome our king, but I would be there to see him home. And, I was thinking... if you have no other plans, shall I save you a seat at the table?’

Of course Merenor had no other plans, but Hanben’s phrasing was deliberate, giving him the chance to refuse. But, still, it was an invitation, and although he didn’t quite have the heart to be as delighted as he would have on any other day, even so, it made Merenor smile.

‘Thank you, Hanben, I would like that.’

‘Good. And even though your son is not home, you can tell me about him. That’s if there are any stories left for me to hear.’

‘Oh, I’m sure I can find one or two.’

*

Arveldir stood behind the king’s seat, his heart swelling with a tangle of emotions as he waited for the king to be seated. Thranduil was safe, he was home, and he had a glint of life back in his eye, a sense that he’d only just stopped smiling about something. That said, he had run away without warning, they had all been very worried and he just came wandering back in and then had the gall to complain he hadn’t been missed soon enough... and that little jibe about the Dorwinion... had Arveldir been so obvious that Thranduil had noticed him noticing?

A thought occurred to him, and he beckoned Erestor forward to take over for him, hurrying to intercept the servers with new instructions which caused consternation and head-shaking.

‘No, I know it is unusual, yes, we do have some, yes I do mean it, and I mean now. To go with the meal, so you had better hurry. Top table only, there will be plenty. Now, hasten!’

*

The hall was surprisingly full, Thranduil thought, considering it was not a special occasion, just a meal at which he was present. In fact, it seemed to him that there were many there who did not frequent the hall except on rare occasions; all the members of the Office of Innovation were present, many of the Dragon Warriors were seated in the hall... it seemed he had been missed, and the thought that so many had made a point of coming tonight, to look at him (and they were, indeed, looking) was somehow comforting. 

He waved to Arveldir to send the wine round, and lifted his goblet, watching the slur of the Dorwinion... except it neither moved nor smelled like Dorwinion. He took a mouthful, a smile forming.

‘An inspired thought, Arveldir,’ he said. ‘Elderberry wine, a reminder of the industry of our village Silvans. Very good.’

‘I am pleased you approve, my king.’

‘Indeed I do, Arveldir. Although I cannot imagine why the idea occurred to you this evening.’

‘Just a whim, sire.’

‘Arveldir?’

‘Yes, my king?’

‘Pour yourself and Erestor a cup, drink each other’s health, and take the rest of the evening off. Go and be whimsical in private, if you must. Parvon can take over.’

‘Thank you, my king.’

Arveldir bowed and went about the king’s bidding with decorous alacrity, joining Erestor who was seated discreetly at the second table.

‘What’s this?’ he asked, surprised when Arveldir took a place next to him and filled up his wine cup.

‘Elderberry wine, from the northern villages. Take care; it looks innocuous as fruit juice, but it is actually more potent than Dorwinion.’

Erestor took a curious sip.

‘I see what you mean,’ he said. ‘Its potency is disguised by the fragrance.’

‘Yes. It has the added benefit, of course, that the goodness of the fruit helps allay the risk of hangover. So, my king obviously hasn’t missed me, he has told me to give Parvon the duty and take the evening off. I suspect because he feels I have not properly missed him. He looks less stressed, though.’

‘Yes, indeed. One would not like to be seen to notice, but he had been looking out of sorts. Let us hope all will be well now.’ Erestor took another thoughtful sip of wine. ‘The evening off, you say?’

Arveldir nodded.

‘Then, may I suggest that as soon as we have eaten, we retreat from the public eye of the hall, remove a bottle or two of this excellent fruit wine from the table, and return to our chambers to enjoy it in private?’

‘That is a fine idea, Erestor; I think we should implement it as soon as possible. Immediately, in fact; I find I have no appetite tonight.’

‘Oh, but I do, mellon-nin. Only, not for such viands as are offered here. Shall we go?’


	344. The King at Large

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil takes himself off on a tour of the renovations...

‘Your majesty’s public audience was due yesterday; I took the liberty of informing those who arrived that their issues either did not warrant the attention of their king, not when there is a King’s Office… or, in the case of two supplicants, that they rather deserved to bring their matter to you personally…’

‘Oh?’

‘They are similarly circumstanced to Cullasbes and Merenor and seek release from their short vows. I trust my king does not object?’

‘No; it is a momentous decision, and even Merenor and Cullasbes did not seem entirely happy to be released, at first. Arrange a time, give them a few days to properly consider.’

‘Yes, sire. The matter of relief for the warriors left behind in Orchard Village… Erestor will put the matter to Legolas, as Argallor, to present to the over-captain. As for today, my king will wish to hear about the missives from Dale…’

‘Your king wishes no such thing, Arveldir. Instead, I will this morning inspect the latest progress on the renovations of the Dragons Wing, thence I will visit the King’s Office in person…’

‘The King’s Office, sire?’

‘Yes. Particularly, I wish to enquire as to the work of the Office of Innovation, I wish to see what they are working on, to what end, whether Merenor is an asset or not, how Hanben is coping…’

Arveldir swallowed, hoping the rooms would, at least, be tidy…

‘As you wish, sire…’

‘Thence I will go to the Healers’ Hall… tell me, do you think it best if they are forewarned? Or would it be better just to arrive? If you send word ahead, will it give them chance to fret? Come, your opinion, Arveldir?’

‘My opinion, sire? Let me pass a message on to them on your majesty’s behalf…’

Thranduil smiled as if Arveldir had said something truly amusing.

‘No, this is not something you may do on my behalf. Warn them or not, as you see fit.’

‘As my king commands. The missives from Dale…’

‘Are of no interest. Deal with them, Arveldir, you or Erestor. Our position is unmoving.’

‘Understood, sire. When do you wish to begin?’

‘Oh… return in an hour. That should give you long enough to terrify your minions into the proper frame of mind for a visit from their king, I hope?’

Arveldir made himself smile and bow.

‘My king is most considerate.’

‘Very well, that will be all for the moment, Arveldir.’

Reconvening with Erestor to compare notes presently, Arveldir shook his head.

‘I do not know if this new, refreshed king is an improvement or not! He is certainly less morose… but I feel he is constantly on the verge of laughing at me!’

‘Then, my dear friend, you must continue to appear to be restraining yourself from laughing back. Is there any assistance I can give, to help you prepare?’

‘Merenor needs to be warned that the king will be descending on his work crews… the healers to be gently prepared… Hanben alerted, Parvon told to tidy his desk…’

‘I’ll go to Merenor, if you wish, and speak to Parvon on my way.’

‘Thank you, mellon-nin. I will seek Hanben and thence to the healers.’

In fact, Merenor did not seem in the slightest perturbed by the news.

‘Always a pleasure and a delight to show off to our king,’ he said. ‘Thank you, Master Erestor. I think we are well enough ahead to impress. And I have explained the use of the washing cascades often enough that I can do so without sounding either condescending, or overly technical.’

‘Good. And may I say, these rooms do look rather fine; a vast improvement on the previous single warrior quarters…’

‘Yes? And what might you have been doing in the quarters of a single warrior? And does Arveldir know?’

Aware he was being teased, Erestor only lifted a corner of his mouth.

‘Since he was with me at the time, yes, he knows. I am sure the previous chambers were very cramped.’ He lowered his voice. ‘At least, they might suffice for an hour or so… but an entire night? One would have to be very friendly to share such limited space…’

Merenor laughed.

‘Indeed, if one were not very friendly, one would not be sharing at all, I hope! Ah, Master Erestor, does Arveldir know you are giving away his secrets? And blushing, also?’

‘It is not a blush, it is a trick of the light,’ Erestor said with dignity. ‘So. Expect the king within the hour.’

It was, in fact, far less than that when Merenor heard the jangle of the bell installed outside the gates of the corridor and went to see.

‘My king, your pardon! We did not expect you so soon – or unaccompanied.’

‘Which is why I am early – that I might be unaccompanied, and you and your workers can tell me what you have been doing without Arveldir’s assistance.’

‘I suppose he must be busy this morning. Well, sire, if you will follow me, I will give you the grand tour… all corridors have lodgings for a servant, although it is understood the preferred term amongst the warriors is ‘attendant’, and it is expected they will take turns to oversee the care of the occupants… Master Hanben is very proud of the fact that all rooms have either a window, or a lightwell, a washing cascade or a small bathing pool…’

‘I know about the washing cascades,’ Thranduil said, eager to avoid an encounter which could lead to accidental moisture. ‘There are still communal bathing areas?’

‘Yes, indeed. For those supplied with washing cascades who might wish for a soak, once in a while. Other shared areas include common rooms – one for each wing, although it is not intended that the companies keep apart. I understand that the numbers of Dragon Warriors will increase, and so more rooms will be needed. This is just a small start for the core warriors.’

‘Show me the common room, then. And tell me, how do you like being back in the palace?’

‘I love it, sire. And you?’

Ah, well. Thranduil had wanted to connect more with his subjects; he had only himself to blame… He lifted his chin to look down his elegant nose at the assistant innovator, but Merenor just kept an expression of innocent interest on his face so that the king found himself answering.

‘In fact, I quite enjoyed my trip. It is not widely known, of course.’

‘Naturally, sire, I would not advertise the matter. I hope my son acquitted himself well in your service?’

‘Yes. He and his husband were doing an admirable job of enlightening the villagers to the possibilities of modern life choices. Do not worry; he should be home within a week.’

Merenor nodded, looking away, his throat constricting. Here was a level of empathy he had not expected; of course, Thranduil was a father, too, had said farewell to two sons with far longer than a week to wait for a reunion.

‘Is this one of the single rooms? May I see?’

‘Yes, sire, of course. We have tried to arrange them so that the facilities are evenly matched. This side of the corridor has lightwells and washing cascades.’

Thranduil wandered through, taking in the size of the chambers, the amenities. It seemed a rather poor space to him, used as he was to his own chambers. But compared with the accommodations in the Three Villages, it was bordering on the luxurious. And, in fact, not much smaller than Legolas’ rooms, which he was content to share with his husband and found it no hardship.

‘Excellent; it is apparent much thought has gone into this. Pass on my approval.’

‘Yes, sire.’

‘And you were going to show me the common room?’

Was he?

‘Yes, my king. Back along here, almost opposite to the attendant’s quarters.’

‘And this is for how many warriors?

‘For as many Dragon Hearts as there are, and their families, those who have them. At present, plenty of room for socialising in just this one room, but there will be one for each wing.’

Thranduil swept around the room, experiencing its dimensions.

‘It will be furnished how?’

‘As the warriors wish; chairs and tables; there will be consultations.’

‘Excellent. Since I know what a bathing pool resembles, shall we proceed?’

‘Of course, my king. Where are we going?’

‘Your own Department of Innovation; I wish to see what you have been doing.’

‘Well, sire,’ Merenor began, an idea forming. ‘Of late, I have mostly been here while Master Hanben works on a project of his own in the workshop. Perhaps that would be a good place to start?’

*

Hanben was underneath his latest work in progress when what sounded like voices outside disturbed his concentration. Busy tightening bolts, he tried to disregard it when he stopped his work abruptly; was that not Merenor’s voice? And the king’s?

Nearer, clearer, and yes, it was his assistant.

And his king.

He dropped his spanners and began to worm his way out from beneath the construction over his head and scrambled to his feet, dusting himself off just as a polite knock came to the secured double doors.

‘Master Hanben? May I interrupt?

Just what he had not wanted! Hastily, he threw a cover over the work and went to unfasten the doors.

Merenor. Oh, and yes, Thranduil was there, too… and he himself must look as if he’d been rolling around on the floor, since that was exactly what he had been doing… 

‘Your majesty, this is an unexpected surprise...’

‘I can see that, yes. I am come to enquire about your work, Hanben,’ the king said, taking Hanben’s dumbfounded silence as tacit welcome and striding through the wide doorway. ‘Merenor has shown me the excellent work on the renovations. You have all worked hard.’

‘Thank you, sire… how may I serve…?’

Thranduil lifted the corner of the cover enquiringly, surprised to see Hanben gulp as he stepped forward to grasp the edge.

‘Thank you Merenor, is there something you were doing?’

‘Acting as his majesty’s guide, Master Hanben.’

‘Yes. Merenor, it seems your master needs help with this…’

And although Hanben protested that the device was a work in progress, not worth looking at yet, the cover was twitched aside and he shuffled his feet, mortified, not looking in Merenor’s direction.

‘How intriguing!’ the king said. ‘Do explain, Master Hanben?’

‘It is… I have reimagined a cart, sire…’

‘Ah. Did not someone already invent the cart, I wonder?’

‘Well, yes, but you see, this is a particular sort of vehicle… it has more in keeping with the chariots used of old in the farthest south, beyond the bounds of Middle Earth where rumour and myth blend with story… it is as light as I can make it, flexible, narrow… intended to be drawn by a donkey, rather than a horse…’ 

Now his secret work was unmasked, and he ordered to talk about it, Hanben warmed to the topic. 

‘…it will be perfect for use on narrow forest trails, for journeys of several days, for example… one can even make the entire device less wide, if one must; you see, the seat will be very narrow, enough for one person, or two, if slight, so it will pass easily amongst the trees… large wheels for stability…’

Out of Hanben’s line of sight, Merenor was taking in the lines of the vehicle, the lightweight construction, the blush on Hanben’s face… so this was the secret project? But why keep it secret?

And why build it at all…?

‘And is there a need for this particular sort of vehicle?’ Thranduil asked, running a finger along the frame of the cart.

‘Well, there will be many applications, sire…’

Alerted to Hanben’s discomfort and not a little intrigued, Thranduil pressed on with his questioning.

‘Such as?’

‘Well, our Healers are not easy walking the forest, they might feel safer in a vehicle and this is an easy one to handle…’

‘The healers. Yes. If they leave their halls at all. But this does not look as if it would take two, not comfortably, and you will not get one healer alone heading outside their sanctuary.’

‘Well, and… and for persons moving around the forest. Perhaps… perhaps resettling from one region to another…’ Hanben took a breath. ‘I hope to begin tests soon, my… my assistant is planning a trip and I… thoughtitmightbeeasierforhimifhehadacart…’

Out of sight, Merenor began to grin. This was the thing that had kept Hanben busy, in private, for so long now…

‘I see,’ Thranduil said, noting the blush, the shy demeanour, Merenor trying not to smirk. These two? An unlikely pairing, but, from the look in his eyes, Merenor at least wouldn’t object… ‘Very good. Let me know how you get on with the trials.’

‘I will indeed, sire.’

‘Hanben?’ Merenor couldn’t help but ask, even though he should have been giving all his attention to the king. ‘I don’t suppose… did you use split ring technology in the design?’

Hanben lifted an eyebrow, recovering.

‘I did indeed, in some of the space-saving fastening releases. We will talk of this later; our king is present. Sire, if there is nothing more I can show you here, you might be interested in something Master Merenor is working on; really a quite intricate piece of mechanical ingenuity, it is in our main office… would you like to see…?’

Having already seen more than he’d expected to, still, Thranduil inclined his head.

‘Lead on, if you will. And, Hanben? There is really no need to be so shy about your work; it does look really rather fine.’

‘Thank you, sire. This way.’

There was a sudden, furtive freezing of activity when Thranduil entered the King’s Office. Arveldir stepped forwards and bowed, and the king waved a lazy hand.

‘I am visiting the Innovation offices first. I will come to you, and your fellows, next. So be at ease, Arveldir. For now, at least.’

‘Sire.’

*

Unlike Hanben, Merenor seemed keen to display his work, eager to demonstrate its intricacies.

‘So you see, my king, pushing this band up the central support right to the top takes the inner staves through their point of flexion and they hold, thus keeping the outer spokes fixed and steady.’

‘Intriguing. And well thought through… it reminds me of something…’

‘Merenor based the design on arachnid limb articulation, I understand,’ Hanben said. ‘We are currently investigating practical applications…’

‘Oh?’ Thranduil raised the dome of skeletal sticks above his head and twirled it experimentally. ‘It is so beautiful, it hardly needs a reason to exist. And to take the devices of our ancient enemy and create from it something of such elegance shows an impressive reach of imagination.’

‘Thank you sire,’ Merenor said. ‘I am indebted to Master Hanben for encouraging me to explore such possibilities.’

‘Excellent. My thanks for an entertaining morning, both of you. I must attend Arveldir and his office now, else he will feel neglected. Carry on.’

He left the Innovations Office, closing the door behind him, effectively shutting Hanben and Merenor in together, for to attempt to leave while the king was outside would be quite rude.

So Merenor folded down the cantilever contraption and reached into his desk drawer where he kept an occasional bottle of beer.

‘I’d wondered what you were up to, locked away in that workshop of yours,’ he said, uncorking the bottle and pouring half of it into a beaker which he passed to Hanben.

Hanben accepted the beer, and sank down onto the edge of the desk with a sigh.

‘It was intended as a surprise,’ he said. ‘I wished to finish it first, make all good, present you with the completed vehicle. And,’ he added, ‘I have yet to source a donkey.’

Merenor laughed, his eyes dancing and for a moment Hanben found no breath in his lungs…

‘Master Hanben, I am grateful! It is most kind of you, the thought you have put into this project… I am sure it will make my travels easier.’

‘Well, I was hoping for faster,’ Hanben said, recovering with effort. ‘I cannot be doing with you away for too long, I… there is far too much work to do, and now you have finally become useful at overseeing the work crews, we can finish the next stage of construction and have our warriors moved in by Yule. So it is in our best interests for me to make sure you are gone for as short a time as possible. Because there is still a lot of work to do.’

‘Yes, I see.’

‘On the accommodations for our warriors.’

‘A very important task.’

‘I knew you would understand.’

Merenor nodded. ‘Of course, now I know about your project, perhaps I could help you with it?’

‘Would you do so?’ Hanben found himself smiling. ‘That would be most welcome; there are some processes which would be better with two…’

‘Isn’t that always the case?’ Merenor said, returning the smile. ‘And a donkey… you know, I do love donkeys. I think if we can find one, I will call it ‘Cullasbes’…’


	345. Deliverint the Report

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil's reception at the Healers' Hall is not what he had expected...

In the finish, Arveldir had been so frazzled by Thranduil’s unaccompanied tour of the palace that he didn’t have time to get to the Healers’ Hall before the king himself arrived, coming to a halt in front of the elegant sweep of polished wood and clearing his throat.

But it wasn’t until Healer Maereth looked up with a squeak and a belated curtsey that Thranduil realised she had not been expecting a royal visit.

‘Good day, Maereth. I will not keep you from your vital work, but I have something for you,’ he said, dropping a leather-bound packet on the desk. ‘The belated report on the Children of the Forest; the northern villages. Next year, it will once more be the responsibility of the Healers’ Hall.’

He paused for a moment to allow the healer to gather herself together, to stammer something, an apology or a thank you. When she did neither, simply blushing and taking hold of the packet, he leaned in towards her, stopping with his face a few inches from her own.

‘Do not fail me again,’ he said, and removed himself from the premises before she could find her voice.

And perhaps it was unfair of him, he realised as he strode away, to blame the Healers’ Hall, but his enjoyment of the day was gone somehow, evaporated by Maereth’s attitude… he had thought the healers would have made more of an effort, after all the suggestions made to them, all the veiled warnings given, all the allowances made...

With a sigh he turned away from the corridor that would have led him to his study, instead heading out of the palace to Nelleron’s paddock.

The elk was standing under the trees at the back of the enclosure, rubbing his antlers against the branches. An occasional tinkling chime, as one of the suspended bells sounded, broke into the rhythmical sound of scratching.

‘Nelleron, mellon-nin.’

The animal snorted acknowledgement and with a final rub left off his scratching and came towards his master, lowering his nose to have his forehead rubbed.

‘Ah, there you are, my beauty. I hope you are rested? No, we are not riding out today, although I ought to lead an expedition, perhaps, with Healer Maereth in the lead, riding high on Hanben’s donkey chariot... Now, there is a thought... well, in a few days, we shall see.’

Nelleron shook his head, causing the bells and dragon scale decorations to dance and jangle at the end of their crocheted strings.

‘And what will you do presently, when you shed, my dear friend? As I recall, you always forget you have lost antlers before and you leap into the air like a startled frog – except with more presence, of course – and until the second antler follows the first, you run about off-kilter...’

The sound of a person discreetly throat-clearing in the background caused Thranduil to turn. 

Erestor was at the edge of the paddock, and he bowed politely.

‘Sire, I beg your pardon, but there has been some kind of incident in the Healers’ Hall... Arveldir has been sent for, and he, in turn, has requested I seek you out in the hopes that you may expedite enlightenment and resolution...’

Thranduil nodded absently.

‘Very well, I will attend to the matter.’ He rummaged in the pocket of his coat and found a few morsels to feed to Nelleron. ‘He will not know himself presently; they are not like their smaller cousins, these forest giants. Where most of their kin shed their antlers in the spring of the year, the giant elk of Mirkwood do so around the time of the frosts, our fine friend here will cast his head set in a matter of weeks now.’

‘Ai, poor creature, what will he do then? Should we hang his bells and scales from the lower branches of the tree, sire, to keep him entertained?’

‘It is a possibility, indeed. Take over with the treats for me, would you, Erestor, there’s a good fellow.’

‘Willingly, sire.’ Erestor reached out and scratched Nelleron behind the base of his ear. ‘You were missed.’

‘Well, I am home now, Erestor, but thank you...’

‘Sire? Oh, your pardon, of course, yes, quite; in this instance, my king, I meant the elk.’

*

Thranduil retraced his steps back towards the Healers’ Hall and was met outside by Parvon, who bowed.

‘Thank you for coming, your majesty. Arveldir is doing what he can, but Healer Maereth is in great distress and now Healer Gyril, too, is distraught...’

‘And my presence is intended to soothe them, does he think?’

‘Well, my king, I will return to the King’s Office now, in case further matters should arise...’ 

Parvon bowed and, without waiting for permission, fled, leaving Thranduil compressing his lips together in annoyance.

‘Your majesty?’

The expression was still there as he turned at the soft voice of one of the other healers, a junior assistant to judge from the white band around the blue of her head-rail. He saw her eyes widen and her cheeks grow white as she lowered her head and curtseyed, and he hastily rearranged his features to something less daunting.

‘Do rise, child, I have said many times, I do not require such obeisance outside of formal occasions. I do not think I know your name, forgive me?’

‘Aeglosdes, sire.’

‘Healer Aeglosdes, greetings. I understand there has been an incident? And that my chief advisor is helping?’

‘Oh... yes, that is so... all the senior healers are meeting with him presently... if you will pardon me, sire, and if you can bear to wait, I will fetch him.’

‘I will take a walk around your gardens.’

She hurried to open the external door for him and curtseyed again before running off. 

The gardens were cool, the sky overcast, dulling the brightness of the greens but still it was a pleasant place to walk through while he waited. His steps took him under a window, open a little and he heard a murmur of voices, one sounding clear above the rest.

‘Indeed not, Healer Maereth, I was spoken to with great kindness, I thought... My lord, he will be in the gardens... No, Healer Gaelbes, not at all frightened, I do not see why...’

Thranduil retraced his steps hastily, making his way to the farthest bounds of the garden where he could pretend an interest in a fair white rambling rose still lingering in bloom.

Presently, Arveldir’s voice saying ‘Sire?’ and he turned, cupping a flower between his fingers and tipping his head in acknowledgement.

‘How fair the roses bloom here. The pink blush at the heart of this rose, the delicacy of its stamens such a bright yellow...’

‘Indeed, my king.’

‘And just what is the matter, tell me?’

‘I understand, sire, that you came here earlier and spoke with one of the healers. She said she feels she has let you down and she wishes to leave. Except the thought of doing so fills her with fear and dread. The other senior healers are attempting to calm her, but she is bordering on the hysterical and keeps saying she does not know how she has failed you...’

‘Foolish child! I merely said that I did not wish the Healers’ Hall to fail me again... has she misunderstood, and thought I meant she, herself?’ Thranduil shook his head. ‘It was obvious I meant the entire edifice of the Healers’ Hall, which has been significantly underperforming of late. She may stay, of course. I will tell her myself...’

‘No!’ Arveldir said hastily, having seen poor Maereth revived from a near faint at the thought of having displeased her king and having no wish for her to return to her sorry state. ‘That is, sire, she may misinterpret your doing so as further reproof.’

‘Reproof? I reproved no-one. She did not even have the courtesy to thank me for the report I delivered, in person, for their records, she said not one word to me. You must explain it for me, then, Arveldir, I really do not have time to attend to every little thing that happens with the healers...’

‘In that case, perhaps in future, Sire, anything you need to pass on to them should come through the King’s Office. Thus you will be spared the necessity of dealing with them.’

‘Yes, do that, Arveldir. I cannot think why you did not suggest bringing the report yourself, you must have known I was busy today.’

Arveldir opened and closed his mouth on a protest; he seemed to remember having suggested that very course of action himself, but Thranduil released his hold on the rose and headed towards the open doorway, not noticing, or, at least, pretending not to notice.

‘Very well, Arveldir, I will be in my study if I am needed urgently for anything. I will dine in the Feasting Hall tonight, just amongst family. Make sure it is known.’

‘As my king wishes.’

‘And pass on my compliments to whomever had the training of Aeglosdes. She, at least, seems to have a good head on her shoulders.’

‘Sire.’

‘And find out how long it will take Hanben to finish his latest contrivance; I am interested in learning how it performs under test conditions.’

‘Is that everything, sire?’ Arveldir asked mildly.

‘For the moment. But I am sure I can find you something to do, if you are at a loss later.’


	346. Esgaron's Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erestor proves his worth...

Erestor followed Arveldir’s progress with sympathetic eyes as the afternoon drew on. He saw his beloved friend write messages and send them away, saw the tiny creases on his brow deepen as the day’s work passed.

Hanben arrived for a meeting with the chief advisor, and as he led the way into his office, Arveldir turned back to address the rest of the staff.

‘I’ll be busy after this for at least an hour. Please see that I am not disturbed... if anything else happens, I would be grateful if one of you can attend to it.’

Parvon hunched his shoulders defensively as the door closed.

‘Which of course means us, Master Erestor...’

‘It’s been a trying day. Well, I will see what I may do to prevent anything more happening. If there should be developments, refer everyone to me.’

‘And where might we find you?’

‘The Healers’ Hall,’ Erestor said, heading for the door. ‘After I have visited the kitchens, that is.’

*

‘Good day, Healer Gyril. I hope you are well?’

Gyril looked up from the desk to see the dark-haired friend of Lord Arveldir standing in front of her. He was carrying a large, fragrant basket, and his serious face was friendly, smiling. Gyril sought for a name.

‘Master Erestor, how can I help?’

‘Ah. I have something for you and your healers; compliments of the King’s Office. Honey cakes and damson cordial.’

‘Goodness, how kind! There has been a little excitement today, this is just what we need...’

‘I heard about that, of course. I do hope Maereth is recovered? I fear it is my fault; a message was meant to precede his majesty and as Lord Arveldir’s plans were altered, he was unable to do so and I should have brought you word instead... would it be possible, do you think, for me to speak to Healer Maereth, if she is feeling well enough? I should like to apologise in person...’

Somehow, Gyril was not sure how it happened, she found herself presiding over an unplanned picnic in the gardens where the sheltering trees rustled in the background and Erestor asked interested, interesting questions that somehow got everyone talking.

‘Ah, it is so lovely here,’ he said, breathing deeply. ‘The scent of the air; the fragrance of the forest... it is so beautiful, so ancient. And yet I can remember my first encounter with your woods, I was quite frightened...'

‘You, Master Erestor?’

‘Indeed. I, and Lady Arwen, and Healer Feril, and Glorfindel, we had all been briefed as to the dangers of the Greenwood. We had already heard about the spiders, of course, but by the time the briefing was finished, Arwen and Feril and I were terrified to put our feet down, lest we contact a poisonous creature and suffer agonies – even Glorfindel was looking a little alarmed at the prospect... and yet into the forest we had to go.’

‘Oh, but it isn’t so bad,’ Gaelbes said. ‘Not if you know what you are doing, and have guards with you. It is mostly at night.’

‘Well, I was terrified, I will admit. An enemy I can face, with words, with a sword, I am never at a loss, but an entire forest of secret and hidden dangers? And so Lord Arveldir made me climb a tree with him, and explained, and after I had seen how beautiful it was, how everything works together, I was less worried.’

‘I think it has become more dangerous lately,’ Maereth said. ‘All the spider activity!’

‘Yes... but I understand so many were killed, so many eggs destroyed, that the population has been severely diminished,’ Erestor said.

‘Well, Commander Esgaron mentioned that, but said it might be a temporary lull. Except he did not say how temporary,’ Maereth went on. ‘And the other things he mentioned...’

‘Forgive me, Maereth, when did the commander say these things?’ Erestor asked, making his voice calm and mild.

‘Oh, he came to us before he left. Without Nestoril, maytheValarhavemercyonher, he knew we would be at a loss, and so he had written us a helpful guide to keeping safe in the forest. Of course, he had been travelling through it far more recently than any of us, and so he knew first-hand how dangerous it had become...’

‘Indeed? I wonder, if I might borrow this helpful guide and make a copy for the King’s Office?’

*

Returning to the King’s Office almost two hours after he had left, Erestor paused to speak with Parvon.

‘You did not send for me; I take it all is well?’

‘Nothing else has happened, if that’s what you mean.’

‘Good. I think I will interrupt Lord Arveldir now; we had better not be disturbed, I have some important news for him concerning the healers.’

‘As you wish.’

Erestor nodded and tapped on Arveldir’s door, listening for permission to enter before doing so.

Arveldir was seated at his desk, pretending to write, but stopped as soon as he saw it was Erestor.

‘I hoped it was you,’ he said.

Erestor secured the door, and propped himself against the edge of Arveldir’s desk beside where he could look into his friend’s eyes.

‘You look burdened, still, mellon-nin. How may I help?’

Arveldir gave an odd sort of smile and his voice was diffident, halting.

‘It is not very professional, but... you could hold me?’

Erestor nodded and leaned forwards, pulling Arveldir into his arms and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Arveldir’s own arms went around him, nestling in with a long, slow out-breath and Erestor freed one hand to caress the auburn hair in soothing, smooth strokes.

Then he began to report in a soft voice at odds with his normal clipped delivery, a voice he kept just for private moments with his beloved friend.

‘Under-Healer Aeglosdes has agreed to be appointed Special Envoy to the King and the King’s Office; if Thranduil requests a meeting with the healers, she will be their spokesperson. She has a healthy respect for him, but is not afraid as the others seem to be.’

He paused, pressed his lips against Arveldir’s temple, and continued.

‘I have perjured myself, saying it was my duty to warn the healers of the king’s visit but that I did not, thus taking the blame.’

‘Thank you.’ 

‘Ah, my shoulders are broader than they look. There is more, yet. I have borrowed from the healers a document they were given by Commander Esgaron, written, I think, from a genuine wish to help. In it, he reports on the current state of the forest, seen through his undoubted experience as a warrior trained to see every risk, every danger...’

‘Ai, Valar...’

‘Indeed, it is no wonder our poor healers lost their nerve a little; it is quite an alarming read. I went on and shared my own memories of Esgaron’s unique perspective on the forest with the healers. After they had hidden their smiles and tried not to laugh aloud at my dismay, we all relaxed and got on rather well. It may be that the healers will need re-educating as to the actual risks inherent in the forest, but Healer Gyril was already wondering if it could be quite so scary as Esgaron said and remembering she found it a rather lovely place, once. I mentioned that there were persons who travelled up for Canadion’s wedding without any warrior escort, with elflings at that, and that led us on to how much the healers like Canadion, and his father...’

Still Erestor’s hand stroked softly down Arveldir’s hair.

‘Moving on, I established there is enough space in the gardens for a small archery butt to be set up, so the healers can practice their skills in private, and suggested Canadion could oversee their practice.’

‘He is away, of course, in the Three Villages.’

‘He will return presently. Meanwhile, I intend asking Master Merenor if he would talk to the healers about his own journey through the forest. I hope I have not done too much?’

‘No, you are wonderful! I do not know what I have done to deserve your kindness.’ 

Arveldir lifted his head and smiled up at his friend, leaning back to scoop him off the desk and onto his lap where Erestor settled contentedly.

‘That’s better,’ Arveldir said. ‘I think I expected matters to resolve themselves the moment our king returned to us. Instead, there has been twice the work and what I would have done without you...’

‘I am sure you would have managed.’

‘Possibly. But still, I am glad I have not had to cope alone.’

‘Well. There are still one or two minor points to arrange. But I think we are in a way to resolving the issues with the healers.’

‘No matter. I think I shall allow Parvon to look after the king at dinner tonight, and you and I, mellon-nin, can resolve the issue of our not having had quite enough private time recently.’

‘That sounds like an excellent plan, and one we should implement immediately.’

‘Indeed. Will you break the news to Parvon, or shall I?’


	347. Of Butter and Donkeys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a morning meeting ends unexpectedly... and Merenor puts his talents to good use...

Legolas and Govon exchanged glances across the breakfast table, Govon trying hard not to smirk at the announcement Erestor had just made.

‘Erestor? Did you just say my father is banned from the Healers’ Hall?’ Legolas said.

‘Effectively, yes. Which is to say, Lord Arveldir was in discussions with the senior healers yesterday and Healer Gaelbes was adamant that his majesty was a disruptive presence and so should be requested not to visit unless in actual need of healing. While Arveldir has not formally acceded to this, the king then saying voluntarily that perhaps it would be better if all dealings went through the King’s Office, it is apparent his majesty thinks this is his idea, while the healers now think it was their own notion... one of the underhealers, Aeglosdes, has been appointed envoy and will act as intermediary...’

Now Govon laughed behind his hand and Legolas glowered at him.

‘Oh, come on, melleth! The only person in the Healers’ Hall brave enough to face Adar-in-Honour, and it’s one of the juniors?’

‘The humour of the situation has not been lost on me, either,’ Erestor said. ‘However, that is not the point. The point is not to let his majesty know the healers suggested it first.’

‘Am I banned, too?’ Legolas asked. ‘Because with Govon falling over, and off, and into everything in the forest that can possibly hurt him, I’m there a lot more often that I’d like...’

‘It’s not my fault the entire forest, and guard, seems intent on injuring me...!’

‘I will enquire, my prince, but I think you have escaped the healers’ wrath so far.’ Erestor paused while Govon noisily crunched toast, waiting for the noise to subside. ‘Moving on, a practice target is to be installed in the gardens of the Healers’ Hall and the healers will need a warrior to oversee their practice on a regular basis. They want Canadion who, of course, is away...’

‘I’ll speak to Rawon about sending a relief team at once,’ Legolas said. ‘I’ll also ask for an interim tutor... possibly Triwathon would be a good choice?’

‘Yes... he has a very gentle manner about him, the healers cannot possibly be nervous of Triwathon,’ Erestor said, nodding. ‘What is more, he speaks of your father with something akin to reverence. I am sure it will help with future communications. Going forward, Master Merenor has agreed to talk to the healers about his journey from the south, and even to escort them into the forest once the new conveyance is ready for testing. Moreover, it is the time of year when the healers need to forage for autumnal herbal supplies; Healer Gaelbes has acknowledged the need to replenish supplies and was hoping she might bespeak a guard contingent...’

‘I can mention that as well, Erestor... actually, Pedir’s Red Dragons would be perfect for that, he knows the forest so well. What’s this about a new conveyance?’

‘Master Hanben has been working on it. There are just a few adjustments to make before it is completed, I understand, and the acquisition of a donkey. I believe that will happen today, at some point.’

‘A donkey?’ Govon shook his head and stole more toast. ‘When we already have carriage and wagon horses in the stables?’

‘I do not pretend to understand,’ Erestor said. ‘One further item of note – it is expected that the rest of the dress uniforms will be delivered tomorrow, which will mean formal presentations to the king in the feasting hall. On subsequent nights, of course, to honour the Black and the Red Dragons individually. Then, once the outreach guard are back from Orchard Village, a formal dinner for all the Dragon Warriors is planned. Hopefully by then the accommodations will be ready, too.’

Erestor tidied his cutlery on his plate.

‘And with that, I will leave you to your day, my prince, Commander. Good morning.’

Govon rose from his seat to hold the door in an unexpected gesture of politeness. Erestor nodded thanks, unaware that as soon as he’d gone and the door closed, Govon shot the bolt across.

‘I thought he’d never be done!’ he said, shrugging out of his tunic. ‘And it was most unfair of him to arrive early...’

‘Well, he is gone now,’ Legolas said, rising from the table and crossing to stand in front of his husband, taking his hand. ‘Shall...?’

But whatever he had been about to suggest went unsaid as Govon grabbed his shoulders and moved in to kiss him, pushing his fëa-mate backwards onto the table amidst the remains of breakfast. Dishes scattered everywhere with a clatter and a clash as he moaned into Legolas’ mouth, his hands busy on fastenings and lacings as his beloved grasped at him, breaking the kiss to gasp and push against him.

‘Govon... Ai, friend captain... the bedroom...’

‘Too far,’ Govon said. ‘Can’t wait. Need you now.’

And he rolled back on top of his beloved, ignoring the crash and smash of crockery, the sticky sweetness of honey.

‘...Govon! Ai! Whatever is that...?’

‘Butter, my fair elf.’

‘Ah, very inventive...’

‘An improvement on honing oil, anyway...’

‘Only if it’s unsalted...’

*

There were three of them, two jacks and a jenny, and they landed at the hythe accompanied by their present owner, a trader from Dale who looked about him with wonder and not a little dismay.

The area around the hythe was less dense than the forest proper, and one or two wooden buildings provided familiar shelter. Less familiar were the high platforms in the trees above. 

It took some doing, getting the donkeys off the barge, and the trader had wanted to wait on board until the buyer arrived, but the elves crewing the vessel would have none of it.

‘No, for we have to unload and reload our cargo, and the animals would be in the way and perhaps be hurt.’

‘But there’s nobody here! I can’t just wait around...’

‘There is a shelter, if you need it, a well for water for your beasts. If they said there would be someone, there will be someone. Shall we help you disembark with your animals? Or can you manage?’

*

Up in the flet, Hanben turned to Merenor with a frown on his face.

‘This is ridiculous! He is there, the donkeys are there, and we are up here! Why do we tarry?’

‘I want to see how he handles them,’ Merenor said. ‘And how they are with him. Oh, I do not like that!’

Trying to lead the jenny off the barge, the trader tugged at her halter and she dug her little hooves into the boarding plank. The trader swore, the jenny kicked, and two of the barge elves came forward to move the man out of the way with determined hands.

One came to the jenny’s head, spoke softly to her, and she followed him off the barge. In turn, the jacks followed.

‘Have you seen enough?’ Hanben said.

‘Quite enough,’ Merenor said, and descended smoothly from the flet.

*

To the trader it was as if the two elves had manifested directly from the forest. They were both tall, but the taller one had bright, amber-ringed eyes, while the darker-haired other looked almost fierce.

‘Tell me about your animals,’ the taller one said.

‘The jenny is four years, a good, strong beast, the brown jack is three, the sandy one is five, all are obedient and hard working. They are not used to boats, that is all; they are not generally stubborn beasts.’

The elves turned to each other and held a discussion in a language the trader couldn’t follow.

‘The little silver jenny, that’s the one for me,’ Merenor said. ‘Not that it’s my choice.’

‘No, indeed. She didn’t want to get off the barge.’

‘Frightened, poor penneth. She followed Remdor soon enough.’

‘Who?’

‘The ellon just unloading the barrels.’

‘Since when did you get to know the names of the barge-elves?’

‘Ai, you know me, I like to talk to people...’

‘Never mind that! I like the tawny jack, he’s nicely put together.’

‘That’s true. But look at the ears on the silver lady, they are so delightfully fuzzy...’

‘Fuzzy ears are all very well, Merenor, but you need to consider more than simple ascetics...’

Merenor nodded and wandered over to the donkeys, stroking their necks, rubbing their backs.

‘There is a harness sore on the near shoulder of the brown jack,’ he told his friend. ‘And I think the sandy fellow is a little lame.’

‘Well, that’s settled then.’

‘Of course.’

‘We will purchase all three. Will you do the buying, or shall I?’

‘Oh, this is my area of expertise, I think.’ Merenor smiled and switched to the common speech. ‘Ah, friend trader, you have had a long journey to bring us your animals.’

‘There are not better to be had in all of Dale, Master Elf.’

‘I doubt that. But it must have cost you, to bring three beasts. And it will cost you more to take two animals back upriver with you again.’

‘So your good self, you will understand I have to charge a premium...’

‘Well, you can walk back in four days, and save the cost of the barge and toll fees. I do not see why we should pay for what we do not have. So we will take all three beasts, to save you the expense. I suppose we had better start talking about cost...’

The trader named a price.

‘Merenor?’ Hanben asked in Silvan. ‘Is that not a little expensive?’

Merenor replied in the common speech.

‘A little expensive? Indeed, it would buy these donkeys, their harness, their feed for all the winter and this fellow’s passage to and from Dale several times... No, that is far too much!’ 

He named a price.

‘Master elf, I would hesitate to accept that offer for one animal!’

‘Well, that shows your animals are vastly overpriced...’

‘Merenor?’ Hanben asked, fortunately in Silvan. ‘We do have more than that in the fund.’

‘We do, yes, but we do not want to give the impression that we are an easy touch. So to speak.’ Merenor rubbed the silver jenny’s ears and continued in Westron. ‘But we are elves, we are patient. We can wait.’

‘Master Merenor?’ Remdor, the barge elf spoke respectfully and in his native tongue. ‘You and I, we ellyn can do so. The beasts maybe not. This one, he feeds himself before his animals and they have had no water. And we told him where the well is.’

Unbidden, Hanben went into the shelter to draw water for the donkeys.

The trader lowered his price a fraction. Merenor shrugged and smiled and sat cross-legged on the ground.

‘We will not charge you for watering and feeding your beasts,’ he said. ‘Why do you not sit down? We may be here a while.’

*

Two hours later Merenor and Hanben set off towards the palace, three donkeys clustering around them, unharnessed and following willingly in their wake.

‘I do not believe we have acquired three donkeys for so low a price!’ Hanben said.

‘Ah, well, my merchant days were not wholly wasted. Men see us as easy prey, unused to complex things like coinage, above such things, perhaps... but they still respect us, and fear our king.’

‘Currently I fear how we are going to explain to Arveldir...’

‘Easily enough; one donkey alone is not good, so we must have two. And the third is company for Nelleron... So, I think the jenny should be called Cullasbes – it is an easy name to remember for me...’

‘But... that was your former consort’s name... will she not mind?’

‘Oh, no; she is very amenable, for a donkey.’


	348. 'Father and Son Reunion...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor is delighted to see his son.

Despite lingering over the completion of the new carriage for as long as he could, Hanben reluctantly declared it finished three days after the donkeys arrived.  
In truth, it was not so much of a declaration as a sigh.

‘I do not think there is any more needs to be done on this prototype, Merenor,’ he said.

Catching an almost wistful note to his mentor’s tone, Merenor smiled as he polished the last inch of the frame.

‘It is always hard to let go of a project,’ he said. ‘Especially when it has been something over which one has spent so many hours. But it is a beautiful thing.’

Of course, that wasn’t why Hanben had sighed; that had been because the whole point of this project was to make it easier for Merenor to return to his former home in the southern settlements, to pack up what he needed of his old life and bring it back here, for his new one. But even with the best will, and the speediest conveyance in the world, he would still be away half a month or more, and it was beginning to dawn on Hanben that half a month was going to seem like a very long time indeed...

The dismay of the realisation was almost shocking, and Hanben struggled to make sure his face didn’t express his sudden downturn of spirits. 

Fortunately, Merenor’s attention was elsewhere; he had stood back from the conveyance and was eyeing it up thoughtfully... this secret project, this thing-he-had-not-been-allowed-to-know-about until he’d forced the confidence... He still wasn’t sure if he regretted mentioning Hanben’s workshop to the king, thus revealing the secret, or not. In one sense, it might have been nice to see his mentor’s face as he unveiled it – and perhaps Hanben had been hoping to watch Merenor’s expression, in turn – but it had been wonderful to help with the last stages, the fine tuning, to work closely with Hanben on the finishing touches and really, it did look splendid...

Half the width of a standard cart, it had a narrower-than-usual seat suspended low at the front of the fore axle between the shafts, a curved frame covered with leather panels and its base a mixture of planking, webbing and wickerwork to save weight and allow flexibility. Two overlarge wheels set near the front were balanced by two much smaller ones to the rear, the whole looking rickety and fragile and skittish, and knowing Hanben had made it just for him meant it was the best conveyance in the entire history of Middle Earth...

‘I can hardly wait to try it out on the paths of the forest, Hanben. But there is harness, yet, to find that will fit Cullasbes...’

Hanben brightened a little, remembering that there would need to be time spent on properly comfortable and efficient harness for the donkey, and then extensive trials in the forest, helping the healers, and it would be weeks yet before Merenor could possibly consider leaving for the southern enclave...

Of course, he told himself briskly, he would not miss his assistant. Not as such. It was simply that Merenor was hard-working, and knew what he was doing. Of course, he was also easy to talk to – witness him knowing the names of elves Hanben didn’t even know existed – friendly and approachable. Nice, one might say. Pleasant, and with those eyes, so appealing and...

‘Have you visited the donkeys today?’ he asked abruptly, to distract himself.

‘Not since this morning.’ Hanben must know that, of course; Merenor had already mentioned his early visit to the stables, and then, they had been working on the carriage all day since breakfast. ‘We could go now, if you like? Perhaps measure up Cullasbes for her traces?’

‘Yes, very well. It’s almost time to finish for the day.’

*

The animals had been allocated an enclosure and stabling next to Nelleron’s paddock, since two of them were, ostensibly, meant to be company for the elk. 

Arveldir had heard the news that there were three donkeys, not one, with long-suffering equanimity, but it had been Erestor who had seen them settled in and comfortable.

In fact, the advisor from Imladris had been a regular visitor and was there now, in the large stall, gently brushing out the coat of the dark brown jack.

‘There is something about these creatures,’ he said, looking up. ‘They are somehow nicer than horses.’

‘I know exactly what you mean,’ Merenor said as the jenny Cullasbes saw him and came across to stand close enough to have her ears stroked and her nose rubbed. ‘They are somehow less alarming than horses, too. How is the pressure sore on that fellow?’

‘Much improved, but a little sensitive. I bespoke some healing spider silk from the Healers, and that is helping. What do you call the jacks?’

‘We have yet to decide.’ Hanben fed treats to the sandy coated jack. ‘Merenor wishes to call this one Ravomen, but I do feel that would be in rather bad taste...’

‘The Silvan Ravomen – and Cullasbes will be moving away soon,’ Merenor said. ‘They need never know...’

‘Well, I will leave you with your charges; Nelleron is feeling missed out, perhaps, and I have duty in the Feasting Hall later; we meet to recognise the Red Dragon warriors tonight.’

Erestor left, and Merenor continued fussing over the silver jenny, murmuring nonsense words to her, unaware that Hanben was watching, entranced by the movement of his hands, the surety of his fingers, the unconscious, easy affection his assistant showed the animal, and he began to wonder how he was possibly going manage without this person in his life for an entire two weeks or more... and suddenly, he grew dreadfully afraid that once Merenor arrived in the southern villages, something might happen to make him change his mind and decide to stay there...

Merenor rubbed his hands over the deliciously fuzzy ears of the donkey and looked up, the smile still lingering on his face, in his eyes.

‘Was Erestor suggesting that we should be present in the dining hall tonight, do you think?’ he asked. ‘Last night, the Black Dragons in their nice, new clothes, tonight the Reds...’

‘Oh, I suppose we better had. Although, you seemed to rather enjoy the spectacle last evening, I seem to recall...’

‘Yes, they were very well turned out...’

‘Particularly you noted the kilts, I recall. Well, we had better measure up your Cullasbes, then, for her harness, or we will be late.’ 

*

Somehow, Merenor wasn’t quite sure how, Hanben and he seemed to go to meals together a lot of late. It had started when Merenor had learned Canadion hadn’t come home with the king, an act of courtesy on Hanben’s part to ease his disappointment, but since then it had been, ‘we might as well breakfast in the hall together and discuss the day ahead,’ and well, the day meal, taken while working was only sensible... and the king had attended the dining hall every night since his return, so it seemed a good idea to dine there, too, and silly not to sit together and discuss tomorrow’s work.

Except they hardly discussed work at all.

Surely it wasn’t just courtesy, not after this long? Surely, now, it was kindness?

Whatever it was, though, Merenor was not complaining.

As had also become usual, Hanben was waiting for him outside the King’s Office and gave a brisk nod before falling into step beside him, heading down the long corridor that led to the Feasting Hall. There seemed to be a small and knowing smile on Hanben’s face which looked utterly gorgeous and entirely distracting, and 

Merenor had to talk to himself sternly not to ask what the smile might be for...

But Hanben glanced across at him, the smile becoming more pronounced as they neared a branching off the corridors ahead.

‘I wonder whether you have been working on your welcome dance?’ he said lightly.

‘My...?’

‘You know. A few days ago, I interrupted you in a practice session,’ Hanben said. ‘I would not mention it, but I happen to have it on very good authority that your son and honour-son are back...’

‘What?’ Merenor forget himself entirely and clutched at Hanben’s arm, halting his progress. ‘When? Canadion?’

Hanben attempted to loosen Merenor’s grip and nodded along the corridor.

‘Just there. Waiting for you, in fact.’

Merenor turned, saw the familiar figure just emerged from the side passage and waving at him, and they set off towards each other.

‘It’s my son! Canadion, ion-nin!’

‘Adar!’

The two met in the middle of the corridor in a happy, hugging reunion, and Thiriston edged his way past them, grinning, to come and join Hanben while father and son continued cuddling and talking over each other and laughing.

‘All the way home it’s been, my Adar will have been wondering, my Ada might not know, my Ada might be busy...’ he said quietly.

‘Ah. I have endured lapses of attention, the wrong spanner being handed to me, questions on the potential time it might take for Captain Celeguel and her team to reach you and take over the duty... only the acquisition of three donkeys has lifted Merenor’s gloom...’ Hanben sighed, smiled, and took a step back. ‘Still, I since I am no longer needed to keep my assistant’s spirits up, I do have work this evening, I...’

‘Oh, no, you don’t!’ Thiriston said, grinning. ‘Who am I going to talk to if you run away? Come on, join us, be an honorary uncle for the night if you must. Be welcome.’

‘If you are sure...’

‘As long as you don’t suggest amputating my hand again...’

‘Ah. Well, my methods did make you take better care, did they not?’

‘Maybe. Anyway, you seem to be a better innovator than you were a healer.’

‘I think I am a happier one, certainly.’

‘Talk of happy, look at them, how glad they are – you’d think they’d been apart years...’

Merenor heard, and looked around, laughing.

‘Ai, we did that for too many years, ion Thiriston, it was awful! I hope, not again, so long. But you want your husband back; I am glad to see him looking so well.’

‘And you want to spend time with your son. We’re all going in to feed, suppose you and Hanben sit with us? Then when Canadion’s talking to you all about our adventures, I can ask your employer here if you’ve been behaving yourself. And the donkeys. I want to hear all about the donkeys.’

‘There are donkeys?’ Canadion grinned, and linked arms with his Ada. ‘I love donkeys! So you must, Ada, you must sit with us and tell us all about the donkeys...’

‘Settled, then,’ Hanben said. ‘Now, come. Tonight the Red Dragon warriors are showing off their new uniforms; it would not do to be late.’


	349. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor tests out the new conveyance, and there is news from the Healers' Hall...

‘Oh, I do love your silly, fuzzy ears, Cullasbes!’ Merenor rubbed the silver donkey between her aforementioned ears while the animal butted her muzzle into his chest. ‘Will you follow me? I have something to show you, outside... there, you see that conveyance? It’s been designed specially, and if you will agree, I should like very much if you would pull it for me? I expect it’s similar to work you used to do, before, but I promise, when you get tired, we will stop, and you have permission to kick me if ever I ask you to work when you are sore anywhere. But look; isn’t it magnificent?’

Cullasbes didn’t look particularly impressed, but as Hanben was standing with the conveyance, Merenor had thought it his duty to say something appropriately approving.

‘We are having a special harness made up for you,’ Merenor went on. ‘It will be sheepskin lined and designed for most efficiency and more spreading of the weight on you, dear donkey, so it will be comfortable and not chafe you at all. But today we need to test out the conveyance and so we have found a harness to fit, if you will permit us?’

‘Merenor?’ Hanben asked, almost scowling. ‘Are you going to go through all this fuss every time you need to harness the donkey?’

‘That is a good point... I may need to get up earlier, so there is time to bespeak her services each day... well, one would not want to just assume, would one? I suppose her human owners never asked, but since when did the actions of men serve as a guide for elven manners?’

‘No matter. Well, I assume you know how to attach the harness?’

‘You can help, if you like.’

‘Oh, if Cullasbes does not object, of course!’

‘Let me ask her. Master Hanben is really a very nice fellow, not nearly as cross as he sounds, you know. And then, it is only me he is cross with. And Feren, sometimes. My point being, it is not you, dear donkey. It will never be you. Yes, that’s fine, Hanben, shall I do her headstall?’

Cullasbes acquiescing with good grace, she was soon fastened gently into the harness and the shafts of the cart secured in place with hardly any fuss at all. With Hanben watching, she set off on a circuit of the field, Merenor at her head speaking more nonsense and watching to see that the harness fitted properly, that the conveyance seemed to be moving properly.

‘That’s good,’ Hanben called. ‘It moves well over the ground. See what it feels like with you driving.’

‘Oh, I am to drive, now? Well, Cullasbes, stop a moment... you don’t mind, do you, if I am in this glorious cart?’

‘Merenor!’ Hanben shook his head, coming over to steady the donkey. ‘You are wasting time! Come along!’

So with a smile and more silly words to the donkey, Merenor found his way into the seat and took up the reins.

‘And here we are, then. How is that, Cullasbes? Shall we go, then?’

‘How is it?’ Hanben called when Merenor was half way around the field. ‘How is the handling?’

‘Smoother than I expected; it does feel very light and responsive. And it talks to me; the wicker is singing. Shall we try the path down to the palace?’

They set off, Cullasbes pulling easily, Merenor acclimatising to the rock and sway of the conveyance, its own unique voice, Hanben watching to see where adjustments might be needed, how the whole thing sat and moved and performed.

‘Of course, we need a load in it to be sure how it will behave under real conditions,’ he said as Merenor brought Cullasbes to a halt. ‘I hear the healers will be going out into the forest over the next few days foraging; you might offer your services, Merenor, it would be a good test for both Cullasbes and the cart.’

‘I promised to chat to the healers about conditions in the forest anyway,’ Merenor said. ‘I think it’s a fine idea. Meanwhile, why don’t you jump in, settle yourself amongst the webbing, and we’ll drive back to the stables with you on board. You’re not as heavy as a load of goods would be, of course.’

‘Of course. But if you think I’m going to sprawl in the back like some wayward traveller...’

‘Very well, I’m sure if we ask Cullasbes, she’ll let you drive. I’ll do the sprawling, how does that sound?’

*

Merenor and Hanben returned to the King’s Office an hour later to find the normally-calm space in some excitement; the new envoy from the Healers’ Hall had been closeted up with Erestor, Arveldir being busy attending the king at the Hall of Audience.

‘Yes, if you send to Arveldir at once... it is of the highest importance... I should go myself, perhaps, Aeglosdes, will you come with me? I am sure his majesty will want this news immediately...’

‘Whatever is going on?’ Merenor asked Parvon with a smile as Hanben looked on curiously. ‘Has something happened to someone?’

‘After a fashion,’ Parvon said, finding himself confiding in Merenor in a way which he would never dream of doing to Hanben, but Merenor was so interested... ‘One of the healers has been to the Sacred Grove, and found some alterations in one of the Soul Trees, and seems to think the king should know... but instead of sending straight to him, now they send their envoy, and we send the message on, and time is lost. It seems silly, somehow.’

‘Well, our healers do seem to be a silly bunch, these days,’ Hanben said. ‘Merenor, you won’t know, but when Healer Nestoril was here, she kept them in much better order...’

‘We do miss her,’ Parvon said with a sigh. ‘Well, it seems I’m in charge for the moment... I’d better get back to my desk.’

*

Meanwhile, Erestor had swept into the antechamber with Aeglosdes at his side and bowed formally to those waiting.

‘It seems his majesty is currently engaged, and Lord Arveldir overseeing matters,’ he said, loudly enough for the several supplicants waiting.

Moments only passed before Arveldir bowed out the elleth who had just been before the king. Seeing his friend, he closed the door and tipped his head towards in greeting.

‘Master Erestor, good; I am glad you got my message,’ he began, realising whatever had brought Erestor and Aeglosdes must be important, knowing Erestor would not ask ‘what message?’, but would correctly assume it to be an excuse for him to jump the queue. ‘Envoy Aeglosdes, Erestor, would both of you attend me a moment? This way.’

He led them to a corridor off to the side of the Hall of Audience.

‘What is it?’ he asked quietly. ‘Is all well?’

‘Healer Aeglosdes?’ Erestor turned to the envoy. ‘If you will?’

‘Simply, my lord, Healer Maereth visited the Sacred Grove this morning, and noticed changes to Prince Tharmeduil’s Fëa Tree...’

‘Changes?’

‘Improvements,’ Aeglosdes qualified. ‘Significant improvements. She though his majesty should be informed at once.’

‘Yes, indeed, I quite see... our king will wish to see for himself, a full report... Ai, it would be Maereth, would it not...? Would she agree, do you think, with other persons present, to visit the grove with his majesty?’

‘She has already said, absolutely not. She has made detailed notes, and his majesty will see for himself. And I know a little of traditional Silvan ways, I can interpret, having heard Maereth’s report myself...’

‘He will not agree; he will remind us that he is the king and ultimately Maereth is his subject. He will rage and his face will remember its old pain,’ Arveldir said calmly. ‘I am sure Maereth would not wish to subject his majesty to such discomfort. And this is his son, whom he loves, whom he misses... one could not blame him...’

‘Permit me, my lord, to speak with Maereth myself,’ Erestor said. ‘Our king will not be patient with any delay. Will you, Aeglosdes, go with Lord Arveldir and the king to the grove at his majesty’s convenience?’

‘Of course, Master Erestor. And... Healer Maereth was delighted at what she saw; I am certain, with the right coaxing, she will retract her earlier refusal. Or perhaps, Prince Legolas...?’

Erestor nodded.

‘We will meet you there,’ he said.

*

It took all Erestor’s powers of persuasion, the arrival of Legolas and his fëa-mate and their voices added to his before Maereth would allow herself to be persuaded.

‘We will stand with you,’ Govon said, ‘since you are worried. But our king will only be interested in what this means, Healer Maereth, and he will be delighted to hear anything of hope.’

‘Can we hurry?’ Legolas asked. ‘Please, Maereth?’ and, faced with the longing in his eyes, she shook her head and threw up her hands and gave in.

They got to the Sacred Grove to find that Aeglosdes, Thranduil and Arveldir had got there first. The king was staring at the silver birch that represented his second son’s fëa. The branch that formerly had been all-but dead was now showing out-of-season leaf, a flush of soft pussy-willows and although the main trunk of the tree was still dormant, there was no denying that one branch at least was swaying easily in the breeze.

‘Adar!’ Legolas stepped up to his father’s side. ‘We brought Maereth,’ he said. ‘She’s a little anxious...’

‘Healer Maereth.’ Thranduil made his voice as steady and courteous as he could. ‘Is it possible, do you think, that you can interpret this for me? For my eyes tell me it means my son, somehow, is recovering and yet my heart cannot bear to believe it...’

Looking to Erestor and Govon for support, Maereth stepped forward.

‘My lord king,’ she began. ‘There can be no doubt your son’s condition has improved; there is more strength, a return of life to one side of his tree and that correlates to his own well-being. I cannot say how long this will last, or how much of an improvement there is, not for sure. Nor can I say whether or not this is the start of an extended recovery. But, my lord king, I can say; there is a change, and it is for the better. And I will, if it pleases you, return every day to measure the changes and I will keep the King’s Office informed...’

Maereth paused, belatedly remembering she hadn’t curtseyed, but deciding it was too late for that now. 

‘There is no more to say, presently, sire. With your permission, I will return to my halls and think further on this.

‘Our thanks, Healer Maereth. Yes, you may go. Arveldir, attend me; there is still a public audience to complete.’

And with that the king swept from the grove, pausing only to bow to the sentinel holly trees, and strode back towards the palace with Arveldir at his side.


	350. Expeditions With A Donkey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor takes the healers into the forest...

Preliminary trials with the conveyance having been a success, the next day Merenor, with Hanben squashed on the seat beside him in a very cosy fashion, drove his new vehicle round to the gardens of the Healers’ Hall, where archery practice was just finishing.

Canadion, officiating, smiled and waved at his Adar before turning back to address the little cluster of healers.

‘And so, we are done for the day, and I hope you are feeling more confident. Indeed, all you need is a little practice... if you will look over there, you will see my father just arriving... tomorrow, then, same hour? Good. And well done, all.’

He set down his bow and came over to hold the donkey’s head while his father and Hanben disembarked before he could receive his usual hug from Merenor.

‘Adar, hello!’

‘Ion-nin, you are looking well!’ Merenor said, even though they had seen each other just the evening before. ‘I am come to take one of our intrepid healers out in the donkey cart. I understand we are to forage for selfheal and violets. We are to pick up a warrior escort on the way, will you walk with us, ion-nin? And would you know who is coming with me?’

‘It is Gaelbes, Adar, here she is now.’

Hanben stood back to help Healer Gaelbes into the seat.

‘You will not fall,’ he assured her. ‘The seat is quite compact, so you cannot slip out. Conversely, it does make for an unwarranted intimacy with the driver.’

‘A good thing you know you will be safe with me, Gaelbes,’ Merenor said with a grin. ‘Master Hanben, I will see you later.’

‘Do try not to get into trouble, Master Merenor.’

But all went well.

Parting with Canadion at the edge of the practice grounds, and finding the entire contingent of Red Dragon warriors waiting to escort them into the forest, Merenor laughed, and nudged the healer at his side.

‘You know, the forest really isn’t dangerous at all, especially not around the palace, not this near home. But I don’t have the heart to tell them we don’t need them, so well-turned out they look. Mmm. Very ...reassuring.’ He raised his voice a little. ‘I do like your new uniforms, Commander Pedir. Very smart. Which way, Healer Gaelbes?’

The day passed, Gaelbes found what she wanted an hour or so along one of the minor trails where a regular cart would not have been able to fit, but the narrower conveyance managed with ease. For Pedir’s warriors, it was almost a day off, a gentle walk in the forest they knew so well, but having been given instructions beforehand, were eager to talk about how much safer the forest was, how well they knew it, and loved it.

‘Tomorrow, I’ll take Gyril,’ Merenor said as they pulled up at the end of the afternoon and he helped Gaelbes carry her supplies out of the back of the cart. ‘And then Maereth, and whomever else after that. I’ve had fun, and the donkey has enjoyed it too.’

‘But we have no wish to be a nuisance, Master Merenor...’

‘Not at all, my dear. I have a much longer journey ahead of me, and it is helping both Cullasbes and I get used to the cart.’ He lowered his voice. ‘And between you and me, I think Hanben is happier when he knows I’m in the company of sensible ellith when he can’t be there to keep an eye on me.’

His drive back to the stables took him past the mews where he was in time to see the head falconer striding down from the hill where he launched his birds and, being a friendly fellow, and rather fond of falcons, Merenor hailed him.

‘Now, who in all the palace is gossiping with Outside, I wonder?’ he asked after the elf had stopped and bid him good day. ‘I’d heard we aren’t speaking to Imladris?’

‘Ah, not Imladris today, but Lothlórien. The king himself wrote the message I sent, on my best and fastest goshawk. But it’ll still be five days there, six days back against the wind, and a rest day...’

‘Ai, but I know you, mellon-nin! You always factor in a delay... nine days total, I’ll wager, and your bird will be home. Including the rest day.’

‘Well, with fair weather, and the right winds, who knows?’ The falconer lowered his voice. ‘You being from the King’s Office, I do not mind saying, I hope the news they send back is good; Prince Tharmeduil is too good to suffer so, his mother walked in him again...’

‘Yes, a fine fellow indeed, all of us in the King’s Office hope he truly is recovering... Well, I must get my donkey back to her stable. Good day to you!’

Merenor smiled and continued on, musing. Strictly speaking, of course, the Innovation Division had nothing to do with the king’s communication system, or the running of the palace, or all those other things Arveldir and Erestor and Parvon had to do, but it was nice to be thought of as being part of it all. He heard so many interesting stories that way, and if he didn’t feel it right to gossip outside the office to them, he could always share with the news with Hanben.

Which he did as soon as he had Cullasbes settled and had greeted the other two donkeys (currently being called Prince and Commander since the two seemed fond of each other, and tawny-coated one was almost blond and the other almost the right shade of dark chestnut).

‘So there has been a messenger hawk sent today to Lothlórien,’ he began, once the door to Hanben’s workshop was closed behind him.

‘Yes, I was present when Arveldir took receipt of the message to pass on,’ Hanben said absently. ‘Pass me the small gimlet, would you? Good... so I happen to know its contents, Arveldir struggling to make out one of the words and Erestor not knowing, I was called on to add my opinion... really, his majesty’s hand was not as I expected, or the message was writ in haste. Or our king is suffering from a tremor...’

‘Too much Dorwinion?’

‘Merenor! Of course not! Perhaps an old injury causes a spasm, occasionally. And to write for a hawk to carry, one must write small... he speaks of a greening of his son’s tree, and asks the extent of the improvement, and will he be able to come home? And who will bring him? It was there that the ambiguity was, if a healer would come too, yet it might have been the name Nestoril, but it was decided not to be important to the message, really, and sent as was. It will be at least ten days before any reply can be back...’

‘Falconer says twelve, all told. I say nine. Would you like a wager?’

‘Rather, I would like the size three winkle tool, please, I am struggling with the four...’

*

So Cullasbes and Merenor’s acclimatisation to their new work continued. Next day, Merenor took Gyril, and on the next, Maereth, and two of the underhealers who walked alongside and who really were not that worried by the forest, then the senior healers together, they riding while he led Cullabes, and several days passed in gathering supplies and bolstering confidences.

Of course, it meant also that he had plenty of time to chat to his companions, and so found out all about Maereth’s discovery, and the subsequent developments amongst the Fëa-Trees, albeit a little while after they had taken place. 

‘That is wonderful!’ Merenor said. ‘I knew something had happened, but not exactly how much improved our prince might be.’

‘Indeed, and one cannot be precise,’ Maereth said. ‘But it should be said, there was no alteration in Prince Iauron’s tree; he is as he was when he left here, not in pain, unchanged, unchanging. We think that when they reached Lothlórien, something, or someone there, was able to help,’ she said. ‘But we do not know how much, or if it will continue. Still, we have hope now.’

*

And while there was no formal announcement of Tharmeduil’s theoretical improvement, the mood of optimism spread through the palace. Thranduil, attending evening meals in the Feasting Hall, was seen to smile, on occasion, and when Captain Celeguel arrived back with her little company a few days later, made so bold as to remark on the fact to her commander.

‘Yes, indeed,’ Govon said, when he had told her as much as he knew about Prince Tharmeduil’s hoped-for recovery. ‘We await confirmation from Lothlórien, of course, but it is difficult not to believe the signs. But you are home in good time; everyone’s uniforms have been completed, and the King’s Office was only waiting for your return before the three Dragon Companies are honoured at a feast. Full dress uniforms, in whatever permutation seems best.’ 

He grinned across at where his fëa-mate was loosing a few arrows into a target. 

‘Who knows? I might even get our Argallor into his dress kilt for the occasion.’


	351. Message From Lothlorien

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a reply comes from Lothlorien...

The first time the knock came at his study door, Thranduil ignored it. Standing at the window and looking out into the forest, his mood was as sombre as the shadows under the trees, and the bright dance of foliage was a mocking reminder of sun and warmth. 

He should not have felt so low; the latest news from the Sacred Grove was that Tharmeduil’s tree continued in its green shoots, although there had been no further growth, there had been no lapse, either... yet he could not shake off a sense of foreboding...

Perhaps it was simply that it was time, and almost more than time, to have heard back from Lothlórien; the hawk had been sent eleven days ago...

The knock sounded again, followed by a voice, muffled by the thickness of the door.

‘Adar? It’s me, are you busy?’

‘Come in, Legolas,’ Thranduil called, trying not to let a sigh sound in his voice.

‘Arveldir said you’d been here all afternoon and couldn’t possibly still be napping – sorry, working,’ Legolas said, his voice teasing, his eyes laughing.

‘I do not nap, ion-nin. Kings do not nap; they mediate on important matters of state. In private. They muse, perhaps.’ 

Thranduil found the corners of his mouth trying to lift in spite of his dark mood; this new, brave Legolas, this Legolas who was no longer wary of interrupting his father’s private time but who made such efforts to lift his spirits tugged at his heartstrings and brought him untold consolation.

‘What do you want, nuisance of mine?’ he asked, thrusting away the darkness and allowing himself to smile, finally, to see the sun on the leaves and not the shadows beneath them, and wave his son towards a chair.

‘Just to see how you are.’ Legolas sat down, looking out across the same view his father had so lately been contemplating. ‘How bright the sun shines! As if there will never be an end to the day. Did you know Merenor has been helping with the healers’ harvest?’

‘I think Arveldir may have mentioned it.’

‘He has had them all in great amusement... you know how overcautious of the forest they have become, thanks to former Commander Esgaron’s helpful report...?’

Thranduil lifted a hand for Legolas to continue.

‘Well, Merenor, and his donkey, have quite enchanted the healers and he takes them in turns in his donkey cart out to gather herbs and stuff. And there’s usually an escort – Pedir’s Red Dragons, generally. Well, Merenor said how happy he was to see all the strong warriors around them, Gyril said, yes, how nice to feel safe from the forest, and Merenor said it wasn’t that, but some of them were just so handsome in their new uniforms...’

‘Ai, Valar protect us from Master Merenor! Well, our warriors at least... the sooner that ellon finds someone and settles down, the better...’

‘That’s the thing, though. It’s beginning to look as if he has found someone... where Merenor is, you’ll find Hanben, too, these days.’

‘Either to make sure Merenor’s work is up to standard, or simply because they work together, surely?’

‘Perhaps. And Hanben certainly behaves as if he’s only there to find fault... except, he doesn’t, not really. And Thiriston has started trying to include Hanben in the family circle... gives him someone to talk to when Merenor and Canadion are catching up, I suppose. Still. It’s interesting, isn’t it?’

‘Not nearly as interesting as the reason behind why you have chosen to interrupt my musing with this gossip, ion-nin. The real reason, and I hope it will also go some way towards explaining why you are trying so hard to be happy and cheering. Am I going to be in need of cheering, do you think?’

‘Well, I hope not. But there’s been a message, Adar. Arveldir thought it might be private, and asked me to bring it...’

‘Why did you not say so sooner? Let me see!’

Legolas handed over a small tube, such as might be carried by a messenger hawk. Thranduil opened it in haste, read it, and threw it down on the table, a small piece of parchment, still curled from where it had been folded into the tube. He turned away, staring out into the forest once more, everything blurring.

‘Adar?’

The silence was so long drawn that Legolas began to worry. But then his father looked round at him with a shake of the head and pain in his eyes.

‘Read it.’

Legolas reached for the discarded message in silence.

_‘My king,’_ the note began. _‘It is true, Prince Tharmeduil has awoken and regained use of his arm, enough to express the wish I send his love to you and his brother. We are jubilant that he can communicate again, but he is adamant he will get no better here and wishes still to sail with his brother to complete his healing. Respectfully, Nestoril.’_

‘Ai, Adar!’ Legolas said. ‘I know you hoped... we all did, really, but... I am sorry. It is like losing him again.’

Thranduil nodded slowly.

‘It was only once I realised how glad I would be if one son came home, that I fully understood how much I missed them. Missed them both.’ 

‘I miss them too, Adar. Perhaps not as much – it must be different, to lose a son, and I know I’ll never understand that, never have to go through that... but in my way, I miss them. And, yes, Iauron was incredibly irresponsible, but he did try to help me. And – and he saved Govon’s life, I’ve never had chance to thank him for that. The last thing he did... And Tharmeduil was always ready to listen, if I wanted to talk. Except that makes it sound as if I didn’t want to come to you, Adar, but it wasn’t that, not really. It was just – so many cares of state, and your own problems, I didn’t want to add to them. None of us did. But they love you, Ada, and I’m sure they’ll miss you, too. And one day – when you sail, when we sail...’

‘Where is Govon?’ Thranduil asked abruptly. 

‘Leading a double-sword practice with the combined Dragon Warriors. He says if you’re not going to be in the hall tonight, come and sit with us, eat with us. He even talked the cellarer out of a bottle of Dorwinion. Not the good stuff, the really quite good stuff.’

Thranduil wavered. It would be so easy to give in to the loss of this news, to fall down into its dark depths and wallow there... but Legolas was here with him, pain in his eyes even as he tried to help, to reach out, to remind him he wasn’t alone, and something Tharmeduil said once came back to him; it had been after they had been overrun by spiders, crossing the Enchanted River on a raft, he and Tharmeduil and Nelleron together, and one of his son’s fits had taken him and he had watched, helpless to help.

_‘...not alone, Adar, you are never alone...’_

‘Thank you, thank Govon for me,’ Thranduil said with crisp determination in his voice. ‘But in fact I am attending the feast tonight, and so are you, and so also is Govon, his sister and her friend, I will make no mention of this message, since we have not formally announced Tharmeduil’s improved condition, and for all we know, your brothers might be well on the way down to the mouths of Anduin already. They are still in Middle Earth, ion-nin, and until we have a sign they have sailed, we will not trouble the populace with reminders and uncertainties. But yes, I would have my family around me tonight.’ He sighed. ‘I suppose that means all my family; Canadion being almost related, he and Thiriston also. Of course, that means Merenor, and therefore Hanben. If they ask, we will say it is an acknowledgement of Canadion’s and Merenor’s work with the healers.’

‘Yes, Adar, we’ll be there.’

‘And not in uniform. I know Govon was quite delighted when you showed up in your Argallor’s kilt to honour the Three Companies, but so were many others in the hall and it would not do to make your husband jealous, ion-nin.’

‘All right, Adar – do you want me to send out invitations?’

‘No, send Arveldir to me on your way out, it is his job, after all.’

‘Oh, am I leaving?’ Legolas asked lightly.

‘Yes, you are. But thank you, my son.’ Thranduil reached out and clasped Legolas’ shoulder. ‘Do feel free to come and gossip with me whenever Govon finds himself busy and you are lonely... until tonight, then.’

*

Alone with his thoughts, Thranduil turned back to the view. Once more the shadows drew him, the darkness beckoned...

And yet, why?

He thought back to the day they had loaded his two sons onto the boats to take them away, how sure and certain he had been that it was for the best, that there was nothing in Middle Earth to restore them. And, really, nothing had changed in the interim; had he not known about the changes to Tharmeduil’s fëa-tree, he would not have dared hope and so not have those hopes dashed in turn.

Surely, though, it was better to know his son was awake, and could communicate now, at least? Tharmeduil was no longer locked into his long darkness, it must be so much better for him, and, too, better for those nursing him... Nestoril wrote of jubilation, it must be a relief to her, so close to Tharmeduil as she had grown, Thranduil had seen evidence of how much she cared for his second son... yes, he would take what comfort he could from this, and ignore the pain as unworthy, unhelpful, he would continue on as he had been doing since returning from the Three Villages, he would involve himself more, be more present in the workings of the palace, annoy Arveldir more often...

Well, one needed a hobby, after all.

Another knock at his door shortly thereafter, a formal, discreet tap he recognised as Erestor’s, and he bid him enter.

‘My lord king,’ the advisor began, bowing respectfully. ‘Please pardon the intrusion; Lord Arveldir is attending to your requests for the feast tonight and sent me to see if there might be anything further you require?'

‘We will need to keep the mood in the palace positive and looking forward over the next few weeks,’ Thranduil said. ‘I shall mention to Arveldir tomorrow at our meeting. I wish to know how long it will be before the warriors undergoing officer training will be officially qualified. We should make an event of it, perhaps an afternoon of display fighting. There would need to be a feast, of course. And the new accommodations are ready, we must make sure there is some sort of celebration for that. Perhaps in their new common room; Legolas can attend, if it is not appropriate for me to do so...’

‘I will enquire, your majesty.’ Erestor did not ask why, particularly, there would be a need to bolster the mood of the palace; he would find out soon enough, no doubt. ‘As I am here, Arveldir mentioned you have had first sight of a message from the hawk sent to Lothlórien...?’ 

‘It is on the table there. No, make a transcript; leave the original, if you please!’ Thranduil said sharply, seeing Erestor about to roll up and pocket the missive. ‘I require it for my personal records. There’s a pen on my desk, there.’

‘Of course, my lord king.’ How very curious! Thranduil kept personal records? Keepsakes? ‘There, I am done. Yes, now I see the need to support the mood of the populace. My sympathies, sire...’

‘Enough, Erestor. We have not made this news public, nor will we. Those who know of it... no matter. Once there is evidence our sons have gone, then we will address the people; news of their sailing will be more acceptable when tempered with news of Tharmeduil’s improvement, even though it is not enough for him to stay.’

‘I am done, sire, and my pardon for intruding.’

‘Yes. Tell Arveldir to make sure he sends out those invitations in good order.’

Erestor bowed his way from the room, leaving Thranduil staring out once more. The light was dropping a little now, no longer as bright, the contrast between the shine on the leaves and the depths of the shadow muted, and somewhere, between the two, there was a balance, a harmony.

If he could hold onto that, he could carry it forward, temper the darkness with light, restrain himself from overwhelming optimism by a reminder of shadow, and he would endure. Time would pass, he would adapt, adjust. He could wait; he was an elf, after all.


	352. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Maereth visits the Sacred Grove...

Maereth stared at the sight before her, hands rising to her mouth in shock. She advanced, reached out, touched, stroked, sent her awareness in and then backed away, shaking her head.

It could not be, surely?

What could it mean?

She looked from tree to tree, comparing; stately willow, slender golden rowan, burgeoning hazel, yes, and yes, and yes, and yes. Mature silver birch, frozen in time, skeletal, twisted. Young cherry tree, ought to be turning to gold and red, not. Younger silver birch, green foliage frosted.

And then she realised what it meant, and sank to her knees in the middle of the Sacred Grove, singing a prayer that was interrupted with fear and tears. Trying to compose herself, she rose and bowed to the sentinel holly trees, gathered her skirts and ran.

The king must be told.

Down the path from the Grove, through the gentler reaches of the forest, forgetting her anxiety in her haste.

His majesty must know as soon as possible.

Along the outer corridors of the palace.

Near to the King’s Office... much nearer than to the Healers’ Halls and Aeglosdes...

Haste.

Maereth came to a breathless halt outside the doors and knocked and knocked until someone let her in.

‘Healer Mae,’ Merenor said. ‘Whatever is up? Are you well?’

‘Yes, I... oh, I must have Aeglosdes, and... is there someone to send, I am quite...’

‘Sit you down. Have you been crying? Can I help? I was tinkering with what Hanben calls my infernal contraptions, and everyone else seems to be out... I can go for Aeglosdes, if you like, but you seem to be in a hurry...?’

‘News for the king, and, oh, he needs to know in haste...’

‘Well, it will be quicker to go directly to him – he will be in his study at this hour, I think. If you give me a message, I will go to him for you?’

‘No – oh, he must know first...’

‘Then what are we to do, Maereth?’ Merenor found a bottle of fire wine from Arveldir’s secret drawer and poured her a glass. ‘Here, drink up.’

Maereth took a gulp and steadied herself.

‘It will be quicker to go straight to him, but, oh, Master Merenor, I am sure he hates me...’

‘No, he doesn’t. It’s just that every time he sees you, or Gaelbes, or Gyril, he remembers you’re not Nestoril, that’s all. That’s what I think, anyway. I never knew her, just by name, really, I was away so long. But I know she was very kind to my son when he was ill.’

Merenor tipped his head and smiled his friendly smile. He liked Maereth, she had been a pleasant companion on the trips out to forage for herbs, and knew she wanted to get over her timidity. But if she was really serious in her wish to get this message to the king in haste, she was wasting time while she dithered and trembled...

‘Would it help if I came with you?’ he asked. ‘That way, your message gets through, I’m officially attached to the King’s Office so if anyone gets a scold for disturbing his majesty, it ought to be me... and it would save time?’

‘But... oh...’ Maereth gathered her courage and took a breath. ‘Yes. All right.’

‘If we see a servant on the way, we will send word. But come, if there is need of haste, shall we go?’

*

When the knock came at his door, Thranduil sighed; becoming more present in the palace was having unfortunate repercussions and he had been all but besieged through the morning, so his call of ‘Yes? What is it?’ was perhaps less than welcoming.

‘Your majesty, hello.’ Merenor smiled a friendly smile, advancing into the room and turning to someone behind him. ‘Come, it’s quite all right, my dear Healer Mae... Sire, my friend the healer has an urgent message for you...’

‘It must be urgent indeed if Healer Maereth comes direct without the offices of Aeglosdes... well?’

After this, Merenor had to almost drag Healer Maereth forward. He kept a comforting arm around her middle, so that her curtsey was lopsided. 

Thranduil bit back a sigh and gentled his voice.

‘Healer Maereth, what is the matter?’ he asked, interlacing his fingers and trying to look unthreatening. ‘You seem distressed, are you well?’

‘My lord king... the Sacred Grove... there have been more changes, I came at once, and there was no-one else, and, oh...’

‘The Sacred Grove? What changes?’ 

But Maereth was shaking and shivering, and Merenor shrugged on her behalf.

‘She ran all the way, Sire, and I was alone in the King’s Office. Rather than wait, or send for Aeglosdes, she insisted on bringing her message...’

‘I see. Thank you, Merenor. Healer Maereth should return to her halls, perhaps, and another sent to meet me in the Grove; I will go at once, and if you can alert someone from the King’s Office...’ 

‘My lord king, I will do all I can.’ Merenor bowed and backed out, and Thranduil heard his light voice, in comforting tones. ‘You see, Healer Mae, he is really not so bad... come, let me take you back to your halls...’

Buckling on his sword, Thranduil strode from his study, making for the nearest exit to the palace and out towards the Grove. Whatever had happened, it appeared to have so alarmed Healer Maereth as to urge her to bring word straight to him, was worrying.

He didn’t run; he was the king, after all, but he strode out swiftly along the paths he knew so well, pausing to bow to the trees at the edge of the Sacred Grove before stepping in.

It didn’t take him long to reach the young silver birch and the cherry tree, and but a moment to see the changes, the frozen immutability lying over them. It was not the same as the changes to the older silver birch, their mother’s tree, but close enough for him to know, to understand.

He bowed his head and stood there, and did not notice the passing of time.

‘Adar?’

A hand on his shoulder and he almost flinched away, startled.

‘It’s just me, Adar. Merenor sought me, he said... well, something had happened.’

‘Do you see, ion-nin?’

‘Iauron and Tharmeduil’s trees have changed.’

‘They have gone beyond the bounds of this world; their ship has reached the Straight Way. They have sailed, and will be healed, at last.’

‘Glorfindel said it doesn’t take long, once you leave Middle Earth.’

‘He would know, of course.’ Thranduil exhaled heavily. ‘Healer Maereth was forced to deliver her message in person; only Master Merenor was in the King’s Office at the time... remind me, ion-nin, to complain to Arveldir that she has been forced to attend me when we all know she has not the courage... having said that, she did very well, and Merenor most kindly supported her... but where is everyone?’

‘Arveldir and Erestor have been closeted up with Rawon all afternoon, arranging this display fight you wanted, talking about when the officers’ training will be finished so that everyone can move into their new quarters... will this news alter things?’

‘Why should it? Since it is obvious that honouring our warriors on the field will not happen today, or probably tomorrow, it is not as if there are any prearranged events to be set aside... but there will be a feast in the hall tonight, you and Govon will be present, we will honour your brothers, we will announce that they...’ Thranduil’s voice wavered for only an instant. ‘That they are safe. I suppose it is not seemly for me to send you to remove Arveldir from Rawon’s office and set him about my work, so you will need to find an intermediary...’

‘No need, Adar,’ Legolas said. ‘The trees seem to think there’s someone on the way now.’

In fact, several someones; Under-healer Aeglosdes leading the way with Maereth at her side, Arveldir and Merenor following... Thranduil didn’t quite see why Merenor had attached himself to the group, but refrained from commenting.

‘Very well, ion-nin, I think I can manage from here,’ he said. ‘Try to see this as a positive sign; it means your brothers will well, soon.’

Legolas nodded and left the grove, bowing to the sentinel hollies as he left, acknowledging the greetings of the approaching group; Thranduil watched him go and then gathered his energies together to greet the deputation.

Aeglosdes curtseyed, not quite as deeply to the king as she had to the Sacred Grove; Thranduil found he rather approved of Aeglosdes – but as she was about to speak, Arveldir stepped forwards, Erestor at his side, standing in front of the healers and with Merenor between them.

Closing ranks against him? Did they really fear him so?

No, he realised. No, they merely feared what this news will have done to him.

‘What was going on, Arveldir, that Healer Maereth’s day was interrupted in bringing messages directly to me? Why was there not a runner at the King’s Office to send swiftly to Healer Aeglosdes?’ he asked. ‘But no matter, Healer Maereth brought word herself, and we are grateful to her.’

He inclined his head and Arveldir stepped forward, his expression impassive.

‘My apologies, sire; the entire King’s Office was busy about your bidding, of course. We are fortunate indeed that Master Merenor was working at the time... I do wonder what it might be, however, that could not wait but a half hour...?’

Thranduil gestured behind him towards the fëa trees.

‘Simply the proof that our two oldest sons are no longer governed by the rules of Middle Earth. I was grateful to have word of it so promptly, even if to others it may seem a minor matter.’

‘Of course it is not a minor matter, my king. How else may we serve?’

‘There is no need, Arveldir; I have spent time contemplating the implications of this. You may attend me in my study as soon as you are done here; I will have instructions for you then. Meanwhile, offer all assistance and every courtesy to the healers. Healer Aeglosdes, Healer Maereth, good day to you.’

*

 

‘Are you sure about this?’ Govon asked, helping his fëa-mate with his fastenings.

‘Yes, I am certain; Adar is doing his best to keep his spirits up, and there is nothing like a little grumbling at someone to cheer him up. I’m happy to be the focus tonight... of course, if you mind...?’

‘Why would I mind? Nobody is going to take liberties with you, except me, so if you want to wear your dress kilt, you wear your dress kilt. In fact, I’ll wear my own. That way we’ll both get a scold, since your Adar did forbid you to wear it...’

‘That was last night, friend captain.’

‘Of course it was, Adar-in-Honour amongst his family... so tonight...’

‘Will you help me with something else, too? I have had a thought... you remember how Canadion displayed himself, when he was worried about his bruises...?’

‘Now, I am not letting Thiriston turn you into a rose garden, my fair elf...’

‘No, I didn’t mean that...’ 

‘Well, what?’

*

When he saw how Legolas and Govon had decided to present themselves, Arveldir went so far as to stare, and blink.

Legolas was in a variant of his Argallor’s uniform; the formal kilt with its panels of grey, black and red leather over the fabric, his grey boots, the sleeveless tunic of grey with black and red decoration. His arms were bare, his armband outlined and Govon’s name scripted above it. On his other arm the names of his two brothers, his hair braided to match Govon’s.

The commander, too, was in his formal uniform kilt over boots, his arms bare and repeating Legolas’ design, the names of the lost princes on his left arm, his armband and fëa-mate’s name on the right. 

Together they looked wild and feral and yet formal, constrained, dangerous and bold.

A gentle nudge from Erestor reminded him of his duty.

‘Ernilen, Commander... you know his majesty intends an announcement tonight?’ he said.

‘We do indeed, Arveldir,’ Legolas said. ‘He told me it would be of his wording, too. Try not to worry too much about it.’

He took his place behind the chair to wait for the king, Govon at his other side, and glanced to see who else was honoured with a place at the top table tonight. Healer Maereth, with Under-healer Aeglosdes and Merenor and Hanben seated with them. Celeguel and Triwathon. Thiriston and Canadion, also in uniform, although not kilts, the prince noted with gratitude. Knowing how highly they thought of Tharmeduil, he’d made sure they’d been informed about the changes in the grove, and knew this was their way of honouring his brother.

Arveldir announced the king, who swept into place, all sat, and the wine went round. Thranduil gave a signal, and Arveldir tapped the side of a goblet for silence.

‘His majesty our king will address the hall.’

Thranduil got to his feet.

‘We have had news today that our sons Iauron and Tharmeduil are safe beyond the bounds of our world, and will shortly be healed in full. Prior to this, we have learned that the paralysis troubling our son Tharmeduil had lessened, that he had woken and made his wishes plain. So this night we meet to honour those whose sacrifices have made this possible, those who have them in their care, who have guarded them. We drink to those accompanying them across the Straight Path to Valinor. And we express our gratitude to those who brought us this news.’

He waited for the populace to take this in, to murmur, and settle.

‘For us, this is not unalloyed joyfulness, of course,’ he continued. ‘But it is better than it might have been. Soon, they will be well, and in the fullness of time, several of those who set out with them will return to tell us in more detail of the events of their journey. But for now, we can do no more but to drink their health and speed them on their way.’

He raised his goblet and drank, and the rest of the hall rose and drank in silent tribute. The wine went round again, the food was served, and Arveldir silently thanked the Valar for the king’s restraint, and mentally praised his king for the courage with which he turned this loss into something the people could, if not rejoice in, then at least mark with some satisfaction.

The wine coming round again, Thranduil spoke to his son.

‘I did not mention in my speech that I was grateful still to have you here, ion-nin; I might have done so, but for the fact it would draw even more attention to your somewhat incomplete Argallor’s uniform...’

‘Do you like it, Adar?’ Legolas asked, unabashed. ‘It honours my brothers, and beneath the table, the kilt is not visible. Besides, Govon...’

‘Yes, I noticed,’ Thranduil said. ‘So did many others; it is a good thing I did not want a sombre mood this evening, or you two would have quite spoiled it.’


	353. Captains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Triwathon wonders how far it is from Lothlorien, and is given the key to his new quarters...

It was not seemly to smile, Triwathon reminded himself. The two princes sailed, not to return, any hope of a last-minute recovery gone, and his king bringing out the news like an offering, trying to make them believe it was a good thing.

But then, the fate of the elder two princes had been in the balance for so long, it had to be a relief, did it not, to know they would soon be well, if far away?

No, it was not seemly, or appropriate to smile, so Triwathon tried to match his demeanour to that of the others at the top table, and waited until he was alone.

Only then, in the solitude of his cramped single quarters, did he stretch himself out on the narrow bed, and finally allow himself to grin, and sigh, and hope.

For now the princes were sailed, their escort would be on the way home.

Glorfindel.

He would be back, soon, he promised, and there was so much to tell him...

So much to prepare for his homecoming.

Difficult to say when that would be, of course, how long the journey would take. It would be dependent on the weather, too, for while elves were staunch and capable of enduring much, their horses would feel the cold and the wet...

And just how far was it?

Triwathon had walked all the way to the Langflood and back, he had no idea of the distances involved to Lothlórien, or the time it might take to cover them. Besides, rumour spoke of Lothlórien as being a world away, lost in its own time.

After his training the following morning, he went to the barracks office and spent a little time with the maps, shaking his head as he tried to make the distances relate to actual horses and how many leagues a day one might cover.

‘Stuck with something, Triwathon?’

Commander Bregon’s voice broke in on him, and he lifted his head with a gesture at the expanse before him.

‘Lost, Commander! I am trying to work out how far it is to Lothlórien...’

‘I see.’ Bregon came to his side to peer at the map himself. ‘They say it is a different distance, depending on whether you are going there or coming back, whether you are welcome, or less welcome there... I’m hoping they’ll be back for Yule myself...’

‘Sir?’

‘Erthor and Calithilon. When the companies expand their numbers, I want those two in my ranks. And Yule is seven weeks away, more or less, but if our princes’ escort has gone all the way to Rauros with them, that will add much time to their journey. And if Healer Feril wanted to go home to Imladris, then it would be a courtesy for Erthor and Calithilon to ride with her... of course, Glorfindel could always take her back...’

For a moment, Triwathon stopped listening. He’d not thought of that... well, he’d had nightmares in which a messenger hawk came and said Glorfindel was going to Rivendell, he’d had bad dreams in which Erthor or Calithilon reported the golden-haired Balrog-slayer had died horrible somehow – but he’d never for a moment considered Glorfindel would actually do that, go back on his word...

Bregon was looking patiently at him.

‘Now, don’t worry about Glorfindel,’ he said. ‘If he said he was coming back here, he will do so. It would take longer, through Imladris, that’s all. Even so, coming straight back from Lothlórien, they will be hard pushed to do it in for Yule...’

‘But... he must,’ Triwathon said. ‘It’s not Yule so much, but... the Night of Names. I wanted to share it with him, he was so interested in the gemstones, and...’

Bregon clapped him on the shoulder.

‘If he isn’t back, you can share the night with the company,’ he said. ‘No-one should be alone on the Night of Names, no-one needs to be. But it’s a long way off, yet. Let’s trust to the Valar to bring our friends home safely in time for Yule, and now let’s talk about something else.’

‘Yes, Commander.’ Triwathon gathered the maps together, tidied them away in their leather cases. ‘Is there anything in particular?’

‘You’ve the last of your training sessions this afternoon, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, Commander. I’ve learned a lot, but it still seems odd to me to tell people what to do. Until I realised; it’s all practice, isn’t it? For if we’re fighting, and I have to issue instructions that will keep people safe, everything is about that. Protecting our forest, our people, each other.’

Bregon tilted his head. He was tempted to say no, actually, it’s about making sure the junior ranks know you’re in charge, but ultimately, it wasn’t a bad way of looking at it. And if it helped Triwathon be a little more determined with his command, why not?

‘An interesting perspective,’ he said instead. ‘But the reason I mention it is that there’s going to be a bit of a fuss made. Oh, we don’t, usually, but as you and Celeguel are serving in the Dragon Guard, and there seems to be a need to keep everyone cheerful and happy at present, there will be some sort of display, and honours, and then everyone can get settled in to their new quarters, those who want them, and a celebration in the common room to go with it. So start thinking about packing, Triwathon; I expect you’ll be in within a week or so.’

The week passed swiftly. Training completed, ‘Well done’ all around, no news of passing or failing – it wasn’t done like that, really, you were either offered a captaincy as a result, or raised to Lieutenant and given another chance to learn more later... the formal announcement of an afternoon of display fighting, himself down for archery while Bregon and Govon announced they’d be getting the twin swords out again... days of practice, and work, and packing, and then being sent with the others to the King’s Office to collect the keys to their new rooms so that they could begin to move their belongings across.

Of course, it would be Parvon officiating, saying the same thing to each of the warriors in line: ‘Here you are, there will be a servant in attendance at each corridor once you are officially resident, there is a common room, and a communal bathing pool...’

Until he came to Triwathon.

‘Congratulations, Captain, I hope you will enjoy your new rooms, here is your key...’

Parvon offered the key but seemed unable to let it go when Triwathon took it.

‘Thank you, Parvon.’

‘But if they are not to your liking, do let me know, I will try to help.’

‘I am sure they will be fine.’

‘It is a long way, from Lothlórien,’ Parvon said, continuing to hold on to the key. ‘One would struggle to get back in time for Yule, if you are alone on the Night of the Names...’

‘It’s a long way off yet, Parvon. But my thanks.’

At Parvon’s back, Erestor cleared his throat, causing him to jump and release the key.

‘Captain Triwathon? I have been asked to tell you that you are invited to dine with his majesty tonight at the top table. Full dress uniform, please.’

‘Master Erestor, my thanks. And Parvon, thank you for the key. I am sure the rooms will be fine.’

He escaped with a polite nod and hurried back to his warrior’s quarters. All along the corridor, he could hear shufflings and slidings as others of his neighbours dragged out their weapons trunks and sorted through their cupboards.

Shutting the door with a sigh, he sat on the edge of his narrow bed. Yes, it was cramped, he had no space to do anything but tidy his kit and live and work. But he had brought Glorfindel here, they had almost broken the bed... and in some ways it had been nicer than in Glorfindel’s spacious guest chamber... he still had free use of those rooms, too, although he had used them less and less often and Glorfindel’s presence had begun to dissipate from the air of the chambers; memories of him, now, were strongest here, and with a pang, Triwathon wondered what he would do, how he would cope in a room devoid of the memory of the golden Balrog-slayer...

Well, he would have to steal the pillows from the guest room, obviously. And the rug in front of the fire where they had spilled so much honey beer... Yes, that would help.

And it was a little way off yet; not until after the display fight, and the party, would they officially move in.

But for now, he had a dinner to prepare for.

Formal uniform...

If he was being honest, utterly, harshly honest, he had to admit to himself that he was glad, now, to be in the Black Dragons. He had loved working in the Court Guard, and would be forever grateful to Commander Govon for offering him the place, for bringing him on in spite of his low spirits at the time, for all the encouragement and support he’d been offered.

But the fact of the matter was that there would have been no chance for him in the Grey Dragons; Thiriston was Govon’s Second, and although there may be the need for more captains when the companies expanded, any hope of real advancement was slight in the least. 

In the Black Dragons, however, Bregon had already promised him the position of Second, there were opportunities to lead practice sessions, to get used to giving orders without feeling he was only one warrior away from the Prince; although Legolas was far more approachable and encouraging than the king, still, Triwathon could not help but be a little in awe of being so close to royalty, even if he had learned to hide it.

But the best thing, the absolute best thing, about the Black Dragon Warriors was the uniform.

Yes, there was a lot of black involved. But there were echoes of the colours of the other dragons, flashes of red, hints of silver-grey. For the most part, however, the regular wear was a very dark brown, the corselet black, but with burgundy highlights, the light shoulder guard of mail black and silver in a small design that was partway between leaf and dragon scale.

Formal dinner uniform, however, meant the black leggings and boots with the grey and red tops, (there was a wonderful dress kilt, black leather over red and grey twill, but he was saving that for Glorfindel's return) a burgundy shirt with black leather tunic, and dress jacket in black and burgundy damask.

Wearing it, he felt every inch a captain, proud and worthy to wear the uniform.

He was early, so took a few moments to make for Glorfindel’s old chambers, to find the looking glass into which the Balrog-Slayer had scowled so many times, trying to tidy his wayward golden tresses. It felt like sharing the moment with him, the first look in the reflective surface.

By the time Glorfindel returned, of course, Triwathon would be used to this, the new uniform become normal... it was a shame, really, that he wouldn’t see it before the gloss wore off.

But then, he would see it. He would come back.

He promised.

Triwathon stood looking into the mirror for a few moments, trying to imagine a reflection behind him, to remember Glorfindel standing there.

And suddenly, there was a shape, a figure and even as he took a breath, he registered it wasn’t Glorfindel, of course, how could it be?

‘Your pardon, Captain Triwathon; I saw the door ajar and wondered if all was well...’

‘Parvon.’ Triwathon organised his face and turned to the advisor who was, in turn, trying to school his own expression. ‘As you know, there are no looking glasses in the old quarters...’

‘Of course, and you have the use of these rooms for as long as you wish, until Lord Glorfindel returns; I was merely concerned at the door being open... May I say, Captain, you look...’ Parvon flushed a little, cleared his throat. ‘You look most fittingly turned out; our warriors are much to be admired and esteemed.’

‘Thank you, Parvon.’

‘Were you attending the feast? I am assisting Arveldir to officiate tonight... we could walk across together?’

It was tempting to claim he was not quite done yet, especially after Parvon’s excessive courtesy at the handing over of the keys earlier. But to do so might make more of that than there had been, and Triwathon decided it would be better, kinder, to accept the offer.

‘As long as I will not delay you,’ Triwathon said. ‘I am done for the moment.’

On the way they talked generally, Triwathon taking care not to allow any personal topics to arise, and soon enough they were at the edge of the Feasting Hall, Arveldir coming forward to beckon to Parvon.

‘Come, there is something of a crisis about the Dorwinion, I need you to send at once to the cellarer...’ and once Parvon had left, advancing to incline his head to Triwathon. ‘Is all well, Captain? Parvon can be a little... over-helpful, at times...’

‘No, my lord, it is fine. We happened to be walking in the same direction, so did so together.’

‘Because, should he become a nuisance...’

‘I am sure he will not.’

‘Rather than wait, and mention the matter to Lord Glorfindel, do feel free speak to me personally...’

Triwathon shook his head, but he was smiling.

‘So you think he will come back, too?’

‘Lord Glorfindel? Of course; he said he would, did he not?’

The thought buoyed Triwathon through the feast. At one point, along with the others who had finished training, he had to stand, and bow, and have his health drunk, and hear the king say he wished him well in his new place as Second-in-Command of the Black Dragons, but he managed to behave properly under the scrutiny of the hall, and was pleased to see Commander Govon as loud in his applause as any.

Yes. He could do this, he would work hard, and continue learning, he would not disgrace the trust placed in him. 

At his side, Celeguel gave him a friendly nudge.

‘Captains! Who would have thought it?’

‘Of myself, no, but of you, of course; it is obvious you deserve the rank...’

She laughed.

‘Not so obvious to me; it felt like a lot of hard work! But looking at you – yes, well-deserved, and you’re more than capable.’

‘Well, time will tell. It is something to live up to, certainly.’

‘And tomorrow, after the games, we can move into our new rooms! Are you looking forward to it? More space, proper facilities...’

‘It will make a big difference,’ he said, which wasn’t a lie, but didn’t answer her question either. ‘And it is good that there will be better conditions for our warriors; they deserve it.’

Celeguel lifted her goblet.

‘And so do we, mellon-nin! So do we!’


	354. Games and Celebrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Triwathon wonders which home he should actually go to...

A squall blew in overnight and the weather turned chill, reminding the population of the palace that the seasons were turning and the days shortening. But although blustery and fresh, and with showers blotting out the sky, it was still considered feasible to continue with the games; after all, the warriors had been practicing and elves were inherently water-resistant.

A viewing pavilion was arranged, however, for Thranduil and his advisors, and those others of the King’s Office not strictly invited took advantage of their ambivalent status to shelter amongst them; simply because rain didn’t hurt did not mean it was always pleasant.

So Merenor and Hanben took up quiet places with Feren and Parvon to watch the display, and if Thranduil was privy to the conversations running between the members of the Office of Innovation, he saw fit not to enjoy the exchanges rather than seek to silence them.

‘Feren, look! That is my son, there, it is Canadion... Ai, it is bad conditions for archery today...’

‘Equally bad for them all, Master Merenor, at least.’

‘Yes, I suppose... Oh, look, look...’

‘Merenor?’

‘Yes, Hanben?’

‘Do you really need to clutch at my arm every time Canadion lines up a shot?’

‘Sorry. Oh, look, he hit the gold!’

Thranduil did not allow his face to smile, but it was almost more entertaining than the shooting which was, thanks to an intermittent and wayward cross-breeze, less accurate than usual. Still, the contest was over, Canadion won to great acclaim (and possibly because Legolas wasn’t participating and where he, anyway?) and the displays continued.

Ornamental drilling from the Regulars, overseen by Rawon, line after line of warriors lined up and marching in unison, turning, marching between each other’s lines, never faltering or fouling each other, all with perfect precision in spite of the drive of the rain. Polite applause because, really, when all was said and done, it was only walking, and turning, and not bumping into each other, and while those who had worked so undeniably hard on the display knew the skill involved, most of the audience did not.

‘What’s next?’ Thranduil heard Merenor ask.

‘Twin blade fighting; Commanders Govon and Bregon,’ Feren offered.

‘Oh, lovely! Will they be in their traditional garb? I do hope so. Commander Govon shows to particular advantage, mmm...’

‘Master Merenor!’

‘Yes, Master Hanben?’

‘Shush!’

Well, Merenor would not be disappointed, at least, Thranduil mused as Govon and Bregon leapt into the sparring circle. 

Both were in traditional Silvan war kilts rather than uniform issue, their scars decorated, their arms painted with the names of their spouses, and with a bow and a shout they began to work their double blades. Thranduil turned to address Legolas, to speak of Govon’s strength and the power in his stance, and realised his son was still not there.

Without taking his eyes from the combat, he waved his hand.

‘Arveldir? Where is Legolas?’

‘He is with the warriors, of course, my king.’

‘Of course. They are doing well.’

Indeed, it was a fine bout, a mixture of formal moves and improvisations as the two Commanders matched blade on blade on blade on blade. They finished with a wild yell and a leap into the air to face away from each other – and two more kilted and painted warriors with twin swords jumped into the circle, one engaging Govon, the other, Bregon. More couples filled the arena, twin blades flashing and Thranduil smiled; his idea of bringing back the discipline had been attended to, and while he could see that many of these warriors were unpolished, still, they were practiced enough for it to be a wonderful spectacle. Soon most of the Dragon Warriors were fighting, arranging themselves in a stylised circle, swapping opponents, turning back and then finally ending with a massed yell to back away and leave Govon facing one last opponent – Legolas, armed with his long knives and dressed in his Argallor’s kilt, laughing as he danced around Govon, his blades testing and teasing.

It was hardly a fair fight; Govon had already been fighting for some time, while Legolas looked fresh and energetic, his knives almost as long as the swords but lighter, easier to handle.

It didn’t quite end in an easy victory, though; at the last, when the prince was already grinning triumphantly and pressing home with an attack that was almost a blur, Govon parried the whirl of blades calmly and reached out with his foot to hook Legolas’ ankle and jump back as his fëa-mate fell to the ground laughing and crying out that he yielded.

Govon sheathed his swords and reached out a good natured-hand to help Legolas up, and the two wandered off, arms around each other, to the shouts of the crowd and their warriors.

As the noise died down, Thranduil became aware of another exchange from behind him.

‘You know, it looks awkward, two swords, two scabbards... it should be possible, don’t you think, to so shape a pair of weapons so they would fit together in the same sheath, surely? Easier to carry, easier to stow away and, what’s more, your enemy wouldn’t realise, perhaps, that you have two blades...’

‘The element of surprise, Master Merenor? It is an interesting thought... I am not much given to weapons design, myself, having had rather too much to do with repairing the damage made by such things...’

‘Oh, that’s all right, I think I can manage to draw up a couple of designs. And then there’s the master weapon-smith, Duinor? The one who made those knives our prince carries...’

‘Yes, I know who you mean.

‘I’m sure he’d find it an interesting challenge. And he has lovely hands. Mmm. Nice fellow, too... I’ll have to arrange something...’

‘We can bring him into the office one day, when we are both free,’ Hanben said. 

‘Oh, so you want to see him, too?

‘Not particularly.’

Thranduil smiled to himself and inclined his head in greeting as Legolas and Govon, now more properly attired, arrived to take seats and watch the next event.

‘Well fought, ion-nin, but you lost.’

‘I did indeed, Adar. I seem to remember you’ve lost to Govon yourself in the past...’

‘It was a draw,’ Govon said. ‘At least, that’s what we decided. Isn’t that right, Adar-in-Honour?’

Thranduil went so far as to lift an eyebrow and glance at the commander.

‘We did. But do not think I will be so generous again. Now, Arveldir, what have we next...?’

*

At the end of the afternoon, having taken their last applause, the warriors filed from the field and Triwathon found Captain Celeguel at his side.

‘A good day, I think,’ she said. ‘You fought well!’

‘Ai, twin blades, was there ever anything more difficult? Or more wonderful, when it goes right?’

‘And the look on our king’s face, he loved it! So what now, Triwathon? You are coming to the party tonight?’

‘I wasn’t planning on it...’

‘Oh, you must,’ Celeguel said. ‘You will be missed if you do not, and, what is more important, you will be on your own.’ She gave him a friendly shoulder-bump. ‘I know you miss Glorfindel, and that thinking about him being on the way home is going to make it worse, for a little while, before it starts to feel better. Besides, Amathel and I, we don’t want to spend all evening on our own; you will talk to us, I know. And we might be able to protect you, if your admirer Parvon is there... helping with arrangements, as he does...’

‘But if I do not go, I won’t be there to need protecting from Parvon – not that I do, he understands I am not interested...’

‘Of course, he might knock on your door to make sure you’re not feeling lonely...’

Triwathon sighed.

‘Very well, I will see you there.’

*

After making use of the bathing pool in Glorfindel’s former rooms, and remembering the times spent there, alone and together, Triwathon realised Celeguel had been right; it was harder, now, the realisation that Glorfindel must have turned for home, the renewed awareness of the lack of him in Triwathon’s life.

In fact, it was more than a little alarming how deeply attached he felt to the Balrog-slayer, knowing, as he did, that it was only a passing comfort. And yet the joy Triwathon had from their loving friendship was worth all the pain of missing him, without doubt would be worth the wait and more...

So, yes, he would go to the party, as he had gone to the last party, and he had other friends, now, a different sort of friendship, true, from that he had with Glorfindel. But he was no longer that Triwathon whose only friend had died, and who had to seek solace wherever it could be found, who was lost in grief and loneliness, who was overawed by everyone and by every situation he found himself in; he was Captain Triwathon, Second in the Black Dragons, and that brought with it a certain standing.

It was also impossible not to believe he deserved it, just a little.

He dressed with care for the occasion, nothing to draw the eye too much, dark leggings, light shirt, grey tunic over, reminded himself that the best way to look as if he was enjoying himself would be to pretend he was, and set off for the new common room.

He smiled as voices shouted him in with a welcome, lifted a hand to wave. Really, it was just like the last party, the same warriors, but out of uniform now, the same civilian friends and family – Legolas and Govon leaning against each other, Govon laughing at something Pedir had said, Amathel coming forward to link arms with him and pull him towards the drinks table, chattering excitedly about how she was going to help teach knife throwing next round of tutorials, Thiriston overhearing and telling her to stop talking about work, and Triwathon laughed, and smiled, and allowed himself to be carried away by the mood of the party.

An hour or so in, he’d relaxed a little and thrown off his odd mood. Chatting to Merenor had helped, listening to him expound ideas for a new sort of twin blade which sounded at once both innovative and very non-traditional.

‘I wonder if our king will be delighted with the concept or denounce it as far too modern?’ he said with a smile.

‘A fair point, and one Master Hanben has already brought to my attention... he says, if you’re fighting with twin blades, it's either for display, in which case you want to be as showy as you can, or in battle, when you want the longest reach you can, and faffing around fitting two swords into one scabbard might be a problem. Although I did wonder if it that was just a metaphor, but I didn’t like to ask... Oh, there’s Canadion! Did you see him shooting earlier? Didn’t he do well?’

‘Master Merenor, Canadion is one of our best archers; of course he did well!’

‘And you are very kind to say so, Captain Triwathon. So, have you moved into your new quarters, yet?’

‘Tomorrow, I intend to do so tomorrow.’

‘Well, if there is anything you need, and you don’t wish to bother Master Parvon, come straight to me about it; I’ll be glad to help.’

At one point during the evening, Celeguel and Amathel had gone to talk to Fonor, leaving Triwathon temporarily alone at the table. He poured himself another glass of honey beer and was lifting it in silent tribute when he saw Parvon glancing in his direction, a sort of hesitation to him that suggested the advisor might be debating whether or not to come over.

Ah. Still, at least there was a moment or two to prepare a polite response without being too reserved, or...

‘Oh, Captain, good!’

Merlinith plumped herself down on the seat next to him, and Araspen on the other side smiled hello.

‘Mistresses Merlinith, Araspen, good evening. Are you enjoying the celebration?’

‘Well...with respect... once you have been to one, you have been to them all, generally speaking,’ Merlinith said. 

‘Still, it is nice to get out of the rooms for a little while,’ Araspen added in her gentle voice. ‘Although, really, I think I like best having people to visit. Too many people, and fractured conversations...’

‘But talking about visiting, Triwathon,’ Merlinith went on. ‘Did we not agree that you would join us of an evening, once you were back from your flet duty? The project with which you wanted help?’

‘Ai, we did indeed! And I had not forgotten,’ Triwathon said, even though it had, perhaps, slipped his mind a little. ‘But with the last of my captaincy training, and preparations for moving, the practice for the display today...’

‘Yes, of course, you have been quite busy!’ Merlinith nodded. ‘Well, as long as you know, my offer still stands; you are welcome to join us any evening you wish.’

‘Or we could come to you, if you preferred,’ Araspen said.

‘That would be nice,’ Triwathon said. ‘Yes, you can be my first visitors. Shall we say, three days hence, after the evening meal? That gives me time to settle in a little.’

‘Wonderful,’ Merlinith. ‘Where exactly are you moving to?’

Triwathon smiled.

‘Not very far away; let me show you where my door is.’

He led them to the entrance of the Common Room and indicated the door opposite.

‘There, that will be me, my new home. It is the best in this corridor, so I’m told, and feels very big, to me. When you visit, you must tell me what you think.’

The party winding down, breaking up, people heading home, Triwathon lingering until he was almost the last to leave.

In truth, he stood looking at the door for so long that Merenor came across to speak to him.

‘It is hard, is it not, when you know there is nobody waiting for you at home?’

Triwathon found it easier to smile than he had expected to.

‘Yes. More so when you have three homes to choose from... my single quarters, the new rooms – and I have been granted stewardship of Glorfindel’s chambers, also.’

‘Oh, that’s easy, then. Now is a good time to leave your old quarters behind with your old, not-Captain life. But too soon to start the new, and your furnishings not yet in place, so it has to be Glorfindel’s, yes?’

‘Yes, very wise, Master Merenor. Thank you; that’s a very good idea.’

‘I’ll walk back with you if you like? I’m heading that way.’ 

From just behind, Hanben cleared his throat and Merenor grinned. 

‘We,’ he amended. ‘Master Hanben and I, we are heading that way. If you wish?’

‘Then, thank you, it’s kind of you. Both of you.’


	355. Shedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erestor is worried about Nelleron...

Erestor always had something of a worried look about him, Merenor mused, but he looked especially anxious as he hurried into the King’s Office, glancing around and his expression growing increasingly serious as it appeared that whatever –or whomever – he sought was not obviously to hand. 

Merenor, tinkering with his articulated stick assembly, came forward amicably.

‘Master Erestor, if it’s Arveldir you seek, he’s closeted up with the king at present.’

‘I see. Well, that is both good, and bad, I think... Master Merenor, is it true you have worked amongst the elk-tamers in the past? Do you understand the creatures?’

‘I understood the elk better than I did the tamers... is something wrong with Nelleron?’

A fleeting look of panic behind Erestor’s eyes told Merenor he had guessed aright.

‘Perhaps... I think it was Commander’s doing, however, he was playing with Nelleron’s decorations and Nelleron I think was impatient, and tossed his head, and... if you have a few moments, would you come and look?’

*

When Merenor saw what had happened, he found he had to hide a laugh with a little fit of coughing so that Erestor asked him if he was quite well.

‘Indeed yes, Master Erestor; it is but the cold air. There was a frost last night, I think. Ai, so it is that time of year again, shedding season...’

Merenor advanced into Nelleron’s paddock and headed towards the elk who was looking decidedly lopsided and not a little confused.

‘You see, Master Erestor, while most species of deer shed at the end of winter and begin growing new antlers in the spring, Nelleron and his kind have so arranged matters to shed early, just before the onset of winter so that their antlers begin regrowth sooner; this is important when they use their points for defence as well as in fights with other stags.’

Erestor could not prevent a sigh of relief. He leaned back against a tree for support.

‘I thought some dreadful accident...’

‘No, no, it is quite natural. But probably very different from what happens with the deer you would know from around Imladris, so it is no wonder you were worried... The frosts; we have had cold nights of late and it triggers a change, weakening the antlers’ hold – much as with the trees and their leaves. It results in a small head wound which soon heals, but he will be better when he loses the other.’

‘And what will Commander and Prince do then for their entertainment?’ Erestor asked with a short, relieved laugh. 

‘And Nelleron himself, for that matter. Hmm... I think I have an idea about that... leave it with me, Erestor, I will see what I can do... meanwhile, look, the cast antler is just here... I’ll take off the decorations now, and take them back with me. Perhaps one of the attendants should take the antler back to the palace, I’m sure someone will find a use for it... the ladies who crochet could perhaps use the points for storing their yarn.’

‘But, should not the king be told about this event?’

‘Probably,’ Merenor said. ‘If I see Arveldir before you do, I’ll mention it to him. One thing, Master Erestor – this will not change Nelleron’s appreciation for treats. If anything, he will be more grateful than usual.’

Pausing to rub Prince’s nose, scratch Commander’s withers and stroke Cullasbes’ fuzzy ears, Merenor headed out of the paddock and towards Hanben’s workshop, where he could hear the gentle noises of tinkering from within.

‘Good morning again, Hanben,’ he said from the doorway. ‘Do you need help with anything today?’

‘We went over this during breakfast, Merenor – no, I am quite capable of attending today’s duties on my own. I suppose you want to play with your infernal collection of jackstraws again?’

Merenor laughed.

‘Well, not quite. Nelleron has shed an antler, and I thought, the donkeys will miss his bells, he will miss his bells... I wonder if I could perhaps rig something up for him... suspend them from the branches of one of the trees...’

Hanben stopped what he was doing and came forward, shaking his head.

‘And yet you have that amazing cantilevered spider leg device... why not simply use the frame of that and attach it to the fencing? That way, the poor trees will not be bothered by crochet...’

‘That’s a fine idea!’ Merenor said. ‘Well, I will make a start right away.’

‘Good, good... Is Nelleron all right? Not distressed, I hope?’

‘Perhaps a little glum, all one-sided, you know. It is a shame, when something is one-sided, is it not? But I’m sure things will even up shortly.’

Hanben sniffed, and turned back to his work, and Merenor headed towards his office with a smile on his face.

*

When Triwathon opened his door to Merlinith and Araspen on the appointed night, it was obvious from Merlinith’s air of supressed excitement that she had a story to tell. Suspecting that nothing much would be done without he listen first, he sat her and her friend down on the sofa, provided them with apple juice, and asked if there was any interesting news about the palace.

‘Indeed so, and of a most fascinating sort,’ Merlinith said, settling herself amongst the soft furnishings. ‘Oh, what a lovely cushion! And such soft, natural shades...!’

‘Another here, too,’ Araspen chimed in with her soft voice. ‘Most pretty.’

‘Ah, a gift from none other than your brother, Merlinith, for my rooms. He says he and Legolas were gifted them by Arwen, but the colours did not suit their furnishings...’

‘The colours look very well here, Captain,’ Araspen said. ‘Are you settled in yet?’

By now, Triwathon had learned to tell the truth about his rooms in such a way that nobody would suspect he was anything but happy.

‘The rooms are spacious and comfortable, and at the end of a day’s training, it is pleasant to come home to an attendant in the corridor who will bring me a meal and who has already lit the fire and the lamps for me.’

‘It makes such a difference. My Govon used to say it was nice to come home to a warm fire. And you were asking me about the palace, in fact, yes... we – Araspen and I – have been charged with a Most Important task – crocheting for the King’s Elk. He has shed his antlers – as he does – and so Master Merenor has made a device, it is most extraordinary, and everyone who hears about it has to go and see...’

She launched into an account of Nelleron’s new boredom-reliever based on what little she actually knew from crocheting a few strands and decorations, leaving Triwathon fascinated and determined to take a walk out to the elk paddock to see for himself.

‘But,’ Merlinith said finally, all talked out. ‘That is not why we are here... Shall we make a start, Triwathon? What do actually want to learn to do?’

Triwathon opened the chest that stood against one wall and took out a brightly blue bundle of fabric and a roll of drawings. He spread them out on the table for Merlinith to see.

‘I wish to make these special for my friend Glorfindel; it is a joke between us. But he is of the House of the Golden Flower, and so I wish to translate these drawings onto the fabric...’

‘Oh, that is a sweet thought, Triwathon!’ Araspen said. ‘What do you think, ‘Lin, dearest? All over the fabric, or just as an edging? This is a lovely design...’

‘I like this one,’ Merlinith said, selecting a sketch of interlinked flowers. ‘Worked as a border, at either end, that would be best. Now, if it were me, I would add a line here and there... it is not how the flowers actually grow, but then, they do not grow on towels anyway, do they? So we can take a few liberties... keep it for a narrow band, and repeat this pattern... I am sure it will be lovely.’

She returned to the sofa and rummaged in her work bag.

‘Come and sit here, Triwathon, draw your chair close, and I will show you the basic stitches. Once you have practiced, then we will work out the design and you can practice that, too, and then, when you are confident, move on.’

‘It is going to take a long time, isn’t it?’

‘Well, it depends how much natural talent you have, and how much you practice. But I would say it will certainly keep you busy for a few weeks.’

*

Of course, the tale of Nelleron and his shed antler piqued Triwathon’s curiosity so, next day after training, he went the long way home, past the elk paddock to see for himself the results of Merlinith and Araspen’s crocheted contributions.

On the fence between the donkey enclosure and the elk paddock (the donkeys having been moved pending the loss of the second antler), a large contraption had been installed. It was a dome of sticks, held in place by other sticks attached around a central pole, and from the end of the outer struts, the crocheted strands, some with bells, some with dragon scales, had been attached. On one side of the fence, the three donkeys were nuzzling the suspended toys, and on the other, Nelleron was trying to get near enough to play as well, hampered by one heavy antler and unbalanced by the lack of its pair.

But one of the donkeys – the brown one – was far more interested in Nelleron’s remaining antler than in the construction on the fence, and pushed past to bump his muzzle playfully against the elk’s remaining crocheted trophies. Nelleron shook his head, the antler caught in the contraption, and as the elk backed away, the device strained and broke free of the fence, flying through the air as Nelleron repeated the motion of his head and backed off, banging his remaining antler against a tree and causing it to drop from his head. Denuded now, startled by the sudden lightness, Nelleron leapt into the air, bucking and prancing across the field in surprised delight.

From Triwathon’s side came a laugh and Triwathon glanced round to see Merenor had approached.

‘Let this be a warning to you, young Captain; sometimes we don’t know how heavy our burdens are until we put them down. See how he springs around!’

‘Well, we cannot all shed our burdens as easily as Nelleron his head set, can we, Master Merenor?’

‘Perhaps not, penneth.’ Merenor clapped him on the shoulder and sighed. ‘I think we’re going to need a stronger cantilever array. I wonder if Master Hanben would like to help me with that?’


	356. Bad Weather Adaptations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor's plans change, and Hanben gets inventive...

Thranduil was not quite sure how it came to be that he was in his study, flanked by Arveldir and Erestor, giving instructions concerning an enquiry of the most sensitive nature to none other than Master Merenor, but that was exactly the position he found himself in one cold morning not long after Nelleron had shed his antlers.

So, rather than begin with sensitive material, and in an attempt to set the tone of the meeting, Thranduil began with his elk.

‘Master Merenor, we find we are obliged to be grateful to you for your kind offices towards our steed,’ he began. ‘Shedding has always been a stressful time for Nelleron, and your new invention has been most useful.’

‘Thank you, my king. I should note that it was, in fact, Master Hanben who saw the possibilities of using the cantilever assembly as a boredom-reliever. He also suggested the structural changes which have made the entire thing far more stable with a form of reversed cantilevering embedded into the ground of the paddock, thus making it possible to...’

‘Quite. What is more, it is to be hoped that Nelleron will accept this... plaything as an acceptable alternative to having bells and scales suspended from his own antlers. So, well done.’

Merenor bowed, hiding a delighted smile. This could not, of course, be the reason why he had been called here today, but it was nice of Thranduil to start with praise.

‘Moving on,’ Thranduil said. ‘We note you are setting off on a trip south in the next few days.’

‘Yes, sire. There are matters pertaining to my old life that I need to tidy up, a few things I want to bring back to the palace... and it will give me a chance to look in on some of my boys, too. Master Hanben has given me a half-moon’s leave and we are just awaiting delivery of Cullasbes’ – my donkey Cullasbes, that is – her harness – and then I shall set off.’

‘Oh, I rather think you will need more than two weeks,’ Thranduil said. ‘I have an additional job for you, Merenor, as you are heading southwards...’

‘My king...?’

‘Yes, indeed. You will bear in mind this is a private matter, not to be mentioned outside these walls. You will also bear in mind that your youngest son is currently serving in the same division of the Dragon Warriors as his spouse, an arrangement which suits them both admirably, it would be a shame if it were to come to an end... need I say more?’

Merenor swallowed and bowed his head.

‘My lord king is far too good a father, I am sure, to contemplate any action that would lead to the distress of a son...’

‘Yes, I would like to think that I am. Let us not put it to the test, however, Master Merenor.’

‘Sire.’

‘Speak to Arveldir for more information, Master Merenor, that will be all for today. Arveldir? You might see what you may do to hurry the preparation of the harness for Merenor’s donkey...’

‘I will see to it directly. Master Merenor, I will see you in my office after the day meal. Erestor will walk you out.’

*

‘I like to think,’ Merenor said in aggrieved tones, ‘that I have behaved myself very well, since I got here. One or two minor mishaps... the incident of the washing cascade sousing poor Master Hanben, yes, the misunderstanding about the communal bathing pool...’

Erestor said nothing.

‘...And some may have mistaken my interest in people, my appreciation for that which is beautiful, as something akin to flirting. Perhaps. But I have worked hard, and betrayed no confidences.’ Merenor sighed. ‘Yet I am unable to demonstrate it; I cannot say, I did not tell the secret about this event and that ellon, because that would be to betray the secret. I cannot even say, your secret is safe with me, to anyone whose secrets I know, since then they would know I knew and so it would not be secret. May or may not know, that is, I do not claim to know any secrets, I... oh, dear.’

Erestor smiled his self-contained smile.

‘In fact, I know of one or two instances when you could have said far more than you did. I would tend to believe you, Master Merenor.’

‘Well, thank you, Master Erestor.’

‘Nor do I think our king truly believes you would break his trust. Therefore, I think you may rest easy where your son is concerned.’

‘Thank you. It is not as if I would be here to look out for him, either; I will be away, winding up my business affairs in the south.’

‘There will be no need, of course, but I assure you I will make sure there is always a welcome for Captain Canadion in the King’s Office, should he need it. Of course, he has his Thiriston.’

‘Indeed he does. Thank you, Master Erestor, you comfort me.’

It was small comfort, though. Even though Merenor understood he had to leave in order to return, and settle, and demonstrate his old life was over, still, the thought of being away for longer than he had intended was not a pleasant one.

He was even less pleased when Arveldir brought him an itinerary later in the day.

‘But, my lord... this adds between two and three weeks to my journey! That is more than twice my agreed absence, I do not know what Master Hanben will say about this...’

‘He will say nothing, Master Merenor, for you will say nothing. These are his majesty’s instructions. Hanben will be told in due course that you have been delayed. And, believe me, Merenor – were there an alternative to trusting you with this charge, it would already have been implemented. ‘

‘And, my lord, I will be hard pushed to return before the Night of the Names, and I wanted to be here for that...’

‘Then you will be eager to set off as soon as possible, will you not? Fortunately, I have been informed that the harness for your donkey has been finished and will be delivered this afternoon. Is there, therefore, any reason why you cannot set off on the morrow?’

‘Well... I am not provisioned or packed... I have not had chance to tell my son, Hanben should be given some notice...’

‘Then it is agreed, you will leave tomorrow. Excellent. His majesty will be most relieved.’

‘But... Hanben...’

‘I will speak to Master Hanben, do not worry. May I suggest you look to your packing as a matter of urgency? I will enquire for the provisioning of your wagon and that will be attended to on your behalf.’

‘Thank you, my lord,’ Merenor said, defeated, and Arveldir bowed. 

‘Very well, I will leave you to your business. Good day.’

It was too soon, too sudden, but there was nothing he could do except gather his clothes and decide what he needed to take with him. Four or five days to his old home, he could re-provision there and get fresh travelling clothes, Cullasbes could rest for a day or two while he organised some of his affairs and began to sort out his little house, then off on the long, meandering trails between the small settlements to the south of the Old Road, following Arveldir’s instructions... anything between two weeks and three (it had better not be three!) and then back to his own village to rest Cullasbes again, pack up his old life, and head north.

Of course, he’d ridden up, and all he had with him had been either on his back or in two saddlebags, so it didn’t take long to get organised. 

Then he sat down on his bed and pressed his hands to his face, running his fingers under his eyes.

He wasn’t ready to go, yet.

‘Merenor!’ Hanben’s voice outside, punctuated by a hard knocking on the door. ‘Merenor, are you there?’

He wasn’t ready for this yet, either.

‘Yes, Master Hanben. A moment.’

He opened the door and stood back for Hanben to enter. The innovator did so with a tirade of angry questions.

‘What is this I hear, you are leaving tomorrow? And you did not think to mention the fact at the day meal? What am I to do about the next section of the corridors, in need of work? How are we to manage, this near to Yule, and all the things that need doing? Did you not think?’

‘Master Hanben, my apologies. The fact is, I want to make sure I am home for the Night of the Names... and... well... I am sorry...’

Hanben shook his head, deflating a little and dropping onto a chair.

‘Perhaps I am just not used to such discretion, I thought you would trust me with the news...’

What news?

‘Hanben...’

‘Of course, Arveldir explained that Cullasbes – not Donkey-Cullasbes – and her new associate wish to move out of the palace and down to the southern villages, and that she does not wish to be there when you are... and I suppose it is sensible that you sort your affairs out first... but it came as a surprise...’

‘When we met for the meal, I had not then decided how soon I would be going; until Arveldir told me that the harness was ready, I could not really plan... of course, I need to see how well it fits the dear girl...’

‘And your conveyance, you will need the bad weather adaptations installing...’

‘I did not know there were bad weather adaptations?’

‘A new thing I have been working on.’ Hanben looked away. ‘It was meant to be a surprise.’

‘Ai, Master Hanben! It seems to be fate that whenever you try to surprise me, you are doomed to an early revelation.’ Merenor smiled. ‘Perhaps you should try to shock me, instead?’

‘I doubt anything could shock you! Well, the work is not finished yet. You might, if you are packed, come and help. Thus I can show you their function, too.’

‘I will be glad to.’

The work was a distraction, and Merenor smiled to himself to see the adaptations. Hanben had taken his own cantilever idea, and covered the entire frame with canvas, attaching it so that it made an arching dome of shelter over the driving seat. Another was fixed near the rear of the carriage, and a simple adaptation to the canvas meant that with both contraptions deployed, there was cover over the entire cart.

‘Which should stop your cargo from being spoiled by poor weather,’ Hanben said.

‘Ai, and me, also, it will keep from being weather-damaged. My thanks, Master Hanben.’

‘You are welcome, Master Merenor. Now, shall we see how Cullasbes likes her new harness?’

*

Hanben had stayed behind in his workshop after Merenor left, making sure all would be well for his apprentice’s journey and debating whether to assume they would meet for the evening meal as usual, or to send word he was expected when he heard the sound of an ellon clearing his throat. Looking up, he saw Captain Thiriston waiting hesitantly.

‘Well, do not stand there looming in the doorway, Captain! Come in, and how may I help?’

‘Expect you know, Honour-Ada’s off tomorrow.’

‘Yes, indeed, with not a word until this afternoon, most inconvenient! But that is how he is, I think. Flighty.’

Thiriston grinned.

‘Well, thing is, Canadion’s heard, wants to ask him to dine with us. We can do that now there’s an attendant in the corridor. So...’

‘You wished to let me know he will not be in the Feasting Hall. My thanks. Not that it matters, I...’

‘We wanted to ask you to join us, too.’

‘That’s very considerate, Captain, I am grateful... I actually have rather a lot of work to do, as you can see...’ Hanben gestured around the clean and tidy workshop and hoped it looked as if he was snowed under with jobs. ‘But Canadion will want his Adar to himself, no doubt...’

‘Exactly. I don’t mind my penneth having time with his father, but who am I going to talk to while they’re chattering away? Be doing me a big favour, Master Hanben...’

‘Well... in that case...’

‘See you at the dinner hour, then.’ Thiriston grinned. ‘I expect you know the way.’


	357. 'A Nice Day for a Journey...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor makes his farewells and sets off on his journey...

‘Ada, I am sorry, it is my fault!’ Canadion said, dragging his father inside and letting himself be hugged.

‘Do not be silly, of course it is not!’ Merenor said. ‘Whatever it might be that you choose to blame yourself for this time...’

‘For you going away so soon, of course.’

Merenor released his son and gave his shoulder a little shake, smiling into his face.

‘Now, really, it is only a little sooner than expected,’ he said, trying to believe it. ‘I was waiting for Cullasbes’ harness, then I intended taking her out around the forest over a few days, just to be sure it was comfortable. And we proved this afternoon that it is, there is no need to make adjustments, or for any other delays. So you see, it is only bringing my departure forward.’

‘Oh. It is just that Naneth sought me out this morning – it is so rare she comes to seek me - she has heard Melion is serious about coming to live here, and she does not like it...’

‘I’m sure she doesn’t. But that’s nothing for you to worry about, ion-nin.’

‘Well, no. She thinks you have persuaded him, though, and wants to talk to him before you get there, and insisted I tell her when you were going...’

‘I see.’ Although, actually, he did not... it was a very good excuse, however, building on what Arveldir had told Hanben, that Cullasbes didn’t want to be in the southern settlement at the same time as himself... he supposed the king didn’t want it either, in case she wondered where Merenor was dashing off to instead of packing up and coming straight home... ‘Well, what Melion does is his business, although I expect Gilrin would have something to say about it, too, don’t fear, she’s more than a match for your naneth.’

Canadion nodded.

‘Yes, that’s true. Will you sit down, Ada? Thiriston is just with Edwenith...’

‘I know – he waved at me as I came past the doors.’ Merenor took a seat and smiled at his son. It had become a pattern, of sorts, that hardly a day went by without him catching at least a glimpse of his son, and usually there was time for a chat, seats together in the Feasting Hall, invitations to the rooms after. And Thiriston had begun including Hanben, too, which was nice, if a little unexpected. ‘So, you have new neighbours, now. How does that feel?’

‘Generally, it is nice, especially as they are friends.’ Canadion poured two glasses of blackberry cordial and passed one to his adar. ‘Celeguel and Amathel, they laugh a lot in the corridors, and there is much use made of the common rooms, all three companies mingling freely. But Thiriston and I, we tend to stay in our rooms.’

‘Well, that’s nice; it’s good to have friends close.’

‘Friends, yes. That minds me – Thiriston has invited Master Hanben to eat with us. He says it is so he will have someone to talk to while we are gossiping... you don’t mind, do you? That is, you spend time working together, is it perhaps too much time...?’

Merenor almost choked on his cordial. How had Canadion not noticed his delight in Hanben’s company?

‘Well, between you and me, penneth, I don’t think Master Hanben gets many social invitations; it’s a kindness, and he is an interesting companion, if you like to talk about contriving devices and intricate mechanisms... which I do, fortunately.’

‘Good. As long as it is not too much?’

‘Not for me, penneth. Ah, company!’

The door opened and Thiriston entered, bringing with him Hanben.

‘Hullo, Adar-in-Honour. Glad you could spare us the time, with tomorrow and everything.’

‘Oh, I can always spare time for my favourite honour-son and his husband! No, the fact is, there was not much to organise, I was already mostly prepared...’

Merenor found himself discoursing again on how the suddenness of his journey wasn’t so sudden, really, that it was probably better for Cullasbes (‘Donkey Cullasbes, that is...’)to set out in better weather, and he now had the most marvellous adaptation to the cart, would Master Hanben care to explain...? which filled the time in nicely until Edwenith delivered the food from the kitchens, and so the evening passed pleasantly, and if Canadion clung for just a moment or two longer than usual when Merenor took his leave, if his son’s smile was a little tremulous, his eyes over-bright, still, there was Thiriston with an arm around his shoulders as Merenor and Hanben headed off together towards the accommodation wing.

‘The conveyance is ready, your supplies stowed under Arveldir’s offices,’ Hanben said at the corner where they would separate for their own corridors. ‘Cullasbes will be harnessed ready for you, all you will need to do is arrive at the appointed time.’

‘Thank you, Hanben. I am grateful for your help.’

‘Not that...’

‘Not that I deserve it, I know.’

‘I was, in fact, going to say, not that I had much to do other than supervise,’ Hanben said. ‘What an odd opinion you seem to have of me! Well, I will see you at breakfast; the earlier hour.’

*

Although it had been his stipulation, the earlier hour proved a little too early for comfort, for Hanben. For some obscure reason, he had not been able to settle to reverie as easily as he generally did, and had lain with his eyes open, waiting, for several hours before giving up and considering whether there was something more productive he could do with his time.

It was probably just the change to his intended schedule which had thrown him out of kilter, yes, that would be it, in which case he needed to focus on something else; this being so, he went to check, and double-check, the condition and contents of the narrow donkey cart. If cold weather were encountered, it might be wise to add one or two more blankets – for Donkey Cullasbes, obviously. Oh, and he happened to have brought with him a bottle of winter-wine which he didn’t need; it had been cluttering up his quarters for months now.

By the time he had seen all done to his satisfaction and returned to his rooms, he had settled his mind enough to find an hour or two’s reverie, plenty, really, and to be up and about at the earlier hour to present himself at the junction of his corridor with Merenor’s just before his assistant emerged from his doorway, prefect timing for him to pretend Merenor was late and that he was too well-mannered to mention it.

Merenor smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling in that charming way he had, and the glitter of the gold-ringed irises...

‘Good morning, Master Merenor.’

‘Good day, Master Hanben. Are you well?’

‘Quite well, and you?’

‘As well as I can be, with the journey ahead.’

Hanben nodded and set off towards the dining hall, aware that this would be the last time for half a month that he would break his fast with Merenor. It ought not matter. He was probably still just a little tired after his difficulty finding reverie.

Merenor, of course, was full of himself as usual, keeping up a rattle of chatter all the way to the table and through the meal, pausing only long enough to chew and swallow his food. By contrast, even Canadion seemed reserved this morning... but then, perhaps that was not so surprising.

‘You certainly sound eager to set off, Merenor,’ Hanben said during one of Merenor’s brief pauses. ‘But I suppose, the sooner you set off, the sooner you will return.’

‘It is to be hoped so, Hanben. But, really, it is more that I am already looking forward to coming back... it has always been my way, to try to find something positive ahead. And while I will be sad to leave, I will miss my family, and my work, still, I will see Baudh, and Melion shortly, and that thought will console me as I travel away from those I love. Coming back, I will be travelling towards those I love again, so that will be all right, as long as I remember that. Ah, well, I think it is time I was going. Do you have muster, ion-nin, or can you spare me a few minutes?’

‘We have permission to be late this morning, Adar, Thiriston and I.’

Merenor got to his feet.

‘But not too late, of course. Well, I just need to get to my conveyance.’

*

The donkey had already been harnessed up, and she was standing with typical donkey patience, the narrow half-cart seeming no bother. Merenor went up and began rubbing the fuzzy grey ears gently.

‘Good morning, dear old girl,’ he said. ‘We’re off on another jaunt today, if that’s all right with you – will you drag me along again? Thank you, my friend. I’ll just hug my son, and then I’ll be ready.’

‘Be well, Ada,’ Canadion said, hugging.

‘I will be fine. You take care.’ He turned to hug Thiriston in turn. ‘Look after my son, won’t you? And yourself?’

‘Do my best, Honour-Adar.’

‘Hanben...’

Hanben took a step back, lest Merenor attempt to hug him, too, folding his hands together in front of his body and bowing his head.

‘Merenor. Have a good journey. If you run into difficulties with the conveyance, make sure you document them properly.’

‘Yes, Master Hanben. Try not to miss me too much; I’m sure Feren can stand a scold or two, if you find yourself out-of-sorts.’

Merenor grinned and took his seat on the cart, suddenly too choked for further words. Instead, he waved, and smiled, and urged Cullasbes into motion, and with his family and his mentor walking with him as far as the gate, turned with a last wave and headed over the bridge and off into the forest.

Around him the trees breathed green and gold, autumn falling upon them in rich tones, a dreamy air as the forest began to settle for its season-long somnolence. Even the birds in the trees sounded languid, lazy. 

‘Ah, well, dear girl,’ he said to Donkey Cullasbes. ‘At least it is a nice day for a journey.’


	358. 'If He Isn't Back By Yule...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion misses his father...

Canadion watched until the little narrow cart carrying his father away had utterly disappeared from view and sighed, sagging against Thiriston’s supporting arm.

‘He won’t be gone long,’ the big elf said, hugging his husband against him. ‘He’ll be back before you know it.’

Canadion nodded and struggled for composure.

‘I know. It is... it is hard, to see him go... still. As you say. I have practice with the healers, I had better go...’

But he made no move until Thiriston gave him a little squeeze.

‘I’ll walk you over.’

‘No, you have that knife class to lead...’

‘Well, we can walk part way together, yes? Amathel is quite able to start them off without me. Master Hanben, are you heading back to the palace? Master Hanben?’

‘Hmm? My apologies, I was thinking about...about how well the donkey was moving. Yes, it will be quieter for the next two weeks, certainly. I will be able to focus on real work...’

Where their paths diverted, Thiriston and Hanben continued on together whileCanadion went on towards the Healers’ Hall alone.

He was met by Maereth who hurried out from behind the desk to put her arm around him and try to assist him to a seat.

‘Oh, Canadion, what have you been doing now? You look awful! How may we help?’

‘No, no... it is I who am come to help you – your archery session – it is only that I have just parted from my Adar and... well, he will be back in two weeks, so it is silly of me, but...’

‘Master Merenor and I have become friends,’ Maereth said. ‘When we are out in the conveyance together, he speaks of you, how proud he is of you, how glad to be reunited... I understand, I think.’

‘It is just – the last time he went away, it was many decades before I saw him again! And so, I cannot quite believe it will only be two weeks...’

‘That is a long time indeed, for a parent to be away from a son.’

‘I was no elfling, do not mistake, and in the guard, too, so I was expecting to be away from home... I did not know, then, that I would miss him. In fact, it was only when I saw him again at my wedding that I realised how much I had wished him in my life...’

‘We will miss him, too. Do you wish to call off the practice today? I am sure one day will not hurt...’

‘No, it is my duty, and Ada would not like to think he made me shirk my task.’

‘Do you know? I think you are right... it is so easy to miss one day, and then another... and so we fall into bad habits and forget our courage. Besides, perhaps the work will take your mind of things a little.’

*

Thiriston was glad to get his morning tutorials done and seek out Canadion for the day meal. He found his penneth still moping a little, but since Canadion said nothing about his ada, Thiriston judged it best to let him raise the subject in his own time. Sometimes, this was how Canadion coped with his sadness, ignoring it until it he began to feel better. Instead, he talked about Hanben, how he had ambitious plans for remodelling some of the public bathing pools, if he could get the consent of the King’s Office. It seemed an innocuous subject, filling the time so that Canadion didn’t have to do anything but listen and, hopefully, begin to feel better.

Only, when the day’s training was finished, Canadion didn’t look as if he was feeling better, and Thiriston was reluctant to let his spouse’s mood continue unnoticed.

‘Your adar will soon be home,’ Thiriston said as they passed Edwenith’s room and waved to her. ‘I won’t tell you to try and cheer up, because I know it isn’t so simple. What would you like to do this evening? Shall we eat in the hall, or stay in our rooms, eh? Just us?’

‘I am surprised you have not asked Master Hanben to join us.’

‘I hadn’t, but it’s a kind thought. I expect he’s missing your father too, in his own way.’

‘And he’s your new best friend. So, of course, we must ask Master Hanben!’

‘Canadion? What’s this?’ Thiriston asked, for Canadion’s tone had been sharp, the words spiked.

‘Nothing,’ Canadion said, his voice shaky as he fumbled the door open.

‘Didn’t seem like nothing, penneth. Has he upset you? You don’t blame him for Merenor leaving, do you? I’m sure he...’

‘Don’t you know? Or do you think I cannot see? Every night it’s been, let’s ask Master Hanben to join us, oh, there’s Hanben in the hall, shall we sit with him? And even this morning, you left me to go to the Healers’ Hall, and you walked him back to the palace, at the day meal, all you talked about was Hanben’s plans... what have I done, Thiriston? Are you tired of me already, or what is it? I love you, we’re married, I thought it would be forever and I’m losing you already to... to an innovator...’

Thiriston shook his head in astonishment as Canadion dropped onto the settle under the window and began to weep. The idea of him and anyone except Canadion was ridiculous, and the fact that his penneth had marked out Hanben as the other ellon was just... it was almost beyond belief, and if Canadion weren’t crying his heart out, Thiriston probably would have laughed about it.

As it was he hurried to put his arm around his fëa-mate’s shoulders; that Canadion didn’t push him away he read as a good sign.

‘Penneth, I love you, only you, my fëa-mate, the better part of my soul... I don’t know what this is, maybe, you’ve lost your Ada for a couple of weeks and now you’re afraid you’ll lose me, too? Not going to happen, my love...’

‘B...but... H...Han... all the time...’

‘He’s in love with your father.’

‘What?’

Canadion stopped crying, pushed up to face Thiriston, to read his eyes for the truth. 

Looking into those lovely, gold-dappled eyes now shining and wet with tears tore at Thiriston with such acute love and pain that he was breathless and heartbroken with his beloved, desperate to make things better before they got worse...

‘Hanben? Ada?’ Canadion demanded.

‘Master Hanben is in love with Merenor. I don’t think he knows it yet, though. I’ve been asking him to join us when your father’s here, yes, so I’ve got someone to talk to – and he knows a tale or two worth hearing – but mostly so they walk home together. Give them a bit more time, away from work, so he might see it.’

‘But my adar...? And Hanben? No, you saw this morning, after Adar hugged us, Hanben jumped away, he didn’t want Ada to touch him...’

Thiriston chuckled.

‘Do you remember, penneth, when we knew each other, but before we realised what we felt? We were forever doing just that, backing away in case we touched each other by accident? I don’t know about you, but with me, it was because I was scared if once I touched you, I’d hang on and never let you go...’

Canadion sighed.

‘Yes, I do... I... you were so strong, so... I felt I’d always be safe with you... and... I’ve been silly again, haven’t I? Forgive me?’

Thiriston kissed the tears from Canadion’s cheeks.

‘Maybe a little silly. But then you’re tired out and upset about your father, so there’s nothing to forgive, is there? How about we spend some time in the washing cascade, and then you get into bed, and I’ll bespeak something easy to eat from Edwenith? Blackberry paste and soft cheese, fresh bread and apples, we can use each other as plates, how does that sound?’

‘That sounds wonderful.’

*

And it was, so that later, lying replete amongst crumbs and stains and bedding, Canadion snuggled in and Thiriston kissed his hair, and hoped everything was better now.

‘Imagine, though, Thiriston!’ Canadion said with a languid smile in his voice. ‘Hanben, in love with Adar! He would have such a surprise, if he knew! I hope it will not alarm him...’

Thiriston grinned.

‘You do realise your father wouldn’t mind a bit?’

‘But he works for him... wouldn’t it seem odd?’

Now Thiriston snorted. ‘You know, penneth-nin, your father lights up like a room full of lanterns when he sees Hanben; I’m pretty sure he’d be delighted to learn Hanben admires him. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Mind? Well, I... but...’

‘Your father put up with your naneth for how long, don’t you think he deserves a little bit of love in his life?’

‘Of course, but...’

‘Especially as your mother isn’t exactly being subtle with that new friend of hers...’

‘True, that’s true. It’s just... Adar?’

‘Well, don’t worry about it now. And don’t go saying anything to Hanben, do you hear me? He’s a bit slow on the uptake, hasn’t quite realised what’s going on yet, we don’t want to frighten him off. Time enough when your father gets home.’

‘He will come back, won’t he, Thiriston?’ Canadion said, in a very small voice. ‘Last time he went to the southern village I had just joined the guard and he never came home again...’

‘Don’t be silly, of course he will!’ Thiriston gathered his husband up into his arms and held him close. ‘Two weeks, he said. Allow him a little bit longer, he’s bound to get caught up in Melion and Baudh and the other one... but if he isn’t back by Yule, my love, I’ll go after him myself!’


	359. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullasbes' plans are disrupted, and Hanben seeks approval of a new project...

Arveldir made sure the polite, attentive expression was firmly attached to his face and pretended to be listening... but, really, he had expected the King’s Office to be quieter without Master Merenor, and instead he had been besieged, first by Master Hanben with an urgent idea he had to begin at once, and now...

‘...do you not agree, my lord?’

...now Mistress Cullasbes was not helping his morning run any the smoother...

‘I could not possibly commit myself to an answer without further investigation,’ he said. 

She sniffed.

‘But it is quite simple; I have dwelled in those rooms ever since I took vows; they are mine, to dispose of as I wish, but Merenor has left without signing the document releasing me to do so; it is an impediment...’

‘Before anything can be decided, the original documents must be perused. A discussion must be had between interested parties to establish terms. It will have to wait until Master Merenor returns...’

‘No, it does not; this is my point, they are my rooms, and so he has no say.’

‘Have you proof this is the case?’ Arveldir asked. ‘Your own copy of any entitlement documents which can be compared against those held in the archives?’

Cullasbes opened her mouth and stood poised to speak until she realised she had no words of relevance.

‘It is all Merenor’s fault!’ she exclaimed. ‘I have plans. I wish to leave the palace within the next day or so, but I cannot do so before this matter is resolved.’

‘Content yourself with remaining here for the present,’ Arveldir said. ‘Master Merenor will be back soon, and it can be dealt with then. As it is, it would not do for Captain Canadion to lose both parents at once, would it?’

This was said with a small, dismissive smile guaranteed, Arveldir hoped, to annoy Cullasbes. He seemed to have weighed it perfectly for she clamped her lips together and withdrew.

‘His majesty shall hear of this!’ she announced as she departed.

‘Oh, I am sure he will be delighted,’ the advisor muttered under his breath.

Erestor gave a short cough, disguising a laugh, and Arveldir turned to smile.

‘I hope you heard enough of that encounter to be suitably entertained?’

‘Indeed, although the finer points escape me...’

‘The key point, however, is that Master Merenor’s business for the king will go more smoothly if Mistress Cullasbes is kept in the palace until we have certain word Merenor is on his return journey. Or she might wonder what he is doing in the south that is not concerned with their business affairs or his packing.’

‘And the rooms?’

‘Ah, the rooms. I seem to remember they were awarded to Merenor and his family, something to do with his services to the elk-tamers. I doubt Cullasbes will like to hear that, and so I must locate the documents at the appropriate time...’

‘Appropriate time...?’

‘In several weeks; I will delay her for as long as I can. Besides, I have far more important matters today; Master Hanben has come to me with ambitious plans for restructuring works to form part of the next section of renovations...’

‘One feels one ought to be concerned...’

‘In some ways, it is a rather fine notion. In others, it will cause disruption, annoyance, protests and dust.’

‘You sound as if you are looking forward to it, mellon-nin.’

‘I am, rather,’ Arveldir admitted. ‘While I have a suspicion the idea has been born out of Hanben’s wish to give himself far too much to do while his assistant is away, the idea in itself has merit. However, I have told him he must present the project to the king himself.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Indeed. It will serve his majesty right for announcing he wishes to be more involved with the daily life of the palace. Unfortunately, I will miss the event; I have sent Parvon to attend them.’

*

‘...And so you see, my king, this section of corridor is ideal for the next refurbishment project; it is near to the existing Dragon’s Wing, its proximity to the outer walls makes installing windows easy, and there is also access to one of the communal bathing pools, whence we may draw water to power washing cascades and eliminate the tedious process of refilling the tanks...’

‘Is that so, indeed?’ Thranduil asked, feigning interest. ‘But I did not know of any communal pools in this corridor?’

‘No, sire, that is the case, but, if your majesty will bear with me one moment... just through here... yes, this is the wall. Around the corner, there, and along the corridor is the Barracks West exit.’

‘Quite.’ How much longer was Hanben going to drone on concerning renovations of little interest to any except those in poorer accommodation? ‘I am aware of the layout of my own palace complex, Master Hanben!’

‘Then your majesty will, of course, remember that on the far side of this wall is the pool favoured by warriors... the one which is large enough to swim, almost, and which has a secluded alcove at the far end – on the other side of this wall here, in fact...’

Suddenly Thranduil grew very interested indeed; the problem of ellyn gathering in this particular alcove for purposes other than ablutions was a perpetual one, and he remembered a recent incident in which one Girithon had been stopped just in time from propositioning Master Merenor...

Ah.

Thranduil forbore from enquiring whether Master Hanben was suggesting this particular pool in order to protect his assistant’s alleged virtue, and instead appeared to give the matter a moment’s thought.

‘I seem to recall the pool is large enough not to need the alcove, which has always spoiled the symmetry of the place. Parvon, go and see whether the pool is in use; if not, we will inspect the area.’

Parvon bowed and hastened away while the king turned to the innovator.

‘Tell me more, Master Hanben; how would you sequester the alcove to your purposes?’

‘A wall, sire, could be built, so designed to stop the levels dropping too low in the main pool, with piping, and culverts, and pumps to divert the excess water gathered from the alcove section into a system for the washing cascades. The pool will need to be temporarily closed while the basic building work is completed; I have several designs drawn up already... but once that is done, the pool can reopen with but the loss of the alcove section...’

Parvon, emerging from the entrance, tilted his head and stood with his hands folded until Thranduil and Hanben reached him.

‘Sire, the facilities are presently unoccupied. Shall I stay here, and warn any who may be passing?’

‘No, come with us, Parvon. You will have more of an idea of what Master Hanben will require to achieve his design. Well, Hanben?’ Thranduil advanced along the passage, coming to a halt just inside the bathing chamber. ‘How would you proceed?’

‘Firstly, by diverting the flow of the natural springs away from the pool so that it would drain. Then the relevant pipework can be installed, the wall constructed...’ Hanben gestured towards the alcove. ‘The far section will be completely closed off above water level, a door let into the corridor for maintenance access to the pumps and pipes installed there. Once it is done, the waters can be let back into the main pool, and one would never know there had ever been an alcove there at all.’

‘I see. At what stage of proceedings will this pool need to close?’

‘The initial diversion can be installed outside of the bathing area and without disrupting the pool here until we are ready to drain it, sire.’

‘Excellent. When will you be ready to begin?’

Hanben blinked.

‘My king, you approve the notion?’

‘It seems sound. The alcove is not necessary, in the new spirit of openness and acceptance of non-traditional couples, surely it is better for persons to get to know each other first while they are clothed, rather than parading their personal glories in such a clandestine fashion?’

‘Um... thank you, sire, I was thinking more of the washing cascades, of course...’

‘Of course. Very well, consider your designs with care, submit them to Arveldir, making him aware that you already have my approval, and bring me your finished idea as soon as it is ready.’ 

‘Sire, my thanks; I shall begin immediately.’

‘Good day, Master Hanben.’ Thranduil lifted a languid hand, waving Parvon forward. ‘Attend me to my study, I am sure Arveldir will have thought of something else to keep me entertained by now.'

Hanben bowed and waited for the king to depart before allowing himself to smile. Two weeks until Merenor was home. Well, it would not be long enough to have the entire system up and ready to run, but it was certainly sufficient time to get that horrid alcove closed down and bricked off.

He left the communal pools with fresh purpose in his step, hurrying to his workshop to bury himself in plans and designs, to improve his existing sketches and to work out how many persons he would need to employ to ensure the alterations would be finished as soon as possible. 

Busy about his plans, he didn’t notice the passing of time. At one point Feren arrived to ask for instructions, and Haben threw a list at him and told him to start at the top, but that was the only interruption to the flow of his creativity. He drew and scribbled, tapped his teeth with the writing implement, and was really quite startled when he was disturbed by a knocking and realised it had grown somewhat dark as he had worked.

Pushing up from his drawing table, he went to see who was outside and found Canadion holding a lantern, Thiriston behind him with a basket in his hands.

‘Master Hanben, we didn’t see you in the Feasting Hall at supper,’ Canadion said. ‘And so, we have brought you some food. Of course, you could come back with us and eat there, in comfort, there is a fire in the hearth and you would be welcome.’

‘I’ve been working,’ Hanben said. ‘In fact, I cannot remember when I have concentrated quite so hard on a project... That is one thing about your father, he does know how to interrupt a person’s creative process...’

Canadion smiled. ‘Well, I am sure he would want us to interrupt you, on his behalf, then, for your own sake. Shall we leave this here for you?’

‘Thank you, Canadion. I have almost finished for the day, so that will be fine.’

‘And tomorrow, you must sit with us in the Feasting Hall,’ Merenor’s son went on. ‘Or I will send Thiriston to fetch you, and if he has to carry you from your workshop, protesting all the way, he will do so...’

‘If you insist,’ Hanben said. ‘I suppose your father told you to keep guard over me while he’s away, is that it?’

‘No, not at all,’ Canadion asked. ‘Why would he?’

Hanben sighed.

‘Why indeed?’ he said. ‘But this is a kindness. My thanks.’


	360. Befriending Hanben

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hanben talks more of his plans for the alcove...

‘Hanben’s right; it was kind of you,’ Thiriston said, putting his arm around Canadion to walk back through the darkness to their rooms. ‘But for a moment there, I thought you were going to say something you shouldn’t...’

‘I remembered, though, I only said ‘friend’. That’s all right, to say ‘friend’, I think. And after yesterday, the things I was thinking, I felt I had done him a disservice...’

‘You’d done whom a disservice...?’

‘And you, of course. But I can make it up to you, my husband, in ways I couldn’t possibly ....’

Thiriston smiled as Canadion looked up at him under fluttering eyelashes.

‘And there was me thinking you’d already done that last night.’

‘I started, yes,’ Canadion said. ‘But I feel my silliness is going to take a lot more than that...’

‘No, I think last night was sufficient. But... if you’re offering...’

‘For you, I am always offering...’

‘We’d better hurry home, then.’

*

Later, lying like spoons on the rug in front of the fire with Thiriston’s arm under his head, Canadion looked into the heart of the dancing flames. 

The warmth flickered on his face and Thiriston’s other arm was draped across his waist, and he was blissfully happy in his body, his heart and his fëa, but his mind was troubled...

‘I’m not in reverie yet,’ Thiriston said. ‘If you want to talk, I know there’s something...’

‘It is just... I am so sorry about yesterday, about Hanben. Being married to you makes me so happy, Thiriston, and my fëa knows, my heart knows you would not stray. But sometimes my mind cannot quite believe I deserve you, and, then, it had not occurred to me that Adar and Hanben might...’

He faltered into silence as Thiriston gathered him even closer, kissed his hair and waited. 

‘...I mean, Adar? Doing the... the sort of things we do? With Master Hanben, it is a very strange thought...’

‘Then don’t think it, penneth. Besides, I’m sure they haven’t, not yet. Hanben wouldn’t have let your father go off so easily, if that were the case; he’d have insisted on going along, to make sure the blessed cart didn’t fall to bits, or something.’

‘Besides, Hanben’s demeanour has not altered; he still carries himself the same way he always has, and I am sure...’

Thiriston guffawed and Canadion reached a hand back to lightly slap his rump.

‘I did not mean, that he hasn’t been walking oddly, I mean...’

‘I know what you mean. He’s the sort, he won’t do anything until he knows it’s love, and then it’ll change him, soften him off a bit, maybe. We’d have noticed.’

‘But it’s Adar... is it all right, do you think?’

‘Well, what do you think?’

Canadion was silent for a moment, silent and very still, so that Thiriston wondered if his young husband was upset. But then he spoke.

‘I think, it does not matter what I think. I think, it is for Adar to decide who he wants – from what I gather, he did not get the choice, with Naneth...’

Thiriston stroked Canadion’s hair gently. There was more coming, he was sure.

‘Only, it would be awful if he did something... something silly, and... spoiled his chances...’

‘Now, I don’t think you have to worry about that,’ Thiriston said softly, his voice gruffly kind. ‘He’s very flirty, and very friendly, but you only ever hear of him spoken of as interested in everyone, pleasant, charming...’

‘Well, we hear those things of him. But is that because it’s true, or because people think, that’s Thiriston’s Adar-in-Honour, better be nice...?’

‘Now, the number of people in this place, do you really think all of them would be that cautious? No, I think there is something very appealing about your Adar, something quite open about how he admires everyone. Nobody seems to mind... did you know, he was walking around referring to Erestor as ‘that stunning Noldo’, and Arveldir didn’t even growl at him? And he was very complimentary about Commander Govon, yet Legolas didn’t have him thrown into the cells...? No, there is something, a sort of innocence to him, that protects his reputation. As well as the knowledge that his son is a crack shot and his honour-son has been likened to a cave-troll.’

‘But, he is going away...’

‘Back to where he’s been known and respected for however long. Not that far away from those brothers of yours...’

‘Not Caraphindir, he’s a long way out to the west of Baudh and Melion...’

‘But you see my point.’

‘Yes.’ Canadion sighed again. ‘I really am being silly, melleth-nin...’

He snuggled back against his spouse in a very interesting fashion, making Thiriston smile as his body reacted, as he began to grow firm and ready again, and he was on the of reaching over to take Canadion in his hand and begin to encourage him to think about other matters when his penneth spoke again.

‘What about Hanben, though?’

Carefully, Thiriston didn’t sigh.

‘What about him?’ he asked, allowing his hand to rest on Canadion’s groin, letting his fingers begin to circle, hoping to distract his fëa-mate from a conversation much better kept for later.

‘Is he right for Adar? Not too young, or... or anything like that?’

‘That’s up to the two of them to decide, if anything comes of it. I think we should just keep Hanben company, so that if he does realise your adar is in love with him, then he won’t be scared about upsetting you. Besides, he’s bound to be missing him.’

‘Oh, I suppose so... yes, and... ooh! Thiriston, shall we talk about this later...? Something seems to have come up...’

*

If Master Hanben was missing his assistant, however, he kept the fact hidden, disguised under a sudden flurry of activity that almost had Arveldir alarmed. There were plans for this and requisitions for that shoved under his elegant nose every few moments for the next few days, it seemed, the scheme for using the hot springs to run washing cascades being approved rather swiftly, and nothing to delay progress except the possibility of concerns from users of the pool.

‘That does not matter,’ Hanben had said early on in proceedings. ‘The Dragon Warriors all have access to other bathing pools and rest will just have to manage. There is always the river.’

Talking to Canadion and Thiriston at supper in their rooms, he repeated the conversation. Thiriston laughed.

‘At this time of year, it would do them good!’ he said. ‘No, there are plenty of other bathing pools; I never tended to bother with that one much, there’s one down towards the kitchens that tends to be a bit quieter.’

‘Thank you; independent verification of the accessibility of other facilities was all I needed to be able to commence. Nor is it as if I asked any leading questions... This means we will probably begin tomorrow on the external work, and put up warning signs...’

‘I wouldn’t,’ Thiriston said, gesturing with his cutlery. ‘If you warn people, it gives them chance to protest, slow you down.’

‘Good point, Captain. I can do without complaints, I fear I do not handle them well... Although it is not the warriors who I think would protest, you understand, but the... ah... those who use them more for recreational purposes than cleanliness...’

‘I am sorry, I do not think I was properly attending?’ Canadion said. ‘Your new project, Master Hanben, I thought it was to make washing cascades for the next corridor to be converted?’

‘Yes, that’s so. But we need somewhere to house the equipment; there needs to be a regulated pump, you see, and a goodly supply of hot water, and quite fortunately, there is a large communal pool with a small area at one end which is hardly every used for bathing; his majesty has said the Office of Innovation may sequester that area. The main pool will only be closed while the wall is being built, and its mortar setting correctly...’

Canadion’s eyes widened and he dropped his spoon.

‘You are using that pool? The one nearest the barracks? And taking away the alcove?’

‘Master Hanben did tell us all this at the start of the evening,’ Thiriston said with a grin. ‘I think you were a little distracted, perhaps?’

‘I beg your pardon, Master Hanben! I had been – my naneth came to see me earlier, I was perhaps thinking about what she said. But the alcove – there will be many persons sad to see it go! And yet, I think, more that will be pleased to see the end of it. Especially the naneths; they have never approved of it!’

‘In fact, our king does not approve of it either,’ Hanben said. ‘And so if I have any complaints, I shall simply direct them all to bring the matter up with his majesty!’

*

Later, once Hanben had left, Thiriston tried to find a gentle way to ask about something Canadion had mentioned... he’d no wish to upset his beloved, but he was curious, and not necessarily in a comfortable way.

So he burrowed into the cushions on the settle, holding Canadion in his arms the way he liked, cuddling him in, trying to make him feel at ease.

‘Something I was wondering, my love,’ he said in his easiest tones. ‘Something you said...’

‘Oh, about the alcove! I knew you would notice... but it was a very long time ago, and... my friend, the one who died, that is where I met him, but he came out of the alcove to talk to me, so, you see, it was not like that, and...’

‘Not that, sweetheart!’ Thiriston gave Canadion a little squeeze, and kissed him, alarmed that his husband was trembling in his arms. ‘And you’re upset, thinking about him, I wouldn’t have you distressed. Besides, long before we met, none of my business, love. No, what I was wondering about – worried over, really – was your naneth sought you out? She wasn’t unkind, was she?’

‘Oh, that,’ Canadion said, in a lame little voice, and Thiriston laughed.

‘Yes, that, penneth! You don’t have to tell me, of course, not if you don’t want to... but she seems to have cornered you while I wasn’t around to keep my eye on her...’

‘Someone had told her I was helping the healers today, she was waiting for me. It was nothing, well, not that I could help with. She has this idea, she wants to give away the rooms we all lived in, she asked if I would mind speaking to Adar. I said yes, I would, they are not her rooms, to give to one of her friends, they are Adar’s, and... and then I got confused...’

‘It’s easily done, penneth, around Cullasbes. How bad was it?’

‘I said Adar might want them himself when he comes back and settles down. And she stood with her mouth opening and closing like a trout on the riverbank and... and I ran away before she could ask me anything else...’

‘You didn’t mention any names, did you?’

‘No, I didn’t; I shut up straight away after that!’

‘Well, no harm done, then. If she comes back at you for more information, have you not thought? Perhaps your brother Melion would like to move in there with his family?’

‘True, he might. That is a much better reason for Naneth not giving the rooms away. Do you know, I think when I have a moment in the morning, I will go to the King’s Office, and let Lord Arveldir know that, too?’

‘Good idea. Oh, melleth, about that alcove?’

Canadion tensed again.

‘What about the alcove, my husband?’

‘Went there once myself. I was young, that’s how long ago it was, and pretty much the only way to meet... Everyone there was old. I took one look and pretended I was just there for the swimming... got out as fast as I could, told my sister, she almost choked laughing. ‘Well, what do you expect?’ she said. ‘If you want to meet a nice ellon, you need to go to nice places...’ Not that I’m saying it was like that for you, and your friend sounds as if he was kind to you, nice. So, just, don’t you be worrying that I mind, do you hear me?’

Canadion sighed and snuggled and clung.

‘I hear you. And I am sorry...’

‘No need, penneth. And don’t forget, you don’t have to talk to your naneth unless you want to.’

Against Thiriston’s chest, Canadion nodded.

‘And I want to say, my husband, I think it is a good idea of yours, befriending Hanben. I think I quite like him, really.’

‘Well, when your adar comes back, you can tell him that. It might be all the encouragement he needs.’


	361. Changed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor reaches the village where he used to live...

‘You know, it is a strange thing, Cullasbes my dear, but sometimes, when you come back somewhere, it all looks changed.’

Merenor jumped down from his seat on the conveyance and went to rub Cullabes’ soft grey ears. She lifted her muzzle, wanting to know why they’d stopped, enjoying the attention.

‘And then you realise. It’s not the place that’s any different, but you. When I left here...’

They had halted just outside the main approach to the village Merenor had called home for the last several centuries. Like most of the settlements within a mile or so of the old Dwarf road, it was a mixture of ground buildings and talain, with much of the accommodation up in the trees and hidden from any but the most keen eyes. 

Elflings laughed and romped in an open glade, two or three of the naneths watching over them and chatting. Sounds of daily work filtered through, voices, the drift of woodsmoke; it was getting towards dusk, and a communal fire and evening gathering was part of the life of the settlement.

Eregnith, his assistant, would be preparing to close the doors of the office soon, so he’d better hurry if he wanted to speak to her...

But he didn’t, not really. Oh, she was nice, he liked her, it wasn’t that... it was just... Generally speaking, he’d enjoyed the journey, the solitude of it, just him and Cullasbes, and the occasional hail from a flet guard or two. Plunging back into his old way of life suddenly felt a little daunting.

Yes. When he’d left this place, he had been full of hope and fear, for he hadn’t known how Canadion would respond, seeing him after so long an absence. And, really, he hadn’t deserved so warm a welcome, so much love, even though his heart was full for his youngest.

He’d never dreamed he’d find a place there, a new career, new friends. That he’d fall in love.

For one thing the four day trip had proved to him, beyond doubt, was how very much he missed Master Hanben, how much he needed to be in his life.

Nothing here had altered. But for him, everything was different.

He smiled down at Donkey Cullasbes and rubbed her forehead.

‘Come along, my darling girl, let’s brave the crowds, then.’

*

‘Master Merenor, you are back!’ one of the naneths exclaimed, and word spread, and he halted in the clearing while the little ones wanted to meet Cullasbes, as the adults came down from their flets and out of the work huts to see him, and greet him, and marvel. More than one hugged him, patted his back, many had questions.

‘A messenger came, he spoke of so much change!’ one said. ‘Can all be well, in the palace?’

‘Ai, there has been some sadness,’ Merenor agreed. ‘If you like I will talk around the fire, later.’

‘Yes, if you will, Master Merenor. Your son Melion was here a few days since, he was wondering when you might arrive.’

‘In truth, I had hoped to be here weeks ago. But not to worry. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to get my donkey settled, and speak with Eregnith.’

Eregnith found him first, coming to the stables at the back of the office while he was brushing out Cullasbes’ coat and settling her in a deep bed of straw.

‘There you are, Merenor!’

‘And there you are, Eregnith! How are you?’

‘Better for seeing you; I had been growing quite anxious...’

Merenor paused to smile at his assistant.

‘You look well. Thank you, for working so hard while I was away.’

‘I have some of that spiced tea you like, it’s steeping now. We can sit and talk, if you wish, before the gathering.’

‘There is much to say, it’s true...’ He nodded, turned his attention back to the donkey. ‘Now, Cullasbes, dear, there is sweet hay in the manger for you and I shall be in to bid you goodnight later. If you need anything, just bray, I will hear you... in fact, the entire settlement will hear you...’

There was a little sitting area at the back of the office, made cosy with chairs and cushions and a small fire. An iron kettle stood on a warming stone in the hearth, and Eregnith folded a cloth around its handle and poured the steaming contents into beakers, a sweet, fragrant spice scenting the air.

Merenor settled into a seat with a sigh and a smile as Eregnith passed him a cup.

‘Thank you, my dear,’ he said. ‘You’ll forgive me for saying, but you’ve got your scolding face on... I’ve been away, surely I can have done nothing to deserve...?’

It was said with an innocent and penitent air, and the elleth laughed.

‘Oh, apart from running away with a day’s notice, promising to be back within a two-week, sending no word except some garbled news I have from Melion that you’re inflicting your good wife on us...?’

‘Ah, now, let me stop you there, my dear. Cullasbes is not my wife, never was my wife, and nevermore will be my wife... we took short vows only, and as I was reminded, that did not make us wife and husband...’

‘I wonder, then... you must know of the edict, since it came from the palace, that such short-vowed couples, if not together by choice, may legally and without guilt part company from one another...?’

Merenor sipped at the hot, spiced tea, his eyes twinkling.

‘Ah, well, Cullasbes and I were, you could say, the experimental model for the edict... his majesty took pity on us, and so we are parted with no blame or guilt, free to move on. Although one of us has moved on more quickly than others...’

‘No...? She has not...?.

‘In fairness, it could have been me, but the ellon I have my eye on is a little shy at present. Which, perhaps unfairly, makes me look to be a much better person than Cullasbes!’

‘I am sure you are a better person, in many ways... but Melion seems to think you are not staying?’

‘My life is in the palace now,’ Merenor said. ‘She and her... new business associate – will come down here, and Melion has said he and his family will take over the northern trade...’

‘If you think I am going to stay here and let That Elleth tell me what to do...’

‘No, indeed, which is why I wondered if you might consider moving to the palace area? Help Melion get settled, that sort of thing. There’s plenty of room there, lots of opportunities if the business didn’t suit you...’

‘Well... may I think about it?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then yes, I’ll come. I suppose I have to stay and hand over to Her... or will you do that?’

‘In fact, I have a few other little matters to attend to, places to go, people to look at... and of course, two of my sons to annoy. My bits and pieces to sort out, my life to pack up.’ He glanced into the flames and smiled. ‘Ask it, then. I know you want to, you fussing Mother Hen, you!’

‘Since you ask... are you sure it’s the right thing for you?’

‘Positive. Canadion – my youngest, he is such a joy to me, I’ve missed so much. His husband is very welcoming. Melion is coming north, Baudh has the offer of a post in the same department as I... everything, everyone I love, with the exception of Caraphindir, will be there. And he, my oldest, he’s still a long way from here. He knows I will come whenever he needs me, that he can always come to me. I have a whole new career, it is exciting, fun, I have new friends. And many of the warriors wear kilts, it is wonderful! No, do not laugh! I am sure it is the best thing for me. And probably for you, as well.’

*

His conviction only grew as he found his way to the talan where he’d lived. Eregnith, or someone, had kept it tidy for him, swept away the leaves and bits of vegetation that crept in from time to time. The realisation that most of it was just things that made life less uncomfortable shocked him a little; it made it seem as if he must have been unhappy, whereas he’d preferred to think of himself as too busy to notice such things... a few bits and pieces, mostly things the village elflings had made for him, anatomically incorrect acorn elk and pine cone squirrels, flattened flowers, pretty leaves... it was important that he be seen to pack those, even if they didn’t survive the journey, it would please the elflings, and their naneths.

The rug.... yes, he’d take the rug, because it was bright, and slightly hideous. Clothes. The inlaid wooden chest he’d made in the days of his youth, it was part of his history... a few books and scrolls, his fine tools for his fettling work, that sort of thing. Hanben would like to see them. Might like to use them, too, yes, the notion that Master Hanben might possibly admire Merenor’s smooth-handled bradawl enough to want to hold it was rather a nice thought...

The gong sounded, summoning the village to food, and fireside, and Merenor set down his bradawl set, picked up his cloak, and went to join the feast.


	362. An Audience with Cullasbes, and Ellyn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil has another interesting morning...

It was an interesting assemblage of persons waiting for audience with the king, Arveldir noted. Mostly ellyn of a certain age and persuasion, he rather thought, although several of those present were a surprise to him. He glanced at Erestor with a lift of an eyebrow, and the smallest of smiles, saw Erestor’s head tip back in acknowledgement.

‘I suspect many of these gathered may be here to discuss that which Master Hanben is referring to as his ‘improvements to the washing cascade system,’ Arveldir said. ‘Apart from Mistress Cullasbes, however.’

‘Indeed. Well, if the ellyn are left unsatisfied with his majesty’s pronouncement on the subject, at least gathering for the audience has brought them into company with other like-minded persons...’

Arveldir found it difficult to refrain from laughing.

‘I am not quite sure how to proceed... perhaps it would be kindest to allow Mistress Cullasbes the precedence – kindest to our king, that is. Get the worst over with, so to speak. Meanwhile, we might gently point out to the ellyn that they will have to explain precisely why they are opposed to the improvements...’

‘Might I assist with that while you oversee Cullasbes’ audience?’

‘Please do; if anything, they will find your assistance even more disconcerting than my own would be.’

Exchanging nods, Arveldir went to where Cullasbes was scowling and staring at the gathered ellyn. He wondered if she perhaps suspected any of them of having seduced her former consort, in their day, or whether she was simply disapproving of them in general.

‘Mistress Cullasbes, what brings you here today? Are you come to protest the alterations to the communal bathing pool, perhaps?’

‘How dare you! The goings-on of such persons in such places is of no interest to me whatsoever, and I hope not all these ellyn here are gathered for such purpose. I happen to know the wives of one or two of them...’

‘Be that as it may, your reason for speaking with our king today is...?’

‘As if you cannot guess! The disgraceful manner in which I have been kept waiting about the disposal of my home. And the failure of the King’s Office to be of any help in the matter!’

Confident in his handling of the topic so far, Arveldir accepted the criticism with a gracious inclination of his head.

‘If you would like to follow me, Mistress Cullasbes, I will escort you into his majesty’s presence.’

Once in the Hall of Audience, he approached the throne and Thranduil’s questioning expression and bowed.

‘Your majesty, here is Mistress Cullasbes who wishes to bring before you, let me see, what was it...? Ah, yes, I have it now... the disgraceful manner in which she has been kept waiting concerning the disposal of her rooms and the failure of my own office to be of help in the matter.’

‘I see. Mistress Cullasbes, we are surprised you are still here; were you not planning to leave the palace with your new... business associate?’

‘I have been trying to, sire, but there are things I must settle first. I am aware that your time is valuable, my king, and if I had been attended to as I should have been, there would have been no need for me to trouble you today... I...’

‘Well, since you are here, and you are troubling us, perhaps you would get to the crux of the matter?’

‘The rooms in which I have lived since I took my vows are mine to dispose of. I have a friend, a dear friend who has supported me through many trials and I wish to gift them to her. I am told...’ This with a draconic glare at Arveldir who smiled politely in response, ‘that they are not my rooms to dispose of after all, but my... but Master Merenor’s. He is not here...’

‘Indeed? I thought the palace was quieter of late.’

‘...not here to consult, nor can the relevant documents be found. And so I am delayed.’

‘Quite. But surely this is unheard of, that the King’s Office misplace a document?’

‘What can I say, your majesty?’ Arveldir gave the smallest of shrugs. ‘However, the matter can be dealt with summarily as soon as Master Merenor returns.’

‘But I do not wish to wait attendance on Master Merenor!’ Cullasbes protested. ‘Too often when we were married...’  
Arveldir cleared his throat.

‘...when we were vowed, I had to wait for him to do something, or decide not to do it, and I have no wish to continue to be at his beck and call when we are supposedly free of each other!’

‘Will you leave us for a moment, Cullasbes? We wish to consult with our advisor on the matter. Arveldir, escort our guest to the ante room and then return. And bring Erestor with you.’

When Arveldir returned with Erestor in tow, Thranduil beckoned them towards his throne.

‘I know I said I wished to be more involved in the life of the palace, Arveldir, but to this degree? Nor do I for a moment believe you have misplaced any documents – you do your office a disservice. Now come, what is going on here?’

‘The technicalities are quite straight-forward, sire; the rooms were given to Merenor and his family, in perpetuity, for service to the elk-tamers in his youth. The document states so plainly.’

‘Then what is this, are we trying to annoy Mistress Cullasbes? Or detain her?’

‘Your majesty will remember that Master Merenor has been asked to make certain enquiries on the way to and from his former home...’

‘Ah. And if Mistress Cullasbes should arrive there, she would be bound to query what he is doing, which would draw attention to his task...’

‘I see. When do we expect him back?’

‘Around the time of the Yule feast, sire, depending how quickly he can arrange his personal matters and tour the villages – Erestor and I worked out he would need between fifteen and twenty days to cover the extra distances involved. On which note, Master Hanben will begin to worry about him shortly... I would like your permission to take him into our confidence.’

‘But if that became known, then Mistress Cullasbes would become suspicious. No, it is best left as it is. How long must we keep her about the palace? She palls on me.’

‘It would be better were she gone before Merenor returns... if he visits some of the villages on the list on his way back, as is sensible, then he will come home by a different route. Another eight or nine days should be sufficient.’

‘Very well. I suggest you miraculously find that document in seven days’ time and bring it, and Cullasbes, to my study at some point where I can enlighten her. You had better bring her back in. And do try to look a little chastened!’

*

‘It would seem that the rooms are Merenor’s, to dispose of as he pleases,’ Thranduil told Cullasbes, his voice bored. ‘Presumably, he will want his sons to live there. If he himself does not wish to, that is, should he, too, decide to seek another partner... he does not seem to lack for admirers... however, nothing can be done without sight of the document or his specific, written permission. He did leave written instructions concerning the business, I believe, Arveldir?’

‘That is so, sire. He makes it quite plain his sons are not to be involved in it unless they wish to. But no word of his rooms, which suggests he has plans for them...’

‘Or he doesn’t care at all!’ Cullasbes protested. ‘Really, I cannot bear this delay!’

‘Then do not be delayed,’ Thranduil said. ‘But the rooms will be held for Merenor, pending the discovery of the document, or his return. We thank you for bringing this matter to our attention and bid you good day, Mistress Cullasbes. Arveldir, we will have the next supplicant now.’

‘Supplicants, my king; they all wish to speak on the same topic... Mistress Cullasbes, allow Master Erestor to walk you out...’

‘Arveldir?’ the king asked, once they were alone. ‘Should we summon Master Hanben to this meeting?’

‘Sire, that would make for a very interesting morning... I will do so forthwith. Of course, it may be that the thought of facing you in a group would prove rather too daunting for our gathered protesters...’

But it was a vain hope. Although several ellyn had departed (some in the company of others, having made new friends, Erestor commented later) there were still a good half score waiting.

‘If you will bear with me, I have been requested to send for the ellon responsible for all this confusion,’ Arveldir said. ‘It should not delay you too long.’

He found Hanben buried beneath some arcane conglomeration of piping in the Water Balancing Room, as the notice above the newly-made doorway announced it to be.

‘Ah, good, somebody at last... I require a number six side wrench, if you please, at once!’

‘If I knew what such a thing might be, Master Hanben, I would send for one,’ Arveldir said. ‘However, unless you can enlighten me...’

‘It is a side wrench, lined up with the other side wrenches, there should be eight of them... no, six, plus two gaps. I have tried a five and a seven, so logically it should be the one with spaces either side... Lord Arveldir, it is good of you to come to assist, I am not sure where everyone is this morning.’

Arveldir passed what he assumed to be the correct implement under the pipes to where he could just see Hanben’s fingers reaching.

‘In fact, I was rather hoping you could assist me,’ he said. ‘Or our king, to be exact... he is holding audience and there is some question concerning your work here...’

‘As you can see, I am rather engaged in my work at present. However, it may be a question I can answer...’

‘Hmm. Well, the supplicants have not quite made that clear... I have a feeling it is to do with the communal pool...’

‘It was closed for four days while structural alterations were made and tested. But it has been functioning perfectly well for the last two days, Lord Arveldir, I do not see what possible reason there could be for complaint. In fact, I bespoke Commander Pedir who got his Red Dragons to give the pool a thorough testing yesterday, on return from their patrol. They were all delighted with it and several commented that they had ceased using it for a time, because of the alcove, in fact, but are now very pleased to have it back again.’

‘My thanks, Hanben; I am grateful; I had not realised the pool was open once more.’

‘I wish to have all this work completed before my assistant arrives back so that we can start installation of washing cascades in the rooms as soon as possible,’ Hanben said. ‘I hope he will be back soon; I gave him two weeks’ leave, but my heart misgives me and I fear he may be delayed.’

‘His son Melion is planning to return to the palace, is he not? Perhaps Master Merenor will get caught up in their plans. I am sure, knowing how fond a father he is, he will want to help.’

‘I suppose... perhaps I should have allowed him a few more days. He is, as you say, a very loving parent... is there a number three fly-top somewhere there...?’

‘I have no idea,’ Arveldir said. ‘I will pass your message on to the king. Good morning, Master Hanben.’

*

Thranduil would have been impatient, but for the fact that he knew there was a small host of ellyn outside, equally impatient and perhaps anxious too. Still, Arveldir’s return had been not before time, to say the least.

‘Very good, Arveldir,’ he said once his advisor had finished. ‘Bring them all in, bring Erestor too, and make sure you both stay; there may be work for you.’

‘My king is most gracious,’ Arveldir said, and went to summon the supplicants.

Thranduil hid his amusement as perhaps a dozen elves shuffled forward, each pretending not to notice the others present.

‘And what do you all wish to discuss today?’ he asked, once they had bowed awkwardly and were beginning to cast furtive glances at each other, hoping not to be the one chosen to voice the complaint. ‘Is there one to speak for you all? No? Arveldir, choose someone.’

‘Master Tawon, my lord king. He has been most... concerned, speaking with Master Hanben, his work team and even with me...’

Thranduil gestured, and an ellon who might, in future, think twice about pestering the King’s Office, bowed and came reluctantly forward.

‘It is to do with the disruption to the communal pool, my lord king,’ he said. ‘The one near the barracks entrance? Which the warriors tend to use, quite often... it is deep enough to swim, sire, which might account for its...’ He paused and gulped. ‘Popularity with those not in the guard...’

‘I am aware of its various charms, Master Tawon. But this disruption of which you speak...?’

‘There was – that is, it has been reduced in area, sire. It is no longer as it was, it cannot be used in the... the same way. So I have been given to understand, that is...’

‘So you have been given to understand... Tawon – all of you – I have been given to understand the pool has reopened after a short period of disruption. That the Red Dragon Company have reported it to be better than before, presumably because they no longer have to worry about ellyn in the former alcove area behaving improperly and putting them off their bathing. The pool is still large enough and deep enough for swimming... I fail to see the problem, particularly for an avowed ellon such as yourself...’

‘I am, of course, speaking for those around me,’ Tawon said, colouring, and fooling no-one.

‘I quite understand,’ Thranduil said. ‘And so I will have no qualms in suggesting that you remind them that there is no longer a need to meet like-minded persons in such undignified and underhanded ways. In fact, to emphasise this point... Arveldir, I think we will have a common room set up, just for ellyn who wish to socialise with other ellyn, who might, perhaps, not have opportunities to meet and mingle as do those with families, or interesting employment. Perhaps another for ellith as well. Tawon, I appoint you as consultant. You will wish to discuss the matter with your friends, no doubt. I am sure the King’s Office can suggest a suitable room which can be put aside for your use during the planning stages. Is there anything more? Do any of you have anything to add? No? Very well then, you may all withdraw. Not you, Arveldir.’

‘Sire.’

‘I will make it understood that there is no longer a need for shame,’ Thranduil said quietly, once they were alone. ‘Whether my subjects pay attention or not. Tawon, he is not actually married, is he? I was correct in assuming he is another who took short vows?’

‘I believe so, sire.’

‘Then perhaps this new responsibility will provide new opportunities for him. I am not trying to change them, Arveldir, I am simply trying to permit them to change themselves, if they wish it.’

‘Sire. I should mention, I feel, that Master Hanben is already counting the days until his assistant returns; I have suggested that, perhaps, he will be delayed by his family for a little while...’

‘I see. Very good. And, Arveldir?’

‘Yes, my king?’

‘Speak to Araspen and Merlinith, ask if a social meeting place for ellith would be popular, too. It was an excellent notion of yours, about the specific common rooms, was it not?’

‘Thank you, my king. You are most generous.’


	363. Visiting Baudh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor continues to sever his ties with his former life...

It had taken Merenor five days to sort through his talan, his workshop, and the business accounts up to the latest reckoning. There were still other matters, of course, current traders, who was where bringing or taking what to and from whom, but generally, everything was in excellent order.

'As it was bound to be, of course, with you in charge, Eregnith. It's only when I'm around that things get... messy.'

Eregnith laughed.

'Well, I do my best! So what is next?'

Merenor sighed.

'What is next is that I run away again; I want to see Baudh and Melion. I should only be gone a few days. A week at most.'

'What, now?' Eregnith queried. 

'Yes, now, well, tomorrow, that way I should be back for when Master Anunir and his team get back I like Anunir, I want to say goodbye in person.'

Eregnith raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. She'd often seen Anunir looking at Merenor and had wondered if he had ever noticed and, if so, why he had never looked back...

None of her business, of course.

*

Having left all his required belongings neatly stacked in a corner of his workshop, Merenor asked Donkey Cullasbes very courteously if she would like to go on a little jaunt, hitched up the narrow wagon and set off, ostensibly to visit his sons. And he would, yes, but he also had a list of seven villages and the names of nine Children of the Forest whom he needed to find and observe.

'Nothing so obvious as asking after their health!' Arveldir had said. 'And if there is a resident healer, present yourself, and your letter of introduction. Be discreet.'

'It might be easier if I knew why I had to be?' 

But Arveldir had shaken his head.

'Then you would know more than you would be comfortable with. In fact, it is better so.'

So Merenor had nodded, remembering Thranduil’s veiled threat and reminding himself to do just what was asked and only what was asked...

As far as they were concerned, he was just taking the long road to his sons’ villages so that he could have a last look around before he left to resettle in the north…

 

Four days, three villages and five Children of the Forest later, at the end of a long day he dismounted from his conveyance and led Cullasbes up the last reaches of the track to the village where Baudh was living.

‘Adar!’ Baudh came through the trees to meet him, shaking his head as he stared and stopped, letting Merenor hug him. ‘We were starting to get worried! You were meant to be here weeks ago!’

‘Oh, one thing and then another, you know how it is! Making sure the cart was finished, getting a proper harness for Cullasbes here…’

‘What? Ada, who?’

‘My donkey, Cullasbes. She is very sweet-natured, charming company, lovely to talk to… she’s also tired, so will you help me get her stabled for the night?’

‘Of course, but… are you here for ever, or are you really leaving again?’

‘I am really leaving again, all my things are packed and ready for me to collect on my way back.’

‘Very good! We have stabling round here…’ Baudh led the way. ‘But you know, Ada, it has been suggested that you delayed to sort out your affairs around the palace and would not leave the southern offices… people have been saying it with hope, you will be missed. Either that or Naneth will not be welcomed…’

‘Ah, well, that is not my concern. Nor need it be yours, ion-nin, for Master Hanben has agreed you might be useful, and there is work for you in the office, if you like…’

‘Really? That was not just, if you didn’t stay? Adar, I would like that so much… but… I doubt I can be ready to ride back with you, I have promised to help with the Night of the Names here; it will be after Yuletide before I can come…’

‘I am sure that will be fine, Baudh. Although I think your naneth wants to be here for then…’

‘Well, she will not be coming to live in my village, and so I may hope to avoid her…’

‘I would like to say, she is not that bad, but…’

‘Melion is ready for the off, did you know? He has been watching the road for you, he even went to your offices.’

‘Eregnith told me. I will stay here tonight, and if Cullasbes is rested, we will trundle off to see him tomorrow. So. I’ll get the dear girl settled.’

‘Come to the talan when you’re done, Adar.’

*

Baudh’s talan was high in a fine sycamore, some of the slenderer branches twined together to add living colour to the woven walls. A hammock slung between two of the branches and full of blankets and cushions made Merenor smile. 

‘You have a snug little nest in your tree, ion-nin!’

‘I’ve another hammock stowed away somewhere, Adar, if you want to stay the night here rather than in one of the guest talain?’

‘That’s a good idea. Food around the fire, though?’

‘Yes. Unless you prefer to be private?’

‘No, if you are happy to show me off to your friends, I am happy to be displayed.’

‘How is that lovely employer of yours, Adar?’

‘Growing more and more lovely every time I looked at him.’ Merenor sighed. ‘Old fool that I am! I cannot wait to get home to him, even though I am sure he will not welcome me…’

‘Oh, I don’t know… some of the looks he gave you when you weren’t watching…’

‘Really?’ Merenor brightened. ‘Ah, you give me hope. Would you mind?’

‘Yes.’

‘Baudh! No!’

‘But only because I like the look of him myself… no, of course I would not mind. Who could?’

‘Master Hanben, I fear.’

From below, a bell began to ring.

‘Come along, Adar – time to throw off the gloom and join in our meal. You’ll feel better when you’ve eaten, hunger always made you grumpy.’

‘Did it really? And there was me thinking it was your mother.’

*

He stayed two days with Baudh, ostensibly resting Donkey Cullasbes, but really because he’d heard a name over the campfire that was on his list of Children of the Forest. The ellon in question had married that year and moved here, it being his new wife’s village so that she could stay near her family. He seemed a nice chap, a Silvan to the bone, a hunter with a love for the forest that was evident in every word he said.

Not that Merenor asked about him or, indeed, talked to him beyond the sort of chatter you would expect around the campfire, but it was a happy, gossipy village and he felt very much at ease amongst them. So, of course, they felt at ease with him in turn and the talk flowed easily around with the beer.

‘And where will you be for the Night of Names this year, Master?’ one of the villagers asked. ‘For you would be welcome to spend it here, you know.’

‘Most kind, Mistress. I will be home, I hope. I count myself fortunate that more of my friends and family sailed than were lost, so it will not be so sad for me as for some.’

‘That’s good, then. And Yule so soon after. Of course, you will not hold it so close as some; living so near the road, with such dealings with other peoples, we have adopted some of their habits. It makes things easier for them, somehow. Less than three weeks to Yule, too…’  
Merenor stopped listening. Yes, and a day or two sooner to the Night of the Names… 

It was true, he had no great, heart-breaking loss he needed to share, but Canadion did, and he wanted to be home, to be there if his son couldn’t bring himself to speak of his dead friend in front of Thiriston, to support him. And as for his honour-son, both parents lost when he was so young, it must be a dreadfully hard night for him…

He sighed. Hanben had told him he could have two weeks away, and he was already two days overdue. He hoped someone would explain to Hanben, to Canadion.

But if these Children of the Forest were so important, the knowledge of their welfare so secret, he doubted it.


	364. An Uncommon Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which discussions concerning a new set of common rooms continues...

‘And so, Master Hanben has finished installing the required equipment to deliver water from the hot springs to all the rooms in the Red Dragon’s corridor,’ Erestor said. ‘There are still murmurings about the alterations to the bathing pool...’

‘I’m sure there are,’ Govon said with a grin at Legolas across the breakfast table. ‘Some memorable friendships were formed in that alcove... What about you, melleth? Did you meet anyone special there?’

‘Govon!’ Legolas exclaimed, his eyes shocked. ‘I have never, to my knowledge, been anywhere near that particular pool...’

‘Of course not, a nice ellon like you!’ the commander said, laughing. ‘I wonder how old you were before you even realised why you weren’t meant to go there!’

‘Now, that’s where you’re wrong! Nobody ever told me not to – they never realised they would need to...’

Erestor cleared his throat.

‘In fact, a delegation some days ago has resulted in a new initiative. It has occurred to our king that perhaps a more suitable place should be found where people can meet socially – and properly attired...’

Govon began to shake his head, grinning at the astonished expression on Legolas’ face.

‘...and so there will be a common room set aside with a suitable couple in charge to ensure all is seemly, forgive me, Commander, is this in some way amusing? For I am not generally known for having an obvious sense of humour and so I wish you would share the joke...’

‘It has to be one of the king’s oddest notions yet; can you imagine the awkwardness?’

‘Perhaps now is not a good time for me to mention that, also, there will be a similar place for ellith and Mistress Araspen has agreed she and her friend will be in charge of it...?’

‘You are not laughing now, melleth!’ Legolas exclaimed, grinning. ‘I can see the potential benefits, Erestor, but... at the same time... it will be fraught with fear, everyone there will feel as if they are being looked at, and they will be looking...’

‘How is that different from the alcove?’ Govon asked. ‘Everyone there knew what was going on. In fact, it’s better, because there are no innocent bathers being annoyed by the ogling, while if everyone knows what the common room is for, nobody need go unless they want to...’

‘Erestor, I think Arveldir should go back to Adar and ask him, very nicely, if he would care to sponsor these rooms? To have some sort of formal opening event?’

Erestor allowed himself the luxury of an exasperated sigh as Govon stifled a laugh.

‘Of all the possible difficulties with this initiative, I had not expected this reaction from you two! Commander Govon, surely you are old enough to be past the age of giggling?’

This just made matters worse, Legolas joining in, and the advisor got to his feet.

‘In fact, I think Arveldir might approve your suggestion, Commander. Although he might find it a better idea to put you and the prince in charge; at least you will have experience of the particular issues attending such matters. Although I fail to see precisely what is amusing about this notion! I will leave you to your breakfasting, good morning.’

‘It’s not the idea of it, Erestor, so much as the thought of Master Hanben and my Adar-in-Honour colluding together like matchmaking naneths...’

He left to a new burst of mirth which continued on for some time after the door had closed behind him.

Finally, sobering a little, Legolas reached for some toast.

‘Erestor is right, though. When you think about it, it must be difficult if one is actively seeking someone – where can you meet?’

‘Well, what did you do?’

‘Me?’ Legolas shook his head. ‘I didn’t – couldn’t – do anything! I knew I wasn’t like my brothers, but I thought it was just that I didn’t want to be seen to be like Iauron... it took me a while to realise, and then... then I just didn’t know how to go about finding someone; the danger I might speak to someone who wasn’t like me... the potential embarrassment to my father... besides which, if I chose someone from in or around the palace, how to be discreet?’

‘It’s a wonder you ever found anyone!’

‘There were still wandering companies, in those days, who visited from time to time. My very first encounter... well, it is long ago now, the ellon on the other side of the Misty Mountains... they do not wander east of them, nowadays. But it must have been different for you, of course, in the guard, so many more opportunities...’

‘Stationed in a watch flet with the same two lieutenants, season after season, flet after flet? I suppose, if one or other had similar tastes... but then, you see, one’s attention might wander, and the watch not properly kept. It would put the flet at risk... So, generally, for me it was the alcove... or the garrison equivalent. I suppose, really, I’d had my fun in my younger centuries... I will admit to a lot of fun, melleth; and I’d been through that phase where I hoped that the next one was going to be THE one, the perfect other half of my being... and eventually I moved out of that phase and concluded that, perhaps, the one I was meant to be with had died at Dagorlad or elsewhere. And I’d reached a place of acceptance, I think. I was always going to be Captain Govon, of a two-lieutenant flet, good at staying alive and looking after a very small command. Never knowing the alleged bliss of finding a fëa-mate, but knowing that also, I wouldn’t suffer the desperate grief of seeing such a loved one lost, as my naneth lost my adar...’

Govon gave a wry smile, shaking his head, toying with the remains of his breakfast.

‘And then disaster. We were overrun with spiders, Hador’s foot was wedged between the flet and the tree, and the other lieutenant and I trying to free him, then the sick pain of being stung... I thought we were all doomed to die... thought I had died when through the pain and darkness came this golden, shining creature who lifted me and comforted me and whose voice brought me through the night... I do not know what I would have done, had you not been like me, had you spurned me or, worse, treated me only as one you knew only by accident. When I sent you that basket with my thanks, I was terrified you would not see...’

‘I nearly didn’t; and when I saw Merlinith, I was heartbroken; I was sure she must be your wife, and then when she said ‘brother’...’ Legolas reached out across the table to take Govon’s hand. ‘I do not quite know when I knew I loved you; when you vomited on me for the third time, I think, and I cared more about keeping your hair out of the way than I did about myself... how long do we have before you need to be at the parade ground?’

‘Not long enough,’ Govon said with a sigh. ‘But I will take that as a promise for later. What do you have today?’

‘Sparring with Adar in an hour. I might drop in on Merlinith, if today isn’t one of her sewing days. I want to see what she really thinks of this common-room idea.’

‘I could be late to muster, of course. Explain that something came up...’

‘And has it?’ Legolas asked as Govon got to his feet, tugged him from his chair, and pulled close against him.

‘Of a certainty... Can you not tell...?’

*

Govon returned home after a long day overseeing twin blade practice very much wanting his bath and his husband, and not necessarily in that order.

‘Were you very late this morning? Legolas asked, helping Govon off with his uniform on the way to their bathing room. 

‘No, just a few minutes really; I explained our morning briefing ran later than expected... I was careful not to make it sound like I was blaming Erestor...’

‘Well, that will put the King’s Office in a good mood with you! Speaking of which, I hope you’d no real plans for this evening?’

Govon grinned and put his arms around his husband, leaning in to nuzzle at his neck.

Legolas gasped, but continued with his train of thought.

‘We don’t have to eat in the Feasting Hall,’ he said. ‘But afterwards, Merlinith has invited us to join her and Araspen...’ 

‘Can’t we refuse?’

‘Not really; when I went to see her this morning she said she’d ask Arveldir and Erestor too, and we could all discuss this new initiative for a common room tonight...’

The commander rolled his eyes and sighed as he dropped the last of his clothes and plunged into the pool, catching at Legolas’ hand so that he fell in after him.

‘Melleth!’

‘I am beginning to wish Master Hanben had left the alcove alone!’ Govon said. ‘And not for the same reasons that everyone else does!’

They bespoke a meal from the kitchens and had a lazy hour or two after it so that when the time came to dress, Govon was in a far more mellow frame of mind, ready to walk to his sister’s with his arm around Legolas’ shoulders, his husband’s arm round his waist with the minimum of complaint

‘This is nice,’ Merlinith said, welcoming them in. ‘We don’t spend enough time together as a family, well, I know it must be difficult. And to be fair, we’ve not done much visiting around ourselves of late.’

‘When we were first married,’ Legolas said, ‘I don’t think we would have welcomed visitors, in all truth.’

‘If we’d had the choice,’ Govon said. ‘We did spend a lot of time riding through the forest around then.’

‘Yes. And you having to be the formal commander, and Iauron laughing at me behind his hand.’

‘Ah, you must miss your brothers!’ Merlinith said.

‘Perhaps not as much as I should,’ Legolas replied, grinning. ‘Araspen, good evening.’

‘Ernilen, it is good of you to come.’

‘And so, we are expecting Lord Arveldir and Master Erestor after they have done with the duty in the hall,’ Merlinith said. ‘I’m glad you’re here first, for I want to put my misgivings to you informally before I have to speak in front of Arveldir... he does daunt me!’

‘I know. Erestor is much more approachable,’ Legolas said. ‘What’s troubling you?’

‘Well.’ Merlinith poured wine for them all and settled herself next to Araspen on the sofa. ‘It’s this idea of a common room for people to meet in. A seemingly innocent idea, I am sure it is meant well... this alcove that everyone has been talking about, Govon, was it such a problem that it had to be abolished?’

‘I have no idea!’ Govon said, laughing. ‘It’s caused much talk amongst the companies... many of them saying it was annoying, at the end of a long march home, to find the place crowded with non-combatants there for the view...I suggested those who missed it scratch their names on the new wall; if nothing else, it would give them a better idea who to sit next to in the Feasting Hall...’

‘Yes, you’re joking, but think, Govon! Is there not a chance that if you put all those with other preferences together, are some traditionalists going to misinterpret that? Does it look like you are helping the modern persons gather together, or trying to keep them apart from the rest? Making it an... an uncommon room? The thing with the alcove, from what I can see, is it was where all the ellyn together went, whatever their preferences...’  
‘I should point out it wasn’t abolished,’ Legolas said. ‘It was simply that the space was needed for renovations and it was the best place to put the new equipment.’

‘The end result is the same; there is nowhere for the ellyn to go to meet each other...’

‘Yes, yes, Govon, I see that!’ Merlinith said. ‘But surely, in this new air of openness – for which, Legolas, thank you...’

‘Me?’

‘... there should be less need for a special place.’

‘Well... but how do traditional people meet each other anyway?’ Govon said. ‘Through the naneths? That’s going to work, isn’t it?’

‘No, it’s just... I thought it might be better if it wasn’t just ellyn in one place and ellith in another... now, I know they’re not going to be interested in each other, but... but didn’t you find, in the early days, that you just wished there was somewhere that you could find out what was going on? I do not know, reassurance that you were not...’

‘I see what you mean,’ Legolas said. ‘I will confess, for myself, it was difficult... I felt I would never meet anyone, since I did not know how, or where... I didn’t know about the alcove, there must be others who also didn’t know about it, who don’t know. Would it be better if these common rooms were just for everyone to meet in, whatever their preferences, just to talk generally? I am sure there must be a way to allude to one’s leanings without imposing on those whose tastes are different?’

‘Certainly, there should. But this whole concept is so new to the palace... I am afraid something might go amiss, unless everyone is very careful. However, something more like the common rooms for the guards would be better, an inclusive air, not an exclusive one.’

‘That’s a good way of putting it,’ Legolas said. ‘Although I do not know why you blame me...’

‘No, I thanked you... really, I am sure that our king decided on all these changes because he saw the bond between you and my brother...’ She got up to answer the knock on the door. ‘Oh, Lord Arveldir, do come in! Legolas and Govon are here, take a seat, will you have some wine...? Now, we have been discussing this plan for an uncommon room or two and with one or two minor adjustments, we think it might just work...’

Govon turned to Legolas.

‘I think we can go, don’t you? She seems to have everything under control.’

‘It’s a nice idea...’

Araspen heard them.

‘So, you intend to run away?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that...’ Govon said.

‘But my sister-in-honour has Arveldir backed into the corner already,’ Legolas added. ‘She does not need our support.’

‘Quite. So...’ Araspen leaned in and lowered her voice. ‘May I join you?’


	365. Heading Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor winds up his affairs and sets out once more towards the palace.

‘A week, you said!’

‘Now, Eregnith, my dear friend...’

‘At most, you said!’

‘Well... I...’

‘Two weeks yesterday, it was!’

‘Ah. So... Anunir, has he left again?’

‘No. For some obscure reason, he decided to wait for you.’

‘That’s really very nice of him.’

‘But what happened, Merenor?’

‘I don’t know, really... I was delayed getting to Baudh, then they made me so welcome I couldn’t get away quite at once... and then Melion and Gilrin wanted me to stay a day or so... their grown up daughters were coming to wave their parents off so they were glad to see their old Daerada, and of course I stayed a day with them after... Faerveren has gone to the palace with them, did you know? Well, he is young, I suppose, and even though he is independent, he still wants to be near his parents...’

‘No, I didn’t know that and nor do I care! We were worried!’

‘I am sorry. But here I am, safe and sound, as you see! Now, may I please go and tend to my donkey? She is rather tired. And I am wet, I gave Melion my two cantilever shelters for his wagon, but the rain today...’

‘Oh, you are impossible! And just how long do you intend to grace us with your presence before you run away again?’

‘I will rest Cullasbes tomorrow, and leave the day after that.’

The fact of the matter was that Merenor’s planned route home to seek the remaining Children of the Forest coincided too nearly with Melion’s intended trail; the chances of someone mentioning to his son that he had been there lately was just too great a risk, and so he had delayed, waving his Melion and his family off and promising to see them at home.

‘If you should meet with Master Hanben, give him my apologies and my very best regards,’ he said. ‘And tell your mother I say you are to have the rooms. That should make sure she doesn’t dally around the palace too much!’

But while he was glad to have spent time with his son, and his grandchildren, it did mean that he was now much later than he had expected and would have some catching up to do.

‘Well, hurry up with your blessed donkey and get yourself freshened up!’ Eregnith said. ‘They will be sounding for the meal, soon!’  
Anunir sat next to him at the fire, talking softly about this trip and that until, finally, turning to other matters.

‘They say you are no longer vowed, Merenor. I hope it is not a cause of sorrow to you?’

‘Well, it is a strange thing. I did not think I would mind as much as I did, at first. But Cullasbes soon stopped me from feeling any real regret.’

‘They are saying that those who married against their natures can be unvowed, is it true?’

‘Not married, no. Not if you have vowed forever. But short vows, they can be undone.’

‘I took short vows... I am not sure my lady is happy with me, and it’s true, we made a match more for our families than for ourselves...’

‘It is a strange thing to contemplate. Do not rush into a decision, Anunir. But also, do not stay together if it is hurting your fëar. ’

‘Have you someone else?’

‘That is not why. In fact, Cullasbes, who is coming here, she may have found someone.’

‘But not you?’ Anunir leaned a little closer.

‘I have a friend waiting at the palace,’ he said, stretching the truth to include his hope. ‘But we are not hurrying into anything. It is worth waiting for the right ellon, Anunir.’

‘I thought I had been,’ he said, looking away.

‘Oh, my dear friend!’ Merenor gave him a little nudge. ‘Is that how it is? Then you flatter me. But you would do much better with a younger fellow, one like to Glíben from my son Baudh’s village. He has a brighter spirit than I, he is less battered by time. Very fair, too, for a Silvan. You and I, we should not spoil our easy understanding with complications. Now, you will drink me on my way, I hope, tomorrow night? Or will you be already on your way to Baudh’s settlement?’

When the village gathered the following night with Merenor in place of honour at the feast, Anunir was not to be seen. Perhaps it was just as well. 

Perhaps, too, it was a good thing Merenor hadn’t realised, he mused. Anunir might have been a temptation, and then Merenor would not have looked at Hanben with free eyes, might never have discovered he could become unvowed...

Towards the end of the evening the village Einior came forward and made a speech about service and cheerful kindness and how much Merenor would be missed. He presented Merenor with a section of branch cut from the tree supporting his talan.

‘A reminder of home,’ the Einior said. ‘Whatever you make from this will be blessed by all our good wishes.’

‘I am most grateful.’ Merenor answered, bowing. ‘This place will forever be in my heart. But if every any of you fancy a change, there is plenty of room in the palace!’

*

The following morning when he went to load up his belongings, he found most of the village there to help.

‘But I do not have enough luggage for you all to help with!’ he said, laughing. ‘Not even with the things Baudh and Melion and Gilrin gave me!’

‘Well, we have things to add to your store,’ Eregnith said. ‘Beer for company during your night halts, fresh food for three days and lembas for more. A blanket...’

Merenor was about to protest he had enough blankets when she shook it out and laid it across the body of the wagon for him to see; it was patchworked from dozens of squares of toning, soft greens and browns.

‘Every talan in the village made a square for you,’ she said. ‘To show we all love you, scoundrel that you are!’

He laughed, because it was that or choke with tears.

‘My dear girl,’ he said. ‘I am so grateful. Thank them all and, once you have Cullasbes organised here, if you find you feel like a change of scenery, come and visit me.’

‘Now, I didn’t think you were that sort, Master Merenor!’

‘I am not, Mistress Eregnith. But there are some very handsome ellyn in the guards who are looking for wives, not husbands. Mmm. Very handsome, especially in their formal uniforms with kilts and warrior paints...’

She laughed.

‘Oh, do not tempt me, Master Merenor! Well, I suppose I am allowed to hug you farewell?’

‘Of course!’

He ended up hugging most of the village, too, it seemed, spoke sweet words to Donkey Cullasbes in praise of her ears, and jumped up into his cart. 

With a wave and a farewell, he set off down the trail, the good wishes of the village following after him.

‘Ah, my dear old girl,’ he said to the donkey. ‘One cannot help but be a little sad. Still, on we go, round and about, north a bit and then east. We have a village to find.’

As they went he fingered the branch in his mind, planning how to use it. A nice tradition, he thought, so you always took a little piece of home with you when you left. And if you were handy, or knew someone who was, you could use the wood from your home tree to make cups or platters or nesting bowls, useful objects that would always be reminders.

Merenor had something else in mind, however, and all his tools packed into the wagon with him, so when he stopped in the middle of the day for the donkey to eat and rest, he found a small saw and sliced off a ring from the branch, perhaps two fingers deep and as wide around as his forearm. 

The rest of the branch, and the saw, he set aside, and searched through his work box for a fine drawing stick, sketching out a plan on the surface of the wooden roundel and using another saw to take off the spare outer wood; it could be used for beads, he thought, for little Mírien. But for now it was time to set the work aside and continue on.

Camping for the night, around his fire, it was not too dark to work on the roughing out, chiselling an inner ring a fingerwidth from the outer, giving him room to work now from all sides. For one day’s work, it was a nice start, and he settled for the night with a silent prayer that the rain would keep off; although the wagon didn’t miss the weight of the cantilevered shelters, and there was a canvas cover he could use, still, he was concerned he and Donkey Cullasbes might end up rather wet...

But although it was a cold, crisp night, he slept snugly in his wagon, the new blanket over Cullasbes on top of her regular one, just for more warmth.

Hoping to find the village by mid-afternoon, he was pleased to arrive a little after noon, an hour or so ahead of schedule. He told his story – leaving the area for a new life, adding in the detail that his son and honour-daughter had already gone – and was welcomed and gossiped over in a very friendly way. He was a known face, of course – there wasn’t much coming and going between the villages really, but he was familiar from the trading post so when he idly asked if there was a healer there, still, and a talan was pointed out to him, he took the first chance he could to seek out the elleth in charge.

‘You do not look sick,’ she said, appraising him.

‘No, indeed, Mistress Healer. I am charged, on my travels, by the King’s Office...’ Here he produced his letter of introduction and a particularly winning smile. ‘There was a mix-up, and no-one could be spared sooner... if you could help me...?’

‘All seems in order. I was worried, when Nestoril did not come. I looked for her for three days, then the word came she had left... her loss will be felt...’

‘So I understand.’

‘In fact, Master, I have a report already written for her, which you may take and with my blessing. And will you stay tonight? We have a guest talan, if you would, and we would be grateful for news of the palace around the evening fire?’

‘It’s very kind of you. Yes, I think I will.’

*

By the time he reached the final village on his list – no resident healer here, so he had to wander round chatting a bit until he found out the information he needed – the circle of wood had become a band with defined shapes carved round it and he was looking forward to the next stage where the magic happened as each chunk would be refined and given proper form. The weather had turned on him, though, blowing in a fierce winter storm which cut like knives and dropped hard, cold rain which penetrated even the canopy of the talan where he’d been given shelter for the night. At least Donkey Cullasbes, in a stabling hut between the trees, was warm and protected, but the rest of the journey home was starting to look rather bleak indeed.


	366. Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a wagon bearing a resemblance to Master Merenor's is sighted not far from the palace...

There was a week to go before the Yule Eve Feast, and visitors from the outlying settlements were beginning to arrive at the palace for the several festivities of the Dark of the Year. The guards on the watch flets had a more than usually busy time, greeting the arrivals and telling them how far to the palace, and shelter, for the weather was cold and squally.

One group of flets was on special alert; Commander Govon had asked the Argallor, and he had asked their Commander Pedir, to tell them to look out on all approaches from the south for a wagon with two strange angular shelters fixed to it, drawn by a donkey.

‘Under the rain, these will look like great domes providing cover,’ they had been told. ‘Send back word at once.’

Faenith, overseeing the several flets around the junction of the ways, had to make a swift decision. A wagon had passed through with a greeting, but eager to press on for the palace in the hopes of getting there before dark; some, but not all, of the distinguishing features were present, and by the time she had been apprised, it had gone.

‘Very well.’ She turned to one of the other guards, one she knew was especially quick through the canopy. ‘Take the word back, Laimen, directly to Commander Govon; it might be the one he seeks, it might not, make sure he knows. As swiftly as you can. Then you may stand down.’

Govon got the word two hours later, Laimen having hastened through the canopy to the practice grounds.

‘But you’re not certain?’ he asked. ‘How can such a distinctive contraption be mistaken?’

Laimen shrugged.

‘Your pardon, Commander; I did not see the thing myself, I was called to bring the message only. It seems it is not quite as expected, but they should be arriving in an hour or so.’

‘My thanks, Laimen. Dismissed.’

Govon thought for a moment before heading across to where Thiriston was growling his way through knife throwing practice with a new set of trainees.

‘Can you hand over to Amathel, Captain?’

‘Of course, Commander.’ Thiriston beckoned the elleth forward. ‘She needs to practice her yelling anyway... what can I do for you?’

Govon waited until they were a small distance from the targets.

‘Where’s Canadion working today?’

‘He’s having another go at beginners’ sword. Couldn’t bear to look, myself...’

‘Laimen just brought a message; something that might be Merenor’s wagon has been sighted...’

‘Thank the Valar for that! He’s been driving me to distraction fretting about when’s his Ada coming home... not that Master Hanben’s been much better... gone a month now, it’s no wonder Canadion’s fractious... wait up, you said ‘might be’...?’

‘That’s the word that came in; I don’t understand, how could Master Merenor’s conveyance be mistaken for anything else? But still. We’ll get Canadion from his training and you and he can go to the gates to await the wagon... make sure he knows it’s not certainly his father, won’t you?’

‘Yes, Commander... permission to send to Master Hanben also?’

‘Oh, ho! Is our Master Innovator finally succumbing to Merenor’s charms, do you think?’

‘Hard to say – he’s grumbling about being behind with the work due to Merenor’s tardiness, but we think he may be weakening...’

They got to the sparring circle to find Canadion standing at the side going through basic stances, by the numbers, with one or two other novices.   
Govon approached with an authoritative air.

‘Captain! Have you done with Canadion for the day? He’s needed elsewhere.’

The overseeing captain grimaced in a take-him-and-good-riddance sort of way.

‘I think we can manage without his contributions. Good work today, Canadion. Keep practicing.’

‘Yes, Captain.’ Canadion set his sword down in the rack and presented himself to Govon. ‘Commander? Is something wrong?’

‘Nothing at all. Special duty, that’s all. This way.’

One the way to the outer doors of the palace, Govon accosted the nearest servant.

‘Will you take word to Master Hanben that he’s needed at the front gate as soon as possible? Tell him Commander Govon says he’s to meet Captains Thiriston and Canadion there. Good.’

‘What is happening, Commander?’ Canadion asked.

‘A wagon’s been sighted on the trail; I don’t want to raise your hopes unduly, but it might be your father...’

‘My adar! Commander, thank you for fetching me...’

‘But it might not be him; there is some doubt, I only had a second-hand message from one who did not himself see. But the wagon is expected within the hour – less, by now – and I wanted to give you chance to meet it.’ Govon paused. ‘I know you’ve been anxious.’

‘Yes, indeed – Master Hanben says Adar should have been back two weeks ago!’

‘Whoever it is, if not himself, they may have news of him. Myself, I have a feeling that your mother may have arrived in the village before your father left and has probably caused him to be delayed...’

‘Should we send some warriors to rescue him?’ Canadion suggested.

‘Let’s see if it’s him after all,’ Govon said. ‘Thiriston, can I leave you to oversee the proper greetings? If it’s not your honour-father, will you see the new arrivals get handed on to the housekeeper?’

‘Yes, Commander.’

‘Then consider yourselves off duty for the day. But let me know how you get on. Very well. Get yourselves to your post, at the double.’

*

Hanben was waiting for them.

‘What’s this all about?’ he asked, his voice puzzled rather than annoyed. ‘I was overseeing work in the new wing, and the message came to meet you here...’

‘A wagon’s been sighted on the trail, it might be my honour-father,’ Thiriston said, taking it upon himself to share the news. ‘But somehow, they’re not sure. Don’t see how, myself, but Commander Govon thought you’d want to know, in case it’s Merenor back.’

‘My thanks, Captain. And we are to just wait here, I suppose, until the scoundrel shows up?’

‘We two have orders to wait here,’ Thiriston said. ‘But no reason why you shouldn’t walk over the bridge, if you wanted.’

‘What, and have him think I’ve missed him so much I’ve hurried ahead? Besides, his son should be first to greet him; it would not be seemly, else. I shall wait with you.’

In the finish they were not waiting long. What took two hours’ scampering through the canopy could be done smartly on the trail in three hours, and when you were in a hurry to get in out of the blustery conditions, even less, so within ten minutes a moving shape could be seen far off down the trail over the bridge.

‘It... it is not Adar’s wagon!’ Canadion exclaimed. ‘Nor is it drawn by a donkey, but by two horses...’

His voice fell at the last, and Thiriston put an arm round his shoulders, giving him a bracing squeeze.

‘Never mind, penneth,’ he said. ‘But I understand the confusion – those are your Adar’s shelters...’

‘How came they to be on another wagon?’ Hanben demanded. ‘I made them for his conveyance...’

‘Oh, I can see now!’ Canadion said, peering forward. ‘It looks like Melion; it is my brother and his family! And so, it is likely Adar gave them the covers. Or he may be coming along behind. Or riding with them, and...’

‘No,’ Hanben said, his voice controlled and clipped. ‘No, Canadion, prepare yourself; your Adar is not on the wagon. I cannot sense his fëa.’  
Thiriston raised a private eyebrow at this. Such things were known; he could often tell what sort of a day Canadion was having on the other side of the practice grounds just from the echoes of his soul, so well attuned were they, but that Hanben was actually listening out for Merenor’s fëa...?

‘Still,’ Canadion said, not noticing this in his own disappointment. ‘I will be happy to see them, for Melion is my brother, and Gilrin has been very kind to me in the past. And little Mírien, it will be lovely to see her...’

Thiriston glanced surreptitiously at Master Hanben. Obviously, this was going to be no comfort for the innovator.

The wagon approached the bridge and now its occupants could be plainly seen. Melion gave the reins to a younger ellon next to him on the seat, and jumped down to run across the span towards his brother and fold him into a rocking hug.

‘Ai, little brother, it is wonderful to see you! Are you well? You look well, is married life agreeing with you? You look as if it is!’

‘Melion, I had no idea you were coming so soon! This is wonderful... Is that Faerveren driving?’

‘Yes, indeed... Gilrin is in the back with Miriel, she is napping...’

‘Good, that is wonderful! Melion...’

Canadion paused and for a moment Thiriston wondered if he was going to ask after his father. But with great restraint, instead he looked over his shoulder to where Thiriston and Hanben waited.

‘Melion, you know my husband Thiriston. I don’t know if you’ve met Master Hanben. Our Adar works for him...’

‘I have a message...’ Melion let go of his brother to approach and smile a greeting. ‘Master Hanben, my Adar sends his apologies and his best wishes. And you invented these wonderful domes? How clever – they have sheltered us through all the storms of the last few days...’

‘In fact, the invention of the frame was your father’s. I merely adapted it and added the covers.’

‘He did not think you would mind him giving them to us. The weight of them, and all the things he’s bringing back, might have strained his little donkey’s strength... Canadion, Ada was staying on after we left for a day or so with your older nieces, and then was going to collect his things... I expect he will be two or three days after us, I think he does not want you to worry...’

‘Thank you, Melion. Yes, we were a little concerned...’

Hanben made a scornful noise in his throat.

‘Your mother left some days ago,’ Thiriston said. ‘So the family rooms are free for you...’

‘That’s good – we may want to find other accommodation once we’re settled, but to start with...’

Hanben stepped back. The wagon was over the bridge no, pulling up, and more excited voices were issuing from it. Canadion was hugged and fussed over by an elleth who was introduced as Gilrin, Melion’s wife, but really, Hanben just wanted to escape the happiness of the scene before him.

Thiriston came to his side.

‘Looking to run away, are you? Don’t blame you. Cullasbes aside, they do seem to be a very loving and happy family, don’t they?’

‘Indeed so. Your husband looks very glad, considering his father is not here yet.’

‘Yes. I think I’ll leave him to get his kin settled and take the wagon round for them. We could walk back together, if you like.’

‘I have work...’

‘Of course you do. But you’re still sitting with us in the Feasting Hall tonight – now, more than ever, I’ll need someone sensible to talk to.’

‘Well. Thank you, then. Yes, I had better see to the dismantling of the cantilever shelters from the wagon, or it will never fit in the carriage house.’

Thiriston explained the plan to Canadion, promised the families’ bundles would be taken to the rooms, and Hanben accompanied him round to the stabling, passing his workshop on the way.

‘It has not been the same without your honour-Ada pestering me all the time,’ he complained to Thiriston. ‘He seems to have been a much more efficient assistant than I had realised, too. I miss him.’ 

‘Ah.’ Thiriston said, carefully not smirking.

‘His way with the work crews, that is. He manages to present himself as being rather likeable, and so they will do anything he asks just because he asks it! I could almost wish I had not begun work on the new washing cascade project, the work would have gone much more smoothly!’

‘Well, maybe,’ Thiriston said. ‘But it would have spoiled the surprise. Besides, you heard Melion – Merenor should be back in two or three days.’

‘Hmf! Knowing Master Merenor, I will believe it when I see him!’


	367. Chance Met Companions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor falls in with with some other travellers on his way to the palace...

He was wet, he was cold, he had taken a wrong turn and ended up further to the west than he’d expected which had added another two days to his journey and all Merenor was hoping for now was to be home for the Yule Eve Feast. 

Perhaps, with a bit of luck, he could get Hanben drunk... with a bit more luck, he might be able to get him amorous, too, and the fact that he was a couple of – no, nearer to three weeks – overdue would matter less...

Still, at least he had finished work on his carving. He was pleased with it, overall, an arm band or a bracelet of links carved in one piece from the section of branch from his Home Tree. It was delicate, it was nice without being too pretty, and now all he had to do would be to pluck up courage to bestow it...

Rain splattered on his hood, his shoulders. It was starting to get late, so late that he should have stopped to make camp an hour since, but Donkey Cullasbes hadn't been tired, and something in the forest had been drawing him on...

Another half hour, and he knew why; there was a camp somewhere ahead, the drift of smoke suggesting someone had managed to kindle a fire despite the rain, and the occasional sound of voices were an inviting prospect after a long day of cold and mizzle. 

Not for the first time he regretted giving his cantilevered shelters to Melion, but Gilrin, he learned, was expecting yet another child, bless her, so better for her to have added protection from the weather. Besides, the extra weight, now his cart was loaded with bags and bundles, and the awkwardness of driving through narrow paths with them extended was not worth the effort. And Melion had been very grateful.

Merenor hurried his donkey on and began to sing, announcing his presence with a Silvan song of the joys of travelling, and of a fire at the end of a long day.

So it was no wonder that presently a voiced hailed him and he reined in.

'A good evening to you, Master. It's late to be abroad in the forest.'

The elf that stepped forward and raised a lantern high was...

...Oh, sweet Eru and all of the Valar...!

...was tall as a fine tree with hair that even in the dark was burnished sunshine, gold in the lantern’s glow... Strongly muscled, utterly beautiful, eyes like the finest of sapphires...

'Either late, or very early! My name is Merenor, I am heading to the palace of the Elvenking. I'm hoping to get there tomorrow. In time for the Yule Eve Feast, you know... Forgive me, you are far too golden to be a Silvan?'

'Glorfindel’ The outrageously beautiful ellon sighed. ‘Yes, really, yes, the same, yes, the Balrog slayer, no, not a Silvan. There are Silvans with me though, will you join our camp?'

'Most kind... So you are Glorfindel? We have a mutual friend... A Captain Triwathon... I met him at my son's wedding, we got chatting...'

'Oh, yes?' 

There was a cautious note in the lovely Glorfindel's voice and so Merenor picked his words with care.

'He was missing you. Looking forward to seeing you again. Nice fellow. Steadfast. I understand why now.' Merenor smiled. ‘I last saw him some weeks ago, however, before I went south. I’ve been working away, and now I’m coming home.’

‘I see. The camp’s this way. There are just the four of us...’ 

Glorfindel the Gorgeous’ eyes were measuring, assessing Merenor... but why? As a possible threat? Surely not? 

Merenor did his best to look helpful, friendly and unthreatening, just in case...

‘My village gave me a parting gift of a few bottles of beer, enough to share around, bring a little cheer to your camp...?’

‘It’s kind of you, but I’m not sure we’re in the mood for beer. You’ve been away, you say?’

Merenor nodded, swinging down from his seat to take the halter and lead the donkey after the golden beauty towards the glitter of the camp fire. 

‘For far too long... until my son’s wedding, it had been more than a dozen decades. My son Canadion, I don’t suppose you would know him...?’

‘Oh, I remember Canadion! And that great, hulking lover of his... Wedding go off well, then?’

‘Indeed so, a wonderful occasion. It was lovely to see him so happy, so joyous.’

‘Here we are, then. Everyone, we have a guest,’ the golden Glorfindel said. ‘His name is Merenor, and he is Canadion’s father... Merenor, our two Silvan warriors. Calithilon there is spider-stung, just about over the worst now...'

A wan-faced fellow who might have been handsome once he recovered lifted a hand in greeting. 'Erthor here is in much better condition, just tired and a bit damp, like the rest of us.'

'Erthor... Did you not serve in the same company as my son, once?'

'Yes, I did... Merenor, you say?'

'Indeed, I am he. I thought I remembered your name!'

'I will not introduce you to the fourth of our company,’ Glorfindel said. ‘To disturb the rest of one who has worked tirelessly to serve, who nursed Calithilon to exhaustion would be unkind.'

'I am not worth waking anybody up for, believe me!’ Merenor said. ‘Let me settle my donkey, here, and I will add what cheer I might to your camp.'

And they needed cheering, he thought. Not in the best of spirits, one might say... He brought out the winter-wine from his narrow wagon, and that helped, and he shared stories of the wedding, and that helped more.

'Was there bunting?' Glorfindel asked, finding a grin. 'In especially awful colours?'

'There was indeed bunting, in the colours of Thiriston's house. And Canadion's mother's chair, bedecked as fitting for the mother of one of the spouses, indeed in dreadful bunting... Well, I liked it. She didn't, which, I must add, was apparently the point, as she had made everything as difficult as she could.'

'Ai, it is a shame! Arwen made some specially, in pink and lilac...'

'Ah, now that was kept for decorating the newlywed's married quarters... Canadian was so pleased with it.' Merenor paused to think what else might be of interest. 'And my honour-son Thiriston is second-in-command of one of the new companies...'

'New companies?'

...Well, that had started more interest than expected... how was he to know the new companies were so very, very new that they had been formed after this troop had left? 

Still, Merenor began explaining about the Dragon Warriors and then wished he hadn't as Calithilon looked more wan than ever.

'Canadion says that these are just the early stages,' Merenor said quickly. 'And that his former commander, Bregon, was grumbling that the warriors he wanted were on special duty, and would not be available for a time. Now, of course, I do not know who exactly was meant, but from the looks of things, you lot have been having a pretty special time of it.'

'You could say so,' Glorfindel agreed with a rueful twist to his mouth. 'We'll be glad to see the palace again, that's for sure... We have one lame horse, and two lame companions...'

'There is room for one in my wagon,' Merenor said. 'In fact, amongst my bundles of clothes, it's quite a comfortable, snug place to rest...'

'You are very kind,' Glorfindel said. 'And I will bespeak that place for our other companion, whom I will not disturb tonight, though, not while she is finally in reverie... it is so long since she allowed herself to rest...'

'What happened?' Merenor asked, more interested in the fact that this other was an elleth but very aware that Glorfindel seemed keen to protect this other member of the little troop.

'Long story.' Glorfindel gave a sigh. ‘Let’s just say she's a little bit sad, and a little bit heartsick, and... Well, more than a little bit, truth to tell. We've been worried. So if you can take her with you, we can follow on at Calithilon’s pace, and we all stand a better chance of being home for this Yule Eve Feast I've been hearing so much about.'

That, of course, sparked reminiscences of past Yule Eve Feasts, filling in another hour, and the winter wine went round again, and everyone seemed just a little lighter of heart.

‘Well, and I will go to my wagon now,’ Merenor said at last. ‘I am happy to be woken whenever the camp wakes, so that I can help – and perhaps meet your other companion.’

‘Goodnight, Master Merenor,’ Glorfindel said, somehow managing to appropriate the last of the winter wine. ‘And our thanks for your generosity.’

‘Ah, what is a campfire without a little cheer? Goodnight to you all.’

*

It was dark, still, well; dim at least, and he was being nudged awake.

‘Not now, Cullasbes,’ he said, and then his eyes cleared to show Glorfindel raising an eyebrow at him with a smile.

‘Hot drink,’ the glorious Balrog-slayer said. ‘And food at the fire. And there’s someone I’d like you to meet.’

Merenor drank the spiced winter tea gratefully and disentangled himself from the comfortable bed amongst his baggage. Erthor and Calithilon greeted him as Glorfindel beckoned him forwards from where he had gone to sit beside the fourth member of the troop who, with hood drawn up, was huddled and hunched over against the Balrog-slayer.

‘Master, over here...’ Glorfindel gave the hooded one a gentle one-armed hug. ‘New friend of ours. He’s offered to take you home in his wagon. I’m sure you’ll like him, he seems very nice really...’

And the elleth made a huge effort, it seemed, to sit up and turn towards Merenor, her hood falling down and he was looking into the troubled grey eyes of a very lovely, rather sad face he thought he knew from long ago.

‘This is our dear friend who has done her best to look after us all the way beyond Lothlórien, to Rauros and back and deserves a rest from us, nuisances that we are.’ He gave the elleth a reassuring smile. ‘Or do you already know Healer Nestoril?’


	368. Yule Eve Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas and Govon discuss the festivities with Erestor, and then go out foraging.

‘And so, my prince, to reiterate...’ Erestor made so bold as to slap away Commander Govon’s hand as he reached for the last piece of toast. ‘Mine, I believe, Commander; there is plenty of cut bread and you know where the toasting fork is, make yourself more if you wish while your husband and I have our official meeting...’

Govon shook his head, laughing.

‘Your pardon, Erestor! But you were busy talking and it was going cold...’

‘Yes, and the reason I am talking is because there is much to do today!’ Erestor appropriated the disputed toast and spread it with butter and honey almost defiantly.

‘To recap, then, while you’re eating and Govon is scorching more bread for us...’ Legolas put in, grinning at his husband. ‘As well as the formal guest rooms, which are already close on full, the old single warrior rooms are being prepared just in case, the beds not made but with bedding there.’

Erestor crunched and nodded, savouring his small victory over the ever-hungry Govon.

‘And so there’s to be some effort made towards decorating the corridors there for Yule, not much, but a nod to the season, holly and ivy garlands.’

‘Yes. I understand you are generally in charge of collecting evergreenery from the forest?’ the advisor said between mouthfuls.

‘I and my brothers. There are some very generous trees and bushes surrounding the Sacred Grove, we used to go there every Yule Eve...’

‘Forgive me, ernilen...’

‘No, it is fine. I do not know if they have evergreens in Valinor, or celebrate Yule...’

‘It is considered quite a Mannish thing to do.’

‘We have our own reasons for it, of course. The dark of the year, the longest nights, there is more time to see the stars.’

‘The Night of the Names,’ Govon said from the fireplace, turning his bread on the toasting fork.

‘Oh, I have been informed about that,’ Erestor said. ‘The day of Yule itself, there is a celebratory day meal and at dusk the king presides over a small ceremony to begin proceedings. Then those who have families and friends retire with them for private observances and those who would otherwise be alone join in with one of the communal gatherings. Arveldir explained it all to me, it sounds very moving.’

‘Yes... About Arveldir...’

‘What about him, my prince?’

‘All the years I’ve known him, I’ve never heard him speak of who he remembers on the Night. And it seems wrong to ask, it’s prying. The Valar know, he has little enough privacy as it is, at Adar’s beck and constant call...’

Erestor finished his toast, waiting politely.

‘I think what my husband means,’ Govon said, swapping cooked bread for untoasted on the fork, ‘is that Arveldir is a bit on the reserved said...’

‘Indeed?’ Erestor queried. ‘How have I not noticed that, I wonder...?’

‘Well. It’s only... we don’t think he’s ever had anyone he could really open up to before you,’ Legolas went on.

‘So to speak,’ Govon added. ‘But he’s almost as old as my Adar-in-Honour, he must have seen some things...’

‘Lost some friends. All we’re saying,’ Legolas continued, ‘is he might share with you on the Night of Names. And... he must have lost loved ones, it might be uncomfortable for you.’

‘I see. Then thank you, I think. That you feel he might confide in me... But the ceremony, it is unknown to me...’

‘Exactly,’ Govon said from the fireside, turning the bread. ‘It’s very emotional for some people. You don’t say your loved one’s name all year, and then comes the night you can... my mother and sister would spend it in tears, mostly. Me too, sometimes, we’d just talk about him, Naneth saying his name as often as she could.’

‘But in a way, it’s not so bad. It’s just you don’t use the name, so I can talk about my mother all I like, as long as I don’t use her given name.’

‘My naneth said you couldn’t address them, either,’ Govon added. ‘So you wouldn’t have said, ‘naneth’, but ‘my naneth’ would be all right. But my own mother was very Silvan in outlook.’

‘Ah. So – but you can also use the name on the anniversary of the death? I thought so. Although... that would be quite traumatic, if it were during a battle when many died... but the Night of Names, it is everyone, all joining together to speak of all your dead... it would be more emotive, I suppose...’

‘All it is really is a chance to talk about the people we miss, perhaps talk to them, too.’ Govon brought a plate with several slices of fresh toast. 

‘Here, Erestor, have a hot piece. I didn’t realise I’d been stealing your breakfast all these weeks...’

‘Yes you did!’ Legolas said, laughing. ‘You are always so determinedly unrepentant about it, too!’

‘Thank you, Govon,’ Erestor said. ‘In fact, I quite often use your theft as an excuse to take something to eat mid-morning with Arveldir, so it is not all bad. I am grateful, too, for the additional insights into the Night of the Names. Now, we were discussing decorations; you mentioned holly and ivy, but not mistletoe? Is there a reason why you do not include it?’

Legolas shook his head.

‘Is there a reason why we should?’

‘A good point. Let me see... my former employer would have the Hall of Fire swathed in it, particularly when people from the human settlements were invited to join the festivities... come to think of it, I believe it was one of their traditions, they believed that if a person was standing beneath it, another could steal a kiss from them...’

‘Shall we look for some?’ Legolas asked, grinning.

‘Why not?’ Govon answered. ‘You know your father said he wants Nelleron’s latest antlers decorated and set on the back of his chair at the high table...?’

‘It would be perfect...’

‘Now, just a moment...! I am not sure that would be a good idea, ernilen...’

‘No, it’s not just good, it’s inspired!’ Govon grinned. ‘An excellent idea of yours, Erestor.’

‘No, wait... it was not my idea...’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry!’ Legolas said. ‘If it’s a human thing, Adar won’t know.’

‘Nobody will know, my prince; what will be the point?’

‘Well, Legolas and I will know. The Yule Eve Feast can get a bit dull sometimes; it will make things much more entertaining.’ Govon grinned as Erestor rolled his eyes. ‘Want some more toast before you leave?’

*

‘Did you mean it, about the mistletoe?’ Govon asked when Erestor had gone and they were readying themselves to go foraging.

‘Not for on Nelleron’s antlers, no – I just wanted to take Erestor’s mind of Arveldir’s potential list of dead lovers...’

‘Then why did you bring it up in the first place?’

‘Who ese would? He needed telling; if Arveldir were to become distressed about some lost love and Erestor not prepared for it, they might both end up feeling worse the next day. Not that I think Arveldir has left a trail of dead lovers behind him, but he never mentions his parents or any family living...’

‘True.’ Govon thought for a moment. ‘They might have sailed, of course.’

‘Of course. You know, I think the weather’s on the turn; we’ll need to hasten, or we’ll be bringing wet foliage in and it might go strange if it doesn’t dry properly.’

‘I’m ready.’ Govon threw Legolas his cloak. ‘Do we need help? If you used to do this with your brothers...?’

‘Well, Iauron would take the first opportunity to disappear... he’d a friend in the talain homes around the palace – so it would be just Tharmeduil and me, once Mother had died... before that, it was a whole family affair...’

‘Well, why not make it one again? Send to your Adar, see if he’s free. And I can pester Merlinith and Araspen to join us...’

‘All right. I don’t think he will, but I’ll ask. You go and talk to your sister and I’ll meet you at the trail to the Sacred Grove – with or without Adar.’

*

It was Legolas alone who arrived.

‘Ada’s still in his meeting with Arveldir; they’re busy planning the order of events tomorrow. So it’s just us. Araspen, Merlinith, hello! When are you two taking vows, then, have you decided yet?’

‘Melleth!’ Govon protested. ‘It’s my job to ask the awkward questions! Well, ‘Lin?’

‘There is no need for us to do so,’ Merlinith said. ‘You must see that!’

‘There was no need for us, either,’ Legolas said. ‘Except love. It makes a difference, it really does.’

His hand strayed to the bump on his sleeve caused by his armband beneath and he smiled.

‘It’s different for you,’ Merlinith said as they set off down the trail towards the Sacred Grove. ‘The pressures on you are not the same.’

‘What, because I’m a prince?’

‘No, because you’re an ellon. We ellith are still expected to contribute to the population, you know.’

‘Really? By whom? The same Naneths who were responsible for making so many unsuited couples miserable over the years? And it may have escaped your notice, but suddenly, I am two brothers closer to the succession and with no suitable heir... the pressures are different, but they were there. Besides, is it not just that it’s easier for you, more acceptable? Nobody used to think twice about two ellith sharing rooms together. But ellyn? Unless they were in the guard and assigned barracks rooms together...’

‘In no sense is it easier! To wish to live without deceit, but to have people wilfully misunderstanding and refusing to hear the truth...’

‘Are we arguing about our natures?’ Araspen said. ‘Because I would much prefer not to. And, yes, Legolas, I can see that being vowed would make a difference; I remember hearing about your ceremony and thinking how brave you both were. But now I can see that being together makes you brave; I would take vows, Merlinith, forever vows, I would be proud to stand up and promise the Valar to love and care for you for always and beyond, wherever we found ourselves. Because, of course, my naneth is already shocked and horrified at my rejecting Esgaron. She could not be more so; I have nothing to lose.’

‘And I have nobody left to shock and horrify.’

‘Good.

‘Lovely.’

‘Excellent,’ Araspen said. ‘That’s settled then. New Year?’

‘All right. Big fuss?’

‘Very big fuss; you are honour-sister to the prince, you know.’

‘Fine.’

‘Wonderful. I will tell Naneth this afternoon.’

‘And I have no need to tell my brother, he is grinning like a fool at us. Well, Govon? Are you happy now?’

‘Delighted!’ he said. ‘Except it was Legolas started it.’

‘But you continued it...’

*

It took until they were headed back to the palace, laden with evergreens, for Merlinith to stop intermittently scolding and threatening her brother with what she would do to him if he let the word out.

‘Because it is our news and we will make our own announcements,’ she said.

‘Very well then,’ Govon said, grinning and not in the least daunted. ‘But there is one thing...’

‘What?’

‘Are you going to want bunting?’


	369. A Little Fragile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor and Nestoril begin their journey together to the palace...

‘Healer Nestoril, it’s an honour,’ Merenor said, bowing his head, hand on his heart before approaching to sit beside the elleth. ‘For if I remember rightly, you helped my son when he was so very ill after he’d fought off a spider attack, and his friend dead at his feet. You’re his Healer Ness, who he speaks of so fondly, and I am very, very grateful to you for caring for my beloved Canadion.’

‘Yes,’ she answered, her voice low and slow and tremulous. ‘I remember... Merenor, yes, I know your name... and Canadion, is he well?’

There was a fundamental dullness to her voice, as if everything was an effort. Still, Merenor smiled and answered from his heart.

‘Well? He is joyous! He is married, and loved, and he had your letter at his wedding; I heard it read.’

‘I’m glad. Yes, I am Nestoril... do you know, how is everyone?’

‘Well... I’m popular, but not quite so popular that I know everyone... and I’ve been on my travels for a few weeks, now. Perhaps, if you will let me take you home, we can talk on the way?’

‘So, if that’s settled, Ness,’ Glorfindel said, ‘Merenor will escort you and we’ll follow in short order.’

‘Yes. Remember, Calithilon should not ride for much more than an hour without a break...’

‘I am feeling better today, truly. It was the winter wine that did it...’

‘Oh, so you have been drinking strong spirits behind my back?’ Nestoril said, her voice gently chiding, answered only by grins. ‘Well, in that case, if you feel dizzy and nauseous, it is entirely your own fault, and not residual venom, Calithilon!’

‘I promise, we’ll stop every two hours and give him chance to recover; sooner, if he starts to go green,’ Glorfindel said. ‘And we should all be home in time to meet up at the feast.’

‘I’d best see to my donkey, then, and get her harnessed up so we can be underway ourselves,’ Merenor said. ‘My dear Healer, if you like you can make a comfortable little nest in the wagon, or you can sit with me and chat. Whichever is more pleasing to you.’

*

‘Now, Cullasbes, my dear, let’s get your long and lovely ears into this...’

Merenor was just preparing the donkey’s headstall when Glorfindel came over. He glanced round and nodded to the golden Balrog-slayer, but carried on.

‘That’s lovely. I do admire these soft and silly ears of yours, so fuzzy and pretty... there... not too tight, I hope?’ He rubbed his knuckles gently on the donkey’s face, dropped a kiss on her nose. ‘So, how are your legs today? Lots of miles in them, I hope? And will you pull the wagon for me again? I would be most grateful... We have a guest, a lady to whom I owe a debt of parental gratitude, so no rude braying, do you hear, my beauty? Let’s get this on, now. There. Is that comfortable, do you think?’

‘Have you finished sweet-talking your donkey, Master Merenor?’

‘For the moment, Lord Glorfindel.’ He fastened the traces, securing the little wagon, and laid the reins across the seat. ‘You’ve a question?’

Glorfindel shook his head.

‘Just – take good care of our Ness, won’t you? She’s a little fragile... she’s being very brave this morning, joking with Calithilon like that, but it’s difficult for her to be cheerful for long. I think your thanking her helped. If she knows she’s needed, valued...’

Merenor shook his head.

‘Of course she is needed! I understand there has been no end of trouble in the Healers’ Halls since she left... she is greatly missed and very much needed.’

‘The more you can stress that, the better. She... at one point, we thought she was going to fade. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Calithilon let himself get stung just so that she had work to do...’

‘I will do all I can to cheer her,’ Merenor said. ‘And get her home as fast as Cullasbes can manage it.’

‘Here’s her pack. If you’re ready, I’ll bring her over.’

‘Let me just cushion the seat a little... there. Come on, Cullasbes, stand for me a moment...’

Merenor climbed into his place and shifted up. There was just room for one slender person beside him, and Nestoril fitted snugly into the space. 

‘Well, no danger we’ll fall out if we race over any bumps,’ Merenor said. ‘We’re very neatly wedged in!’

‘True. But I am comfortable.’

‘That’s good. Farewell, warriors! I will see you all at home... and, Glorfindel? Should you decide Triwathon isn’t to your taste after all, you can find me at the Innovation Department of the King’s Office...’ 

He said it with a wink and a grin, and Glorfindel laughed and shook his head as he waved them off.

‘Oh, no! It’s Triwathon or no-one for me, no offence, Master Merenor!’

‘None taken Master Balrog-slayer!’

Waiting until they were on the main trail again, Merenor maintained a kindly, gentle silence, trying to allow the Healer at his side the luxury of a few moments’ peace. But it was not in his nature to be silent, especially not when he was so very, very curious. As a way to encourage the healer to relax, he began talking to his donkey, rambling on, pausing occasionally, just easy verbal meandering in a very soothing way... 

‘Now, my Cullasbes, how is that harness fitting today? ...I saw you twitching your ears at that great golden warrior, flirty old girl that you are... We’re about six hours out, perhaps, at this pace, but then, a dry day, companionship on the road... what more could I ask? Oh, that is right! ...I could ask that Glorfindel had not found my other bottle of winter wine, but at least, he didn’t spot the blackberry paste; that’s a gift for my Canadion from Eregnith. I’d have given anything else from the wagon, even the keeping cake Gilrin put up for me, but not that... You know, Cullasbes, my pretty, I do not like the scent of the air today; there will be rain, later. Still, you have your good, thick pelt, and I have... waterproof skin, if it comes to it.’

Eventually the lady at his side stirred out of her silence.

‘Your donkey is named Cullasbes?’

‘That’s right. Old girl doesn’t seem to mind.’

‘May I ask? Your wife, or your friend the donkey?’

‘Ah, now there is an interesting thing...’ Nestoril’s voice had sounded as if she was trying hard not to be dull company. ‘In fact, I meant my lovely silver-coated girl here. The other Cullasbes... now, she is not, you know, my wife any longer... our king, in fact, informs me she never was. Short vows, you see. No promise of anything outside the boundaries of the world. Long story, in several parts...’

‘I am not going anywhere, Master Merenor.’

‘If you get tired... Lord Beautiful the Balrog-slayer, he said you’d been overworking, or such... just say, I will stop. So, the first part of the story, is about my Canadion and his husband, and the fact that our prince, he spoke of them as husbands, and married, and that caused a lot of squawking amongst the respectable Naneths... you know the type... not unlike Cullasbes, only less genial...’

He leaned gently against Nestoril’s shoulder and lowered his voice as he said the last.

‘And it happened that I had been feeding blackberries to Nelleron – you know Nelleron? And the king came up, magnificent creature, as is the elk... and it came up in conversation that, while of courtesy I called Cullasbes my wife, she being the mother of my sons, after all, technically, she was not, as there was no forever between us. And I remembered he and his lady... I apologised, but the next thing we knew, he was telling the entire feasting hall the definitions of what ‘married’ and ‘husband’ meant, and my Canadion in his new uniform jerkin and kilt with flowers drawn all over his shoulder to hide the bruises from when he fell out of a tree... glorious he looked...’

‘The fall you must tell me about.’

‘Well, I was not there, but I had the story afterwards... it seems my son wanted to make a particular armband for Thiriston from certain raw materials...’

He told the tale as it had been told to him by Celeguel, with added insights he’d gleaned from Canadion. For, of course, Celeguel had spoken of how Canadion had leapt for the spider and yanked its limb to bring its face down to his blade, while his son had confessed to it being accidental... and at the end of the tale, Nestoril was sitting a little bit more upright, her shoulders just a fraction straighter.

‘It was worth it, though; the armband, Thiriston loved it,’ he ended. ‘And I might add, for such a great, big mountain of an elf, he’s a very tender soul.’

‘But you knew him before, did you not?’

‘Actually, no... the first time I met my honour-son was when Canadion saw me, after the uncovering of the lamps, and threw himself at me for a hug; came this voice, who are you and what are you doing with my husband...? but of course, Canadion shouted out who I was and I learned that perhaps my son had need of a protector... I like Thiriston very much, he makes my son feel cherished. What more could an Adar ask?’

‘What, indeed?’

They continued on in silence for a little while until Nestoril appeared almost to give herself a little shake.

‘May I ask, what was it you said to Glorfindel? That you are in the Office of Innovation?’

‘Indeed so, yes. My having decided to come back to the palace, Lord Arveldir realised it would be a good idea if I had a job to keep me out of trouble... Master Hanben needed an assistant and was kind enough to give me a trial.’

‘And do you like Master Hanben? Do you get on well with him?’

‘Indeed, I esteem him very highly and would do anything he asked of me... only do not tell him that, I think he would be worried... and so you see me now, testing out our latest innovation, the Narrow Conveyance, or the Half-Cart, designed for easier moving through the narrow forest trails. It is light, too, its sides being canvas and leather, not wood... it did have some very fine cantilevered rain covers, but I gave them away. I am, in fact, bringing the trappings of my old life up to my new one, and the extra weight, and room, was a consideration. Of course, I may not even have a job, for I am several weeks later than expected... still, I hope that, as I am bringing you home, I will be forgiven every day I have been delayed...’

‘I am not sure, you know, that I will earn you such a welcome from all quarters...’

Her voice dropped again, and Merenor shifted the reins so he could put a kindly arm around her shoulders.

‘I know they miss you, in the Healers’ Hall. We have made one or two inventions for them, and so I have heard them speak of you... I know you will be welcomed there.'

‘But I have... such a thing I have done... it is beyond forgiveness...’

‘Do you want to tell me? I know the mood of the palace, at least a little more recently than you... I may be able to help. Talking about it might help. Do you think it might?’

She shook her head.

‘I really do not see how... But, still. We have a long way to go. You have been most kind in offering me a place in your wagon... Do you know about the two princes?’

‘That they sailed for their health? Of course. But the mood, when I left, was hopeful, that they will be well. They are missed.’ He leaned in again to her. ‘But not as much as you, I think.’

‘Well, we will see, I suppose. I...I said I would sail with them to see them safe, I gave my word. And so, now... I have let him down, I promised, you see... I promised the king...’

‘I am sure his majesty will be delighted to...’ 

‘...and I would have gone... there was such closeness between myself and Tharmeduil, and I thought, perhaps, once he was well... but I did not see it... she spent so much time with him, his voice in the darkness, when I was elsewhere, how could it not be? But I heard... heard Lady Galadriel talking to Arwen and what she said somehow loosed her, and freed Tharmeduil also, that he stirred, and came back to us, and then I saw the looks between him and my friend Feril, she so kind and he so fond, and who could mind it?’

‘Who indeed could?’ Merenor murmured, bewildered, but encouraging.

‘Still I might have gone, but Tharmeduil told me I would be needed at home... and so Feril sailed in my place, and they will take vows in Valinor, and I have broken my sworn word to Thranduil... but if I can simply offer my service once more... if my healers need me, he might not be so very angry, do you think?’

Her tone was pleading and Merenor smiled kindly.

‘My dear Healer, I cannot imagine anyone being cross with you for long.’

‘His majesty has something of a talent for anger, however. But we were friends, once. As much as a king can have friends. But what do you know of my Healers’ Hall? Were they well when you left?’

Merenor accepted the change of subject and talked of foraging with the healers, how much he liked Maereth, how Gaelbes laughed at him looking at the warriors (‘you will think me a terrible flirt, but really, I am only admiring the strength of those who protect the palace, where is the harm...?’), how Gyril was trying to bolster everyone’s courage.

‘Oh, my poor friends! There is work for me to do, then, whether his majesty likes it or not! Only... I do hope he does not think my offence a treasonable one...’

‘Now, I really cannot imagine him doing that! But why not mention the matter to Lord Arveldir first? If anyone can, he will put the best possible light on matters; I am sure you have more friends than you realise, Healer.’

Nestoril made a non-committal answer, and Merenor allowed her to lapse into silence again, encouraging Cullasbes onwards with gentle, sing-song words until it was time to pause and unhitch the donkey for an hour’s rest.

In truth, Nestoril was sorry when the cart stopped and Master Merenor helped her down, spreading a blanket for her to sit on. The motion of the vehicle, the soft monologue directed at the donkey had been soothing, had deadened the flow of her regrets which now flooded in...

The fact of the matter was that she had never, really, wanted to sail. But there had been no-one else to send, and, besides, she had loved Tharmeduil, of course, she loved all those in her care. Perhaps she had not quite been in love with him, so to speak, but she had been sure it would happen, once he was healed, awake, they had been so close... it was all that had made the thought of leaving everyone behind bearable... but then to realise that if she had sailed she would have witnessed his vows to Feril, would perhaps have been a constant, unwitting reproach to her friend, a reminder of how differently they had all expected things to be... no, better for Feril, and Tharmeduil, not to have Nestoril observing their happiness.

Better for Nestoril too, perhaps, and were it not for the fact that she was sure Thranduil would be displeased to see her... that was the worst, she did not think she could bear his cold anger...

‘Healer? Will you have something to eat?’ 

Nestoril started up out of the dark pool of her thoughts.

‘No, but my thanks.’

‘There is plenty, and I do not want that Balrog-slayer chasing me around the palace for not taking care of you properly. Hmm. Maybe I do, in fact. He is rather lovely, I might even let him catch me...’

The ellon smiled at her and winked, waiting for a response.

‘Master Merenor! Did you not suggest you are fond of Master Hanben?’ she managed. ‘Shame on you!’

‘Ah, but Glorfindel is looking forward to seeing his Triwathon again, and the fair young captain has been steadfast in waiting for his golden warrior... I cannot dare to hope Hanben will be as glad to see me, not when I am so very overdue... So...’ He pressed a plate into her hands. ‘As you see, I have unpacked some of the best dishes especially. Do try to eat; it would assure me you are not quite going to fade before we get home.’

She tried to frame an answer but found herself stumbling over emotion. That this kind, kind ellon who was Canadion’s father and who looked so like him about the eyes was really concerned for her was strangely comforting and she realised how long it had been since she had felt nurtured, safe.

Glorfindel had tried, of course, but she had been so numb, so devastated at the destruction of all her hopes that she had barely coped, at first.

Still. Tharmeduil had woken, he had assured her it would be all right. She had to believe him.

Except she had promised his father to see him safe.

‘You’re looking sad again, Healer,’ Merenor said. ‘Cullasbes will let you stroke her ears, if you like. Donkey Cullasbes, I mean. I wouldn’t recommend it with the other... but my girl here, she likes it, I find it soothing, you might, too...?’

‘Your friend is very sweet, Master Merenor, but I fear it will take more than that to help me – I am sorry, I do not mean to be such a poor companion...’

‘No, my girl,’ he said, taking the liberty of giving her hand a pat. ‘You’ve had a difficult time, I think. But you’ll be home soon, amongst your friends, back where you belong. Do you think you could write a note for Lord Arveldir, just a little something to explain why you’re so anxious about your reception? I can deliver you straight to your healers, that way, and give you chance to recover while he passes the news on to our king.

‘Would you do so? It would be very kind. Arveldir and I are old friends... yes, I had almost forgotten the days when we would break our fast together, and we would complain about the king to each other, in such a friendly sort of way...’

A remembered smile ghosted across her face and Merenor realised how very lovely she would be, when she wasn’t bowed with grief and loss.

‘I’ll find you some writing materials, then...’

‘No need; in my pack, here... except, I do not know what to write...’

‘Just put anything; I’ll talk to Arveldir when I deliver it.’

‘I will write direct to his majesty, I think, and you may ask him to pass it on, if you will,’ she said. ‘That will be best. I have sometimes not known what to say to him, but I have never been afraid before.’

But the note was written, and folded up, and Merenor asked Cullasbes if she had enough strength in her legs for one last walk.

‘She says she will be glad to bear us home, Healer, if you will just give her ears a tiny scratch...’

From somewhere, Nestoril found a smile.

‘Then it would be rude not to,’ she said.


	370. The Last of the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor and Nestoril finally reach the palace...

Two hours out, as near as Merenor could judge it, the weather turned nasty just as they reached a part of the forest where the trees were thinner and had already lost many of their leaves. Ness had been leaning against his shoulder, drifting in and out of silence, but at the noise of rain on the trees, the cold spatter of it against her hair, she gasped and sat up.

‘Just a little winter rain,’ Merenor said, reaching behind him for a bundle from the cart. ‘If I remember, this one has my winter cloaks in... yes. My dear, may I lend you a cloak for on top of your own?’

It helped for a while, but in time even Merenor’s thickest winter wear began to let the rain through. A wind got up, not fierce, but creeping sideways through the trees and finding its way beneath their garments.

‘We are elves, waterproof, and we will be home soon, warm bath, dry clothes,’ Merenor said. ‘I find I need to remind myself of that, however.’

‘Master Merenor, will you stop a moment? I... I find I cannot... I do not wish to be seen by any of the flet guards and my presence reported... it will be too soon, I need... I need time...’

‘Of course,’ Merenor said, although for himself, he would have tried to hurry on rather than stop. ‘You know, if you were to lie in the back of the wagon, I could hide you beneath the canvas cover and you will not be seen. I will go along, wave to the nice doorwardens as we pass through the gates, and then stop outside the door nearest the Healers’ Hall so you can go in... Or we can detour around a little, and come to the entrance to the palace gardens through the forest; it is longer, but only flet guards above, no doorkeepers to worry about. It’s a narrow bridge, but I’ve done it with this cart before. You can run across the grass and tap on the windows, make them think you’re a forest sprite come for the Yule Eve feast. Then I’ll continue on to the stables, say hello to my son, change my cothes and deliver your message... Will that do?’

‘You are very kind; thank you. If you and Donkey Cullasbes would not mind the extra walk, I would like to go in through the gardens.’

It was the last thing Merenor wanted, really, but he had offered, and if it would make it easier for the healer...

‘That’s settled, then. We will go the pretty way home. You know, if you were to snuggle down in the back now, you might even have time for a bit of a nap before we get there. You still look exhausted, poor child.’

It was many years since anyone, let alone an ellon younger than she, had called Nestoril a child, but it made her smile, and nod, and agree, and let Merenor make her up a nest in the back of the wagon, sheltering under a bright rug pressed into service and with various bundles of clothes cushioning her, the canvas pulled up over most of the bed of the wagon.

‘And you can still talk to me, if you wish,’ Merenor said. ‘I’ll answer, if you do, or leave you in peace. Or I might sing to Cullasbes.’

*

The motion of the cart, Merenor’s soft, light voice singing some nonsense song about the trees telling a storm to go elsewhere made her smile, and soothed her, and suddenly, how she never knew, the cart had stopped again and the rug sheltering her was folded back.

‘Up you come now, my dear, it is fearfully dark, but you are home. There is the gate, and you can see the lamps shining out through the windows of your Healers’ Hall. Should I run ahead and knock on the window for you?’

‘No, Master Merenor, take your dear donkey to shelter... I will be fine...’

‘At least let me help you down... there... and here is your pack. Not too wet, I hope?’

In spite of all Merenor’s best efforts, the covers had slipped a little and as she moved, Nestoril became aware that parts of her clothing were, indeed, a little damp But knowing her escort had done his best for her, she confined herself to an exclamation about the lateness of the day.

‘I will be warm and dry soon. But is it very late?’

‘No, just dark, and cold, and wet. But inside are warm fires, and hot drinks, and dear friends...’

‘Merenor, thank you – I am very grateful!’

‘Do not mention it, my dear. I’ll see you at the feast, I hope? Or around the palace, if not. Be well.’ 

He went to Cullasbes’ head to take hold of her halter, leading the donkey off towards the stables. His voice drifted back to where Nestoril hesitated at the gate. 

‘Come on then, Cullasbes, dear old girl. Stables and a nice rub down. One for you too, I expect...’

Once Merenor had gone into the gloom, Nestoril sighed and lifted her pack. Pushing through the gate admitted her into the gardens around the Healers' Hall. She could see a warm glow from the several of the windows, a promise of warmth and friendship she could not quite believe she deserved.

For she had abandoned her task, turned away from her promised word, and in her own eyes, it was unpardonable.

She was not ready, yet, to face them with her shame, her failure, her loss.

There was a seat where she had liked to take her rest, a pleasant spot in the sunlight. It was less cheery now, in the dark and with the rain needling down like slivers of icy accusation.

It suited her mood, though, and she sat, on the edge of home, looking at all the out-of-reach comforts on the far side of the windows and trying to gather her courage, her strength, to face them.

The rain sliced down, cutting through the thickness of Merenor's cloak, her own beneath, finding her skin, cooling rather than cold, somehow. It numbed her, and that could only be a comfort, the pain of spirit she was in.

Nestoril sat and stared into the rain, and allowed herself the solace of nothing, unaware of the passage of time

*.

Inside the sanctuary of the Healers' Hall, Maereth lifted a hand to beckon as Gaelbes passed the far end of the entrance on her way somewhere.

'What is it, Mae? Gyril will be here to take over from you shortly...'

'No, it is not that... I am uneasy tonight...'

Gaelbes bit back a sigh. Mae had been uneasy for a few nights now, and while Gaelbes had every sympathy with her friend's nervousness, still, she had too much to organise tonight; the healers would be on duty in the Feasting Hall, helping the families with their elflings so that everyone could participate in the Yule Eve celebrations, but there was a lot still to arrange and only an hour before the meal began...

'What's the matter, Mae?' she asked, not adding the word 'now' in the face of extreme provocation; Maereth had been jittery for days now and was trying the patience of even her dearest friends.

'I am... Oh, it is silly, even for me... But I am sure there is someone outside. In the gardens.'

'Was not the gate locked?'

'Not yet, Aeglosdes went seeking the key from the servant...'

Gaelbes was silent for a moment, thinking. At times like tonight, Yule Eve, sometimes wanderers in the forest sought shelter. There were tales, though, of the souls of the lost coming for the Night of the Names. Gaelbes didn't believe it for a minute, of course, but Maereth...

'Bring a lantern. We should have a look together, don't you think?'

'Should we...? Yes, I suppose we should...'

Opening the large door to the garden, holding their lanterns high, the two healers set out.

'Ai, it is a foul night!' Gaelbes said softly. 'Hello? Is there anyone in need of shelter?'

'Look! There is someone on the bench!'

'So there is!' Gaelbes advanced. 'An elleth, I think. Greetings, friend! Are you in need of help?'

Maereth gasped. 

'For a moment, I thought I saw Nestoril, maytheValarhave...'

The figure on the bench managed to rise, and a faint voice spoke.

'Gaelbes? Maereth, is it you? It is I, Nestoril...'

Maereth shrieked and backed away, but Gaelbes shook her head, approaching through the rain.

'It is, it is our Nestoril come home! Maereth, run in, rouse the halls. A fire in Ness' rooms, the bed made, hurry! Our poor friend is exhausted!'

Maereth gathered her skirts and hurried back indoors, calling as she went, leaving Gaelbes to support Nestoril towards shelter.

‘I am so glad to see you, my fear friend! I can see there is a long tale here, but for now, let’s get you home.’

‘Oh, Gaelbes... it has been such a hard road home...’

*

Leaving the eaves of the forest behind and coming to the open spaces where the outbuilding were situated, Merenor saw the glow of lamps in the Innovation Workshop, and sighed. Typical of Hanben to be working late, and Merenor would have liked to stop, and knock, but Cullasbes had lowered her head, her ears sad and tired, and it would not have been kind...

Passing on, he’d gone only a short way when he heard the slamming of a door behind and a voice called – no, yelled after him.

‘Master Merenor! Just where do you think you are going?’

Hanben! Merenor smiled, despite the fury in Hanben’s tone. Coming to a halt, he turned and saw his employer on the path, a scowl spoiling his wonderful, beautiful, cross face as he began to advance, to stalk towards him.

‘Master Hanben, I am taking Cullasbes to the stables to rub her down and feed her...’

Merenor found himself grabbed, pulled close and fiercely hugged, Hanben’s mouth pressed against his in a hard, crushing kiss, the sort of kiss that you might think was the only sort, if you’d never kissed before. His nose was squashed, his neck aching at the angle he’d been pushed into, but his heart skipped, all his cold and wet misery evaporating, and it was, without doubt, the most wonderful, glorious, intense kiss he’d ever been party to.

Abruptly he was released, pushed away.

‘Master Merenor! What do you think you are doing?’ Hanben took a step back and brushed off his robes. ‘Do not think you can distract me from the fact that you are three weeks late quite so easily! How dare you take such liberties with me!’

Merenor, still reeling from the bliss of the kiss, gathered his wits and bowed his head.

‘I apologise, Master Hanben; I do not know what came over me... I am very sorry I am late, I was detained... please forgive me, I will explain all as soon as I can...’ 

‘I do not think I want to know, thank you!’ Hanben waved imperiously to someone still in the workshop and raised his voice. ‘Feren! Feren, take the donkey to her stable, have her cared for and give orders to have those bundles delivered to Merenor’s room, then have them put the cart away. Merenor, you are soaked, you are filthy! No doubt your sons will want to see you, and so I will detain you no further. Good night to you.’

‘Goodnight, Master Hanben. Please forgive my earlier exuberance; I am very glad to be back.’

Merenor bowed and backed away, hurrying after Feren and Cullasbes.

‘Master Hanben said I was to...’

‘And I am grateful, Feren. I just want to see her unharnessed and thank her.’

‘You’ve been missed,’ Feren said in low tones. ‘He’s been unbearable. Only that your sons have been worried too, recently... Melion spoke of you planning to leave not much after he did, and so they expected you days since...’

‘I was detained. Here we are. Come, Cullasbes, dear, let me take off your harness and I am most grateful to you for your services...’

‘I will tend her now,’ Feren said. ‘And, Master Merenor? You might like to know it was Hanben’s begetting day a week ago. Not a significant number of years, nine hundred and something, but I think he was hoping you’d be home for it.’

‘Thank you for telling me, Feren. And for looking after my girl here.’

Merenor gave the donkey one more rub to her ears and headed into the palace complex, still buoyed by the warmth of his welcome, even if Hanben hadn’t seemed to realise quite who had started the embrace. Perhaps there was hope after all; give Hanben a day or two to get over the shock... find some way to make up to him for missing his begetting day... Ah, now, there was a thought, luckily he had just the thing...

He followed the corridors, noting occasional garlands of holly and ivy, decorating the passages for Yule... Ah, the Feast...! But he needed a bath first, dry clothes, and then he must deliver Nestoril’s note... of course, if Arveldir timed it properly, the king would be sat down to feast when he got the news and poor Nestoril would have a few more hours to recover...

He’d just passed a meeting of the ways when he heard a voice singing out.

‘Ada! Ada, you’re home!’

He began to laugh.

Canadion, of course! 

He turned to see his son hurrying up, Thiriston shaking his head... and Melion grinning, following.

‘Feren sent a servant with word you were arrived, we have been so worried!’ Canadion said, throwing his arms about his father and swinging him round. ‘But I am so glad to see you!’

‘And I you, my son, both my sons!’ Merenor made room for Melion in his arms, and then released them after a hug. ‘Thiriston, my son-in-honour!’

‘Honour-ada! Thank the Valar you’re back, he’s been fretting!’

‘Sorry.’ Merenor grinned, shaking his head. ‘Look at you! This is wonderful!’

‘Would you like to come to our rooms for a drink, Adar?’ Canadion asked. ‘You are welcome.’

‘Your father wants a bath, penneth,’ Thiriston said. ‘We’ll see him in the Feasting Hall, I expect.’

‘You are right, I do, I do need a bath as well as want one. But this is such a welcome. I am so glad to see you all!’

He hugged them all again, and Canadion once more just because, and went on his way towards his rooms feeling that almost, almost everything was right in his world.

And perhaps, in a few days, it would be perfect.


	371. Welcomed Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hanben is surprised at himself, and Nestoril is home at last.

Hanben stood gaping after Merenor, peripherally aware that Feren had obeyed his instructions and was helping with the donkey.

With a shake of his head, he returned to his workshop on legs that trembled, for some odd reason. The impertinence of that fellow, three weeks late and then to... to grab hold of him and kiss him in such a fashion! To think Merenor had put his arms around...

No; that wasn’t quite right, somehow; the memory felt different to the image he had of Merenor pulling him close but... but really, how could Merenor have ended up in Hanben’s arms if he had been the instigator? And, surely, if Merenor had been the one doing the kissing, it would have been rather more skilled?

Not that Hanben would know what a skilled kiss felt like, of course.

But a rogue like Merenor was bound to be expert... 

So of it hadn’t been Merenor, it must have been himself... Except... no, Hanben couldn’t possibly have been the one to start it, Merenor must have done something, tricked him, somehow, into taking hold of him... Maybe he had looked as if he were about the fall down, yes, that must have been it, and Hanben had simply stepped forward to save him and...

Only...

It was no good, he realised with a sigh. He had been the one responsible.

How embarrassing...!

But whatever had possessed him?

Well, there was nothing for it; he would have to go and apologise... wait a few moments, give the rascal chance to greet his sons, and then go and beg Merenor’s pardon... it would only take a few moments, before the feast, he need not stay long...

Milk, that was what was needed here. Hot spiced milk. As soon as possible.

Right away, in fact.

Hanben closed up his workshop and headed towards the palace with new purpose.

*

Without quite knowing how it had happened, suddenly Nestoril had found herself at the centre of a little cluster of happy healers.

‘You are back, you are back!’ Gyril chanted.

‘Thanks be to the Valar!’ Maereth said through her tears.

‘Nestoril, my dear friend, we are so glad to see you! Come now, get warm,’ Gaelbes said. ‘Can one of you bring our friend’s pack? Thank you, Aeglosdes.’

Dizzy from the welcome, Nestoril found herself led inside the Healers’ Hall where she came to a stop, and would have stood dripping on the nicely polished floor had Gaelbes not taken hold of her again and begun to lead her across the hall, followed by the little gaggle of eager healers.

‘What happened?’

‘Why are you back?’

‘We are delighted, of course...’ the others chorused.

‘Of course we are delighted, but there will be time tomorrow for explanations,’ Gaelbes said, putting herself firmly between Nestoril and the excited healers. ‘Now, have the servants lit a fire in our friend’s room? And was the bed made, and are there are towels?’

‘I will go and see,’ Maereth said.

‘Very good, thank you. Could someone else organise some tea for our friend? Those of you on duty in the Feasting Hall tonight, you need to ready yourselves. And please, do not speak of Healer Nestoril’s return tonight outside of these halls, I think she needs a little while to adjust.’

The healers scattered to follow instructions, obedient and unquestioning now Nestoril was amongst them again, Gaelbes noted, even though Ness had given no orders.

‘Now, Nestoril, my dear friend...’

Ness blinked and looked up.

‘I am home?’

‘Yes, my dear. Oh, you look exhausted! And you’re soaked, and your hands are frozen...’

‘Merenor tried to... where is he?’

‘I do not know. Is Merenor back, do you mean? What of the others?’

‘Yes, please pardon me, I am a little tired... yes, Merenor brought me back, Glorfindel found him on the road, I think...’

‘Nestoril, why do you not come with me...?’

‘We must make up a room,’ Nestoril said in a faint voice. ‘The others are following; Glorfindel and Erthor are fine, but poor Calithilon was spider bitten; he is recovering, but I want him watched...’

‘Leave that to me.’

Maereth arrived back, breathless.

‘The fire is drawing nicely, and all to rights in our friend’s rooms.’

‘Thank you, Maereth. Now, we are expecting a spider-sick warrior, Calithilon, so have a room readied for him.’

‘But I...’

‘Maereth. Later, my dear.’

‘Gaelbes?’ Ness said. ‘I think I will go to my rooms, if you do not mind...’

‘Of course I do not mind!’

Gaelbes supported her friend along the corridors to the rooms and held the door for her.

‘Call if you want anything, my dear friend! Here you are, home again.’

‘Home.’

Leading Nestoril to a seat, Gaelbes sat on the edge of a chair and looked into her face.

‘I do not wish to press you, but... are you well, Nestoril?’

‘I am only tired, Gaelbes.’ Ness tried to sit straighter and throw off the growing lethargy creeping over her. ‘Let me rest an hour. Tell me when Calithilon gets here... it is Yule Eve, I will sit with him while you go to the feast...’

‘No, it is already decided, Gyril has the evening duty, she will see him settled. You will not join us in the Feasting Hall?’

‘I do not think I could...’

Gaelbes frowned. All was clearly not well, but, unwilling to pry, or to make things worse by insisting, she patted Nestoril’s hand.

‘I think that is very wise; there would be too many people wanting to express their delight in having you home. I will have a tray sent in for you, and then I will let you be.’

‘Gaelbes... I am sorry, it is lovely to be back, only...’

‘Get yourself warm. Try to eat and drink something.’

Ness nodded, her attention already wandering, her eyes unable to rest on any of the familiar things in her sitting room.

She had let go of it when she had left the palace, and it felt as if she was a stranger here now. All the cheer she had felt while Merenor was talking to her was gone, faded, and the long sorrow was closing her down again. She barely heard the knock at her door, but managed to rise and take the tray from the servant with a word of thanks, but soon slumped in her chair again, falling back into her semi-stupor, her eyes on the dancing flames in the hearth. 

Half an hour passed and still Nestoril stared at her fire, the tray of tea untouched beside her. Gyril had seen to it that half a loaf of bread and a breadknife, a fat pat of butter and a pot of honey were on the tray, too, so that she could make herself some toast if she wanted. But she really could not find the will to stir; indeed, it had taken a concerted effort to rouse herself to unfasten Merenor’s heavy, wet cloak and let it fall before shedding her own lighter cloak from beneath. Her boots were wet, and cold and clinging, but she wasn’t sure she quite had the energy to free herself from them… and her hair was drenched, in spite of her hood, in spite of Merenor’s kind efforts... and her long travelling tunic was soaked. Everything, in fact, was damp and uncomfortable. 

Cold, too, she realised; she was feeling the cold, now.

Of course, it was her own fault for sitting in the gardens so long instead of going to the window and knocking.

But then, wasn’t it all her fault anyway?

With a sigh she bent forward to fight her way out of the boots. The relief for her feet was instant, but she was left feeling colder than before. She ought not feel the cold, she was an elf, but tonight she was chilled, and low-spirited, and, despite knowing her healers were probably still within call, lonely.

How she hated anyone seeing her like this! It wasn’t often that she gave in to despair, but sometimes she simply could not keep on fighting. While she had Glorfindel, Erthor and Calithilon so anxious for her, of course she had struggled to keep her grief hidden. Merenor’s gentle calm had been soothing, and he didn’t know, of course... even in front of her own healers, she had tried to bear up but now, now she was alone...

Her hand trembled slightly as she reached to pour a cup of tea. Yes, she was exhausted. She needed to lie down, but she didn’t have the energy yet. Best get warm first. There was the bathing pool, but that meant getting undressed and getting wetter even than she currently was, and she did not think she could make the effort.

The tea was still warm but didn’t begin to thaw her internal chill; it was her fëa that was cold, not just her feet. Cold from too many farewells, too many failures and not enough courage; she felt she had left so much behind on the little landing place at Rauros , and she did not think there was any hope of a warm welcome from the king, not after the way she had abandoned his sons...

She should never have come back. But it would have hurt too much to go.

Poised between these twin points of misery, she sat and stared and grew no warmer, no happier, and the evening drew on.


	372. Kindly Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor washes away the tiredness of the road...

Merenor reached his rooms to find the lamps had been lit either side of the door, and he carried one inside with silent thanks for the thoughtfulness. Several of his bundles, although not all, had been delivered, so he left the door ajar in case the rest were on their way. A fire burned in the grate, and he passed through to his bathing room with a contented sigh as he saw steam rising from the water swirling in the pool.

How wonderful! Warm – no, deliciously hot – water, deep enough to float in...

Abandoning his clothes swiftly he descended the steps without thought for towels, just needing to immerse himself. It was wonderful, just the tingly side of comfortably warm, sweeping away his tiredness.

The pool was not hugely wide, a little too short to stretch out in, but the water came almost to his waist, and he ducked down into it, leaning back to immerse his hair and feeling the water prickle across his scalp. 

Finding soap, he set about the business of getting clean and then, refreshed, began to enjoy the water. He thought back to when he was young, and single, and would stand in the alcove, sometimes, scooping water and pouring it down his body, drawing attention to the places where the rivulets trickled down...

Ai, when he was young, he drew attention without the encouragement of water...

Of course, he didn’t really look old... just a little careworn, perhaps, around the eyes. Although he didn’t exactly feel young, not any more... Not old, though. Not yet.

A knock at the outer door disturbed his thoughts. Assuming it was someone bringing the last of his bags, he called out, ‘Just leave them anywhere, and my thanks to you.’

‘It is I, Hanben,’ came the reply.

‘Your pardon; I thought you were my belongings; I am just bathing... how may I help?’

‘Your belongings have been stacked in the corridor, I believe. Will you be long?’

Merenor smiled into the recesses of the bathing room.

‘You may join me, if you like.’

‘I hardly think that would be appropriate...’

But a few moments later Hanben came to the doorway, and Merenor pretended not to notice, spreading the soap in slow, broad circles around his belly, rinsing with care and looking over his shoulder, aware that by doing so he was showing the long line of his neck and throat, the sweep of his wet hair causing droplets of water to bead and trickle down his spine, his shoulders...

He was also aware that Hanben had gone very quiet and, when Merenor finally allowed himself to smile, and acknowledge his visitor, Hanben’s soft brown eyes were huge in his fine-boned face.

‘How may I help, Master Hanben?’

‘I... brought you some spiced milk.’

‘How kind of you. I am most grateful.’ Merenor leaned to place the soap back on the side of the bathing pool, stretching further than was strictly necessary so that more of his lower back would be exposed, giving Hanben a glimpse of the dimples either side of his spine, a little more skin... ‘Well, I am done... now, wherever did I put my towel...?’

He moved towards the steps as if he was going to ascend without cover, and found Hanben there ahead of him, a towel held out between his widespread arms, his eyes raised to look at the roof of the bathing room. As Merenor reached the top of the steps, Hanben folded the towel around him, crossing the ends behind his back and bringing round the excess to tuck into itself at his waist. The movement brought them into very close proximity, especially as Merenor could not resist leaning in, knowing his body had reacted to Hanben’s nearness, discovering to his amazed delight that his suddenly-blushing employer was not, himself, unmoved. He lifted his face, hoping Hanben would see it as a request for another kiss, but Hanben was resolutely not looking at him.

‘Master Merenor...’

‘Please forgive me; it is merely that I am very glad to see you.’ Merenor said softly. ‘But if you do not mind my saying, you seem rather pleased, too...’

‘Ah...’ Hanben found himself backed almost against the wall, looking into Merenor’s gold-rimmed eyes. ‘I...’

Ai, the beauty of those soft, brown eyes, and all Merenor wanted to do was pull Hanben down in front of the fire and ravish him with his mouth until he cried out in joy...

But it would not do to make Hanben feel trapped.

‘Forgive me, I am in your way,’ Merenor said, reluctantly beginning to back off. ‘I am sorry – did you say how I might be of use to you?’

‘No,’ Hanben said quickly. ‘No, I... I came to see if... to say... I... outside my workshop, it was not you, I... it was me. My fault. I should not have said otherwise, I simply... finding myself unable to believe I had acted in so forward a manner, I assumed it must have been at your instigation... and... I do not know what made me do such a thing, but... Goodness me, you are all wet, Master Merenor. You will be wishing to dry yourself and dress, and... I am so sorry, it was not a very good welcome home for you.’

‘But it was wonderful,’ Merenor said, smiling and walking past Hanben, daring to touch his wrist lightly as he headed towards the living area. ‘You shouted at me, and then you kissed me.’

‘I should not have done either,’ Hanben said, his face flushing further. ‘It was an appalling kiss...’

‘No, it was the sweetest... would you like another try?’

‘What? Are you mocking me, Merenor?’

‘Not at all.’ Merenor took a step nearer and smiled, making sure there was space between them still. ‘I would not do such a thing. I know I have a reputation, but it is not all deserved... I speak lightly, sometimes, when I feel things most seriously, but truly, I would not mock you, I would not toy with you, I... and forgive me if this is impertinent, I am longing for you to kiss me again, or for you to invite me to kiss you. For while the first attempt was wonderful for me, it might be nicer for you, if we are both expecting it?’

‘You are indeed a rogue and a rascal...’

‘I would be your rascal, if you would have me. Your very own rogue, Hanben, only yours. Reform me, if you think I need it, but, please, could we try that kiss again?’

Merenor saw Hanben’s throat convulse as he swallowed. Suddenly inspired, he crossed to his bags and began to fumble in the end pocket of one, unaware that he was leaving Hanben crestfallen behind him.

‘I made this on my journey home, with you in mind, because I missed you,’ Merenor said in his gentlest voice. ‘If I were a warrior, brave and bold like my Canadion, I would proffer it to you with a pledge of all my future years... but I am not.’

He shook his head, fiddling with the pouch in his hands, looked up into Hanben’s rich brown eyes.

‘I am neither a warrior, nor brave and bold, not when faced with the fear of your disapproval, or, worse, the fear I might hurt your feelings or frighten you in some way, no, then I become an abject coward, Master. And so I offer this the only way I can safely offer it – as a late begetting day gift.’ 

Opening the pouch, he reached to drop the contents into the palm of Hanben’s hand where it lay, a delicate linkage of tiny wooden rings. 

‘I am sorry I was not home in time to share the day with you, but know you were in my heart, in my thoughts.’ (It was true, for he had been thinking of Hanben each and every night and day of his journey home...) ‘It was made with love, but if you wish to read that only as the love of one friend for another, of a grateful employee...’

Hanben’s arms were round him, pulling him close, the fingers of one hand spread warm across the skin of his bare back, the other hand fisted around the armband, Hanben covering his cheek with small, swift kisses. After a moment’s delighted enjoyment, Merenor carefully turned his face so that his lips were in the way of Hanben’s mouth.

The shock of the meeting of their lips, even though less unexpected this time, was somehow even more startling. Hanben stilled, his body shuddering against Merenor’s, himself trembling in a delicate, desperate shiver of need. 

Merenor dared to slide his hands across Hanben’s shoulder blades, pulling closer as he closed his eyes and opened his mouth, gently steering his beloved employer into a slow, simple kiss, taking his time, learning Hanben’s mouth even as Hanben responded with a tentative willingness. It was like waking for the first time, Merenor thought, his delight spiralling up into giddiness as the bliss of joining with Hanben in this simple, steady kiss engulfed him.

Slowly, carefully, he eased the embrace to an end, leaning back to smile up into Hanben’s beautiful eyes, trying to ignore the urgency of his hardness against Hanben’s body.

‘Merenor?’ Hanben said, his voice unsteady. ‘Will you... would you consider taking vows with me? Marriage... forever vows?’

‘Oh, my Hanben, I would, I would indeed, but – I feel obliged to say, it was but a kiss, there is no need to think you have to make an honest ellon out of me...’

‘Are you joking, Master Merenor?’

‘I’m giving you a last chance, Master Hanben, to escape my clutches. No, I am not joking, I would not joke about so serious a matter... I love you. My fëa needs you. From the moment I left, I was longing to be back here with you, Hanben.’

‘Then why were you away so long?’

Merenor shook his head and sighed.

‘I am sorry. I did not wish to be so long delayed... please, forgive me?’

‘I... I think you need to sit down. You are trembling.’

‘Yes, we are,’ Merenor said. ‘Perhaps we need to lie down, instead?’

‘No, we need to sit.’ Hanben led him to the settle in front of the fire and pulled him down onto it before reaching for the beaker of spiced milk. ‘I am sure you are chilled from your journey. Drink this.’

‘Since you brought it for me, I will, and gladly.’

While Merenor drank the now-cooling milk, Hanben ran the armband through his fingers. It was perfect, each tiny wooden link intertwined with the next, a clever arrangement allowing for adjustment, smoothed and polished, gleaming like little gold circles of satin. He glanced up, his mouth unfolding into a beautiful, wonderful shy smile that made Merenor stop breathing.

‘Your eyes, Merenor; it reminds me of them, the exquisite outlining of your irises. So very lovely, such kindness there, and patience... in spite of your occasional flippancy, I find I do indeed wish to be vowed with you, forever.’

Merenor made a strange, chimeric sound, half-sob, half laugh.

‘My very dear Hanben, may I please hold you?’ he asked. ‘May I stroke your hair and kiss you again? May I lie down with you and show you how very much I love you?’

‘What, now?’ Hanben exclaimed. ‘I... I... only thought to bring you milk, to apologise and leave, I have not even rebraided my hair, nor washed after my day’s work...I am not... not properly dressed for...’

Merenor leaned back and looked at him under half-closed eyes.

‘Hmm... the things I have in mind, you would need rebraiding again after any way...’

Hanben gasped. ‘Master Merenor!’

Merenor smiled. 

‘Yes, Master Hanben...? I have had a thought; why do you not set down that trinket I made you, and come with me to the bathing room? The water is kindly, it will shelter and warm us. A gentle introduction... Forgive me if I do you a disservice, but I think this is new to you?’

‘Oh, Merenor... I have to confess, I... the only other person I have ever kissed was... was my mother...’

Merenor couldn’t prevent a grin.

‘I should warn you, I do not intend ever kissing you in a maternal fashion... but I am just so joyful to think we will be vowed, I do not care how long we have to wait before we do anything that might be considered conjugal...’

‘C...conjugal? But, I... oh.’

‘The water is reassuringly opaque, and the room is dim and calm; I will bring plenty of towels.’

‘Merenor, I...’

‘Some wine, shall I bring some wine as well?’

‘No, my... my Merenor. Just bring yourself. In a moment.’

‘My beloved Innovator, I will allow you several moments while I go into the bedroom and find some towels for us.’ He got to his feet and smiled his most reassuring smile. ‘Do try not to worry; we are not going to do anything that you do not like.’

Leaving Hanben to gather his courage, Merenor retreated to his bed chamber, folding back the covers (just in case) and finding towels... plenty of towels... for a former Healer, Hanben seemed rather shy...

And no experience at all? Well, perhaps that was not quite so hard to believe, but Merenor had not expected Hanben to be so very new to physical affection... a nine-hundred year old innocent, who would have thought it...?

But it would be an honour, a sacred duty, to be trusted to guide Hanben to his awakening...

‘Merenor, my... my rascal? Are you... did you get lost in there?’

‘No, I am on my way, my love.’

Merenor focussed on his task, setting the towels down on the ledge before allowing himself to look for Hanben; his sweetheart was in the far corner, ducked down so that the water covered him to his shoulders.

Trying to work out the best way shed his towel discreetly, Merenor paused at the top of the steps into the pool, aware that Hanben was blushing. He sighed.

‘I’ve no wish to appear to be flaunting myself on your notice, Hanben...’

‘Oh, do stop being so sensitive! Yes, I will admit, I am a little anxious, and this is new to me – but I am no elfling and I am not afraid to look at you! I... I love you, and... and I would like to see you...’

Merenor nodded and turned his back, watching over his shoulder. His skin felt alive, suddenly, tingling under Hanben’s gaze as he dropped the towel and slowly turned to begin descending into the water. He saw the soft brown eyes dip and rise suddenly, saw the flush deepen and creep across Hanben’s face, saw him moisten his lips and look away.

‘Goodness, Merenor, you are... In all my wildest imaginings had not expected you to be quite so...’

Merenor grinned, allowing the water to cover him as he approached.

‘Your imaginings? Does that mean you’ve thought about me?’

Hanben gave a strangled moan.

‘I am ashamed to say...’

‘Don’t. Don’t be ashamed.’ Merenor slid his hands under the water to hold Hanben’s hips, eased closer. ‘For all these weeks I was away, you were in my thoughts... Knowing I was in yours, too, it is a lovely notion...’

Hanben sighed, dropping his head and putting his arms around Merenor, flinching where the hardness of their bodies met, but not pulling away.

‘My rascal,’ he said, ‘my very own rogue...’

‘Yours, yes.’ Merenor lifted his face, kissed Hanben’s neck, sliding his hands around his back, pressing a little nearer. ‘Do tell me about your wild imaginings, my love?’

He lifted his hands to Hanben’s braids, gently unwinding the strands of hair as Hanben began to allow his hands to move across his rascal’s back and shoulders.

‘I... you, getting lost and arriving at my door late at night and being so tired I had to carry you in and... I would sit while you slept in my bed and you threw off the covers in your sleep... I did not know you would look quite so... impressive in... in the flesh...’

‘Impressive. That’s a very flattering word, my love. From what I can tell, you’re more than my equal there...’

He broke off as Hanben’s lips found his in a much improved and rather wonderful kiss. He leaned into it, daring to slide his tongue slowly and delicately inside his love’s mouth, startled when with a little moan, Hanben responded with eager enthusiasm, running his hands over Merenor’s back and down to cradle his buttocks and push against him.

When the kiss finally ended, Hanben spoke with low urgency.

‘I want, I... Merenor, I... you, oh, I do not know what I...’

‘I know, I know.’ He trailed small kisses across Hanben’s collar bone to the middle of his chest. ‘I would ask what you’d like but...’

He gasped as Hanben found his mouth again, kissing and holding close... it was exquisite. Drawing a hand gently down Hanben’s arm, he laid his fingers over the long, elegant hand, eased their bodies apart, turning so that he could guide Hanben to his erection, jumping as he felt himself held, grasped, stroked and in turn dared to reach to encompass Hanben’s own arousal, making his touch gentle and slow and delicate while Hanben found confidence and began to move his hand faster and with more certainty, the kiss continuing and Merenor’s excitement building in the rush of being held and kissed and caressed. The hand holding him was deft, snug, finding its rhythm, the mouth on his was heady and loving, and suddenly he bucked and released into the water, overcome before he realised it, and was left reeling in the flood of sensation, an aftermath of tremulous delight.

Hanben’s other arm came round to hold him, support him as he caught his balance again, free now to concentrate on the lovely handful in his grasp, feeling himself calm and joyous in the afterglow and wanting to bestow equal pleasure on his beloved.

Hanben shuddered against his body, his tongue stilling in Merenor’s mouth, pausing the kiss as if everything else had stopped, the better to focus on Merenor’s careful, gentle touch. He pushed into the hand, encouraging, and Merenor responded by a more purposeful pull and slide until Hanben whimpered into his mouth, hips thrusting and spasming as his orgasm found him.

They held together, mouths still locked, clinging, recovering. Merenor moved first, coming out of the kiss to smile up into Hanben’s lovely eyes.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I needed that. Needed you. Come on, you need a towel and a lie down now.’

‘You are determined to get me into your bed, are you not, you rogue?’

‘One way or another, yes.’ Merenor smiled, lightness of heart making him want to giggle like an elfling. ‘Let me get you a towel or two.’

‘I have not yet washed my hair...’

‘All right. May I help?’

‘Strangely, I do not have the energy. Or the will.’

‘Well, your hair looks lovely to me. Just a quick braiding and you will be tidy.’ He climbed from the pool and found towels, shook one out and grinned. ‘My turn to bundle you up?’

‘You are very kind... does this mean we are married now?’

About to laugh, Merenor realised Hanben did not seem to be joking.

‘Well, the Noldor do hold that an act of love is as binding as any vows, and we certainly shared a loving act together,’ he said, wrapping a towel around himself and reaching out to Hanben. ‘Of course, we are not Noldor, but if it is what you want, we can make our promises now, to the Valar. No fuss, no ceremony, no clothes...’

‘No bunting.’ Hanben smiled and wrapped a second towel around Merenor’s shoulders. ‘On reflection, I think I would quite like to take vows properly. Just so that the population of the palace is left in no doubt, Master Merenor, that you are mine, you are married, and not to be flirted with.’

‘That’s fine by me, Master Hanben. Now, do come to bed; I want to snuggle up to you, at least for a few minutes.’

Hanben gave what was intended to be an exasperated sigh, but which only managed to sound happy, and followed Merenor into the bedroom where he allowed the rascal to unwind the towel and look him over. From his smile, and lingering eyes, it looked rather as if he didn’t disapprove of what he saw.

‘Have you seen enough, or would you like me to turn round for you?’

‘No, I can walk around you...’ Merenor did so, resting a hand on Hanben’s shoulder and pulling him into bed. ‘Having seen you half-dressed when you’re working on something messy, it’s just lovely to see the rest of you. You do have a very fine physique.’ 

‘Hmf!’

‘Or was I staring?’ Merenor wriggled and twisted until he was lying with his head on Hanben’s shoulder and cuddled in. ‘If so, I am sorry, but my eyes have been hungry for you for so long...’

‘You have a magical tongue, you rascal!’

‘Oh, you know about that already, do you? And to think I was hoping to surprise you with it...’

‘Master Merenor!’

‘Yes, Master Hanben?’

‘I really do not know what to say...!’

‘You don’t have to say anything.’ Merenor pushed himself up onto his side to look down into Hanben’s eyes, hair falling forward to drift across Hanben’s chest. ‘I am so happy right now; I feel that I have found a haven, a sanctuary in you. I could stay here forever.’

‘I think your sons would worry, if you did not show up for the feast.’

‘That’s true. I suppose we had better start thinking about clothes. May I tell my boys tonight? That we will take vows?’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’

‘Thank you.’ Merenor paused to drop a kiss on the tip of Hanben’s nose, making him scowl. ‘Ai, my apologies, but you are just so delightfully, wonderfully lovely... We must give thought to where, and when, and who will be our Witness... Who would you like? The king? The prince?’

‘Oh, I do not want to involve the king...’

‘Well, Arveldir, perhaps?’

‘Perhaps.’ Hanben sighed and stroked Merenor’s hair. ‘It is a pity Nestoril left, I would have liked her to...’

‘Sweet Eru, Nestoril!’ Merenor almost exploded from the bed, began frantically searching for dry clothes. ‘I had forgotten... Ai! How could I?’

‘Merenor? What is the matter?’

Merenor paused in his chaotic hunt to kneel on the bed and lean towards Hanben.

‘She is back, I brought her... I don’t know the whole tale...’

‘What?’

‘I met a small company on the road, and they asked me to bring her on ahead; I left her at the Healers’ Hall, she’s tired out, poor thing, and I promised I would take a message to Arveldir for her so he could tell Thranduil... but to give her time to recover a little. And then you and... of course, I forgot...’

‘Nestoril is here? And you didn’t tell me?’

‘Yes, I just did!’ Except I ought not have... I am so sorry, I had better...’

‘You had better be calm, take a moment. Sit here, on the bed. Let me tidy your hair.’

‘I do not have time...’

‘Yes, you do.’ Hanben finger-combed through Merenor’s hair and made a swift holding braid, taking the hair from the front and sides of his head into a neat plait at the back which he fastened with one of his own clasps. ‘There, it is not how you normally wear it...’

‘It is now. Thank you.’

‘I will go and change into something more formal; come to my door when you are dressed... where is my bracelet?’

‘On the table near the sofa.’

‘I am grateful; of course, I have nothing for you, yet.’

‘I’m sure you will, when the time comes.’ Merenor kissed him swiftly and got to his feet. ‘I will see you soon, then.’


	373. Yule Eve Feast, Interrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Yule Eve Feast does not quite go as expected...

Erestor and Arveldir exchanged glances behind Thranduil’s back, carefully keeping their expressions attentive and neutral. 

It was the king’s wont to visit the Feasting Hall before any significant festival to make sure all was to his liking. Arriving to find Nelleron’s latest set of shed antlers fixed behind his seat, and decorated with abundant mistletoe between the windings of ivy and the clusters of berried holly, his majesty had turned to his advisors and demanded an explanation.

‘Sire, the prince and Commander Govon declared themselves in charge of the decoration of your throne for tonight; I rather think they have been a little inventive this year... the addition of these white berries makes an interesting contrast with the red of the holly, does it not?’

‘Hmm. And is there any particular significance to the mistletoe of which you are aware, Arveldir?’

‘...Sire...?’

‘Amongst some of the human populations it is a primitive incitement to demonstrations of physical affection between potentially non-consenting persons. Remove it. All of it.’

Erestor cleared his throat.

‘If I might make a suggestion, my king?’ he said. ‘The antlers spread so widely as to overhang the seats either side of your majesty’s throne. With a little adjustment, the offending evergreens could be re-sited to sit above Commander Govon’s chair, and on the other side... Lord Arveldir, who is on the other side of our king tonight?’

‘We are, Master Erestor.’

‘Ah. Perhaps...’

‘Excellent!’ Thranduil said. ‘Clear the central section, then. Very well, the rest of the hall seems to be in order... I will see you at the feast, mellyn-nin.’

‘That went well,’ Erestor murmured once the king had left. ‘And the prospect of sitting beneath mistletoe this evening next to you is rather appealing.’

‘Indeed,’ Arveldir said with a smile. ‘But I wonder whether I should purloin some? There is to be a gathering in what Mistress Merlinith is insisting on calling the Friendly Common Room after the feast; it might serve as encouragement...’

*

The Yule Eve Feast was one of the longest celebratory meals held in the Feasting Hall. It began an hour early than the usual dining time, and finished only after midnight; thus making it open to as many elves as possible. Families with little elflings could arrive at the start, and those with duties around the palace could dine in shifts and still share the event. Some arrived early and sat late, talking and drinking and moving from table to table to greet friends, but most were there for no more than a few hours.

The king was not obliged to be present for the entire six hours of the feast, but it had become tradition for him to oversee the festivities anyway, even if the latter hours were spent with a fixed smile on his face and his hand propping up his head as he drifted on the edges of reverie.

Tonight, he arrived early, to be greeted with excited pointing from the elflings and embarrassed bows from their parents. It was no hardship to smile, and be amused by the little ones who generally did not take the evening meal in the Feasting Hall, and who rarely had chance to see their king in any case.

This evening, nobody could be late to the feast, nobody would be early. Thranduil would spend the first hour or so sipping at something that looked like Dorwinion but which was suspiciously like blackcurrant cordial, only later summoning the servers to bring him food and proper wine. Legolas and Govon arrived to take their seats, noted the rearrangement of the mistletoe, and grinned. Merlinith and Araspen, invited to the top table, arrived with them, and took their places, a little discomposed by the informality of the event.

The tables began to fill as more elves arrived, many arriving at the usual time in spite of the flexibility of the feast, causing chaos for those serving as they tried to move smoothly between the tables now blocked with newcomers greeting their friends and finding seats.

Standing behind Thranduil’s chair and waiting until the hall seemed settled, Erestor and Arveldir kept watch for potential problems in the making, but all seemed well. The only thing of not was that the healers, seated with the families and elflings, seemed all of a twitter about something, in happier spirits than for many weeks; it was good to see, Arveldir thought, hoping the good mood would continue on beyond the Yule Eve Feast.

Canadion and Thiriston had arrived, for once not attended by Master Hanben, Canadion’s nephew Faerveren joining them with Gilrin, his mother, while Melion and his little daughter sat amongst the nursery tables. The hall continued to fill, food and wine went round, Thranduil called for servers at the top table, and the mood grew merry and convivial.

‘Your pardon, Lord Arveldir,’ one of the attendants said, trying to be discreet. ‘But there is an ellon with a message...’

Arveldir gave an exasperated sigh; he’d been about to nod to Erestor and take seats, to begin eating. 

‘Cannot Parvon...?’

‘The ellon asked specially, my lord.’

‘Very well; I will come.’ 

Following the attendant out, he saw Merenor loitering in the corridor. He looked tired, a little damp, and his braids were worn differently. Behind him, now moving off to a discreet distance, Master Hanben, looking... changed, somehow...

But to the matter in hand.

‘Master Merenor, you are back... in time for the feast, too. Do your sons know?’

‘Yes, indeed, thank you, it is very good to be home. But, Lord Arveldir, I need to speak to you on a matter of some delicacy... I have been entrusted with a message for the king, but the one who wrote it asks that you deliver it in person and bring your discretion to bear on the passing on of the news...’

‘Is that all? Could it not wait until the morning?’

Merenor shook his head and held out the note.

‘Do you recognise the hand?’ he asked.

‘I would have said so, yes, it is like to... who gave you this? Have you news of the company who went to Lothlórien? When were you given this? Or what is going on?’

‘Yes, the one whose writing you think you recognise, it is indeed that person, I was with her as she wrote this, earlier today. She has returned, tired and in distress... she fears the welcome she is due from the king will not be a happy one...’

‘But that is absurd, it is ridiculous! She has been so missed...’

‘I have heard as much, and tried to reassure her. But she cannot find it in her heart to believe it. So I am charged to ask you to break the news to our king and point out how fragile she is... she wanted a little time to recover, too. I brought her home, to her halls, less than two hours ago...’

Arveldir took the note, reeling from the shock, trying not to let it change his manner.

‘Thank you, Merenor. Go and enjoy your evening now.’

‘Glorfindel, Erthor and Calithilon are on their way home, too. Erthor’s a bit poorly, I warned the healers.’ 

Merenor turned and smiled over his shoulder at Master Hanben who hurried up to take Merenor’s arm and lead him towards Canadion’s table.

...took Merenor’s arm? Really?

Giving himself a little mental shake, Arveldir returned to the hall.

‘Forgive the intrusion, sire. Master Merenor is back and brings you this from a travelling companion... he begs you bear in mind the one who wrote this is in great distress and very tired...’

Thranduil set down his cutlery.

‘It is Yule Eve Feast, Arveldir; I have no wish to participate in mysteries this evening...’

‘Pardon me, sire, I think you need to see this...’Arveldir practically shoved the note under Thranduil’s nose. ‘If you do not recognise the handwriting, I do.’

Thranduil stared, all colour draining from his face. He reached for the nearest goblet of Dorwinion and downed it, his face deforming and rippling as he struggled to control an upsurge of emotion that connected to his scarred fëa.

‘Legolas, take over,’ he said, pushing back his seat. ‘Arveldir? Whatever Merenor wants, see that he gets it.’

‘Indeed, sire,’ Arveldir said with a glance at Merenor, now hand-in-hand with Master Hanben. ‘I think he already has.’

But Thranduil didn’t hear; he was striding out along the corridors towards the Healers’ Hall, reading as he went...

_‘Sire,'_ the note began. _‘I beg I might speak to you as a father not as my king, although you are my king, always and ever. Forgive me that I did not sail; your son Prince Tharmeduil told me to return home, that he and his brothers no longer needed my services, and, indeed, Healer Feril has sailed with them.’_

_‘My king, I beg your forgiveness for disobeying your command and breaking my word, but I needed to return, even if you banish me...’_

Banish her? What was she thinking?

_‘Your humble servant, Nestoril’_

Humble? Ness?

Never!

Thranduil lengthened his stride and hastened towards the Healers’ Hall.


	374. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril receives a visitor...

A sudden hammering on Nestoril’s door, urgent, loud, demanding broke her free from her stupor, and she was on her feet and reaching for the door handle almost before she realised it.

Thranduil stood there, his face stark.

Nestoril let go of the door and sank down into a curtsey, bowing her head.

‘You came back,’ he said, before she could speak. 

‘I… I am sorry,’ she stammered, the misery in her voice muffled, ‘I promised to go, but I…’

‘Oh, get up, Ness!’

She tried to rise, but her legs simply refused. Thranduil reached out and pulled her to her feet, slamming the door shut behind him.

‘You’re frozen,’ he said, feeling the ice of her fingers. ‘And soaked.’

‘I…’

‘Sit down,’ he said, removing his formal outer robe and draping it around her shoulders. ‘I thought you had sailed...’

‘My king, I know I promised you I would, but Feril wanted to, she had grown close to Tharmeduil and…’

He walked away to the table where she kept the winter wine and poured a glass, bringing it over and holding it out.

‘I meant, Nestoril… I had feared I would not see you again. As long as there is a healer with my sons, I do not care that it is not you. Rather, I am glad it is not. Now drink.’

She stared at the glass and out of all the confusion in her mind, resorted to what she knew as a healer.

‘Sire, it is not recommended to take strong spirits if one is chilled as it can have the effect of lowering body temperature further…’

‘But you are not going to stay cold. You are going to get warm, Ness.’

She accepted the glass and sipped.

‘That sounds pleasant,’ she said, and even to her own ears, her voice sounded wistful, lost.

‘You were very fond of Tharmeduil,’ Thranduil said.

She gulped, hiding behind her glass.

‘He… oh, he woke.’

‘What did you say?’ 

‘He woke. Something happened, something changed in Lórien. I think… Galadriel gave Arwen quite a scold, told her to really think about what she was doing and was it for the right reasons… perhaps it was her change of heart that shook Tharmeduil free, for within an hour of her announcement that she was relinquishing all claim to Iauron’s affections, Feril cried out that she needed help… and I went to her and found your son shaking and fitting, and we were afraid, but it passed and he slept and then… then he woke…’

Thranduil stared at the healer, seeing her eyes shining with tears he could not understand, the misery still etched on her face.

‘How was he, when he woke? What happened?’ he asked gently, trying not to sound too eager, trying not to press her. ‘There was new growth in his fëa tree, we knew something had changed...’

‘Still… still not well. He can – could – speak, but not clearly. He drew for us, and wrote for us, but most of his body was – is still not functioning. He said it was all right, that in Valinor, he would be well.’ Nestoril pretended to drink, giving herself a moment to try and marshal her thoughts; this was not how she had intended, imagined telling Thranduil about his son. ‘He sent back writings, drawings… they should be on Arveldir’s desk in the morning…’

‘Never mind Arveldir’s desk…’ Thranduil sighed. ‘It is far too late at night for me to be pestering you with questions, Ness. Knowing my son is in a way to be better, that is good enough for the moment. Drink up.’

Nestoril pulled a face but managed to do as she was told. It was not that she disliked winter wine, more she really was not in the mood for strong spirits; when she drank she too-often grew merry, and she had no wish to be merry tonight.

Thranduil was watching her.

‘You are far too cold, still,’ he said. ‘I assume you have a bathing room connected to the hot springs? You do have a bathing pool, not one of these now cascade monstrosities?’

‘Well, yes.’ She managed a wan smile. ‘But I do not have the energy. I will stay by the fire and be warm presently.’

‘You will be warm sooner than that.’

Almost before Nestoril knew what was happening, Thranduil had pushed the robe from around her shoulders, scooped her up in his arms and was heading towards the inner door.

‘I assume it’s through here?’

‘Yes, through the bedroom then on the left… put me down, I can manage, this is hardly appropriate…’

Somehow he managed to open the door without releasing his hold on the healer, glancing round as he entered and finding his way through into the bathing room. The pool was full, which had been his main concern, lest it had been drained while the healer was away and not yet refilled, but this was not the case. Warmth came off the surface of the water, heating the background air, swirling and milky with dissolved rocksalts, old water flowing away through the overflow while fresh entered, maintaining the temperature and cleanliness of the pool.

Thranduil carried Ness to the access steps and descended into the water with her still in his arms, disregarding her protests, to deposit her in the hot spring water and then retreating, now himself dripping and sodden, back up the steps.

Nestoril’s objections halted as the heat seeped through the layers of her clothing and began to work its warming, soothing magic. After a moment or two’s bliss, she remembered to glare at the king.

‘My clothes are soaked!’

‘As, indeed, are mine. But you must admit your garments were in need of laundering in any case.’

She managed to smile, and began to work on the clasps of her tunic. Thranduil turned away in hasty politeness, causing her to laugh unexpectedly and that, in turn, lifted her slumping spirits.

‘A fine sound,’ Thranduil said. ‘May I appropriate a towel, perhaps?’

‘Of course. Back into the sleeping room, in the linen press against the far wall. I cannot offer you dry clothing appropriate to your status or gender, sire, but help yourself to anything…’

Nestoril felt the slow pull of her clothing weighing her down. She really would have to undress soon, but not while the king was rummaging around in her cupboards…

‘Nestoril? I have some towels for you?’

She turned in the water to see Thranduil in the doorway with what looked like all the towels she owned in his arms.

‘Thank you. If you would be so good as to set them on the ledge, there… and do not forget to take one for yourself…’

‘Of course.’ He set down the bundle and took a towel from the top. ‘I will leave you now.’

And with that he was gone, before Nestoril could thank him again, before she could ask if he would like to meet to talk about his sons tomorrow. 

Ah, well; at least it seemed she was forgiven, she would not be banished for treason. She would be able to stay with her friends in the Healers’ Hall, take up her old work again. 

It was more than she had dreamed of, dared hope for, all the way home.

She relaxed, at last, unfastening and abandoning her garments into the water with tremulous hands, watching the drift of mud lift from the clothes and swirl away through the overflow, beginning, it felt, to take some of her tiredness and misery with it.

Thranduil had not been angry that she had returned! He did not seem to feel she had let him down, and that was a great comfort.

Lingering in the water, she washed her hair, twice, soaped and scrubbed herself all over, enjoying even the sting of soap in all the little cuts and scrapes of travelling, since it meant she was home, and clean. 

Finally she felt better, the external chill receding… yet she was still cold, inside, in her heart, her fëa, in a way she could not quite shake.

Amongst the towels as she dried off, she found a nightgown – the most demure she possessed, little more than a flannelette sack with openings for arms and head, long-sleeved and high-necked, but warm, too, and she found herself smiling again at the king’s thoughtfulness. She bundled up in it, wrapped a long shawl over the top, and decided to sit by her fire for a few moments more before going to bed.

To her surprise, Thranduil was in her sitting room, swathed in her extra towels and with his formal outer robe over the top, his wet garments placed to dry while he, having appropriated the bread on the tea tray, was overseeing the making of a pile of toast.

‘I thought you said you were going?’ Nestoril voiced her thought, realising as she did how ungracious it sounded. ‘That is…’

‘If you wish, of course. I simply wanted to be sure you were well. I have kept myself occupied, as you see. Have some toast. Are you well, Ness?’

‘I am… clean, again, which means I feel better…’

Thranduil spread toast with butter and honey, and pushed the plate at her.

‘Eat, and you will feel more so. A taste of the summer of the forest hives.’

She took a bite from the hot toast, heard the crunch, felt the melt of the butter and the hit of sweetness… such a simple thing, buttered toast with honey but, as Thranduil had said, a taste of summer, of warmer days. But there was something she had to say, at once, for it would only be harder to say it the more time passed, and Thranduil deserved to hear it now, not tomorrow in a formal report…

‘Sire, I…’ 

She broke off, startled. Thranduil had helped himself to toast, too, and was eating with every appearance of enjoyment.

‘The simple pleasures, Ness, can they be bettered? I left the feast somewhat precipitously, and before I had finished eating... But you were going to say something?’

‘Yes. Earlier, I hinted that Feril had grown close to Tharmeduil… in truth, it was more that she fell in love with him, and she having been his voice in the darkness so long… I think when they get to Valinor, they will make vows together…’

Her voice fell at the end and Thranduil covered her hand with his for the briefest of moments.

‘You cared for him, I know. I am sorry, Ness…’

‘Do not be, for I am not!’ she insisted. ‘As I journeyed with them from Lothlórien to the falls of Rauros, I saw how much love there was between them… I cannot regret that they have found their completion in each other. He… it was Tharmeduil told me I had do better to come home than go on, and so I have. And I know I broke my word to do so, but…’

‘No,’ Thranduil said. ‘I remember you promised to see my sons safe. That you have done. Where is the broken word in that?’

‘Thank you, my king.’

‘I’m not here as your king tonight, Ness. Or haven’t you realised that yet? More toast?’

By the time Thranduil finally rose to leave and began to gather his cloak and other sundry belongings, Ness had been coaxed into eating several pieces of toast and was feeling much better.

True, the chill had not entirely receded from her heart, but she was much brighter and the worst of her exhaustion had lifted. A good night’s reverie, she would be fine tomorrow, she was sure.

‘Thank you for the honour of your visit, sire, and for the toast,’ she said as she saw him out.

‘Thranduil,’ he said. ‘Remember, you used to call me Thranduil when we were alone? And you’re welcome, Ness.’

‘Goodnight, Thranduil,’ she said with a smile.

But once the door had closed, and she was left by herself again, her mood plummeted once more and she sank down into the chair Thranduil had used and covered her face with her hands, struggling against tears again. For even though she was forgiven for coming back, even though Thranduil had said he was glad to see her, that she had done all she promised, still, she felt cold.

And, somehow even more so than before, so very much alone.


	375. Wild Imaginings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor and Hanben share their news...

As he left Arveldir and turned towards the hall, Merenor felt long, slender fingers reaching for his and his fëa swelled with joy. Such a simple thing, holding hands, yet so wonderful when shared with one who loved you.

He looked up into Hanben’s wonderfully warm eyes and smiled. Hanben smiled back.

‘Your son is looking across, my rascal; he is nudging Thiriston, I think perhaps we have been noticed. Yes, they both are smirking as if...’

He broke off with a sigh, relinquishing Merenor’s hand as Canadion jumped up from his place and waved, weaving his way towards them.

‘He will begin pointing soon, and shouting Ada, Ada, if you do not go and greet him!’

Merenor laughed.

‘And not a thing wrong with that! But just think; he will be shouting ‘Honour-Adar’ before long, I hope!’

Hanben sniffed and tried to look stern, but failed.

‘Adar!’ Canadion arrived and held out his arms for a hug, releasing his father to turn to the innovator. ‘Master Hanben? Is it appropriate to hug you yet?’

‘I do not know what you mean, Canadion!’ 

Hanben took a step back and folded his arms in front of his body, making Merenor smile as Canadion giggled and pointed.

‘Adar was holding your hand.’

‘He was not! I was holding his hand, young one...’

Merenor laughed and put an arm around both of them, leading the way back to the table where Thiriston was now grinning broadly.

‘Shall we get Melion over here for a minute, tell everyone at once?’

‘Merenor...’

‘Master Hanben,’ Thiriston got up and pulled out a seat for the Innovator. ‘Is that a new arm band I see?’

‘In fact, yes; a gift from your adar-in-honour...’

‘Let me see!’ Canadion peered at Hanben’s wrist. ‘Oh, it is lovely! I would know Adar’s work anywhere, of course! Ada, where did you find such gorgeous wood?’

‘They gifted me a branch from my home tree. And before you ask, it is a begetting-day gift; I hope you remembered to mark the occasion with our friend?’

‘He didn’t tell us, Adar! Oh, I am sorry we missed it...’

‘From your home tree?’ Hanben queried. ‘I am honoured indeed!’

‘You are loved indeed, Hanben,’ Merenor said softly, placing his hands on Hanben’s shoulders and standing behind him as Faerveren returned with Melion. ‘Everyone! Beloved family, you all know Master Hanben, who allows me distract him from his work in the Office of Innovation? Tonight he has made me the happiest ellon in the whole of Lord Eru’s creation; he asked me if I would take forever vows with him and even looked pleased when I said I would be delighted to do so. We have not decided quite when, yet...’

‘But soon,’ Hanben interrupted. ‘Before the rascal disappears again!’

‘I am most pleased for you,’ Gilrin said. ‘My Melion and I have been hoping you could find some solace since... well. To love and be loved in return is the greatest of all gifts.’

‘We are glad for you, Adar,’ Melion echoed. ‘And I am sure Baudh and Caraphindir will be happy to hear the news, too.’

‘Baudh might not be – he had an eye on my dear Master Hanben himself,’ Merenor said, sitting down and bumping Hanben’s shoulder. 

‘Oh, you do not need to worry about Baudh,’ Hanben said. ‘He is not nearly rascal enough to entice me away from you. But... Canadion? You have been so hospitable while your father was away, I hope you do not think I was intruding on your generosity, or...’

‘No, no, I am – we are – very happy...’

‘Wanted you to feel like you knew us before you properly joined the family,’ Thiriston said. ‘So it wouldn’t feel as odd. Not that they’re odd, no – very good to me, welcoming. But I know what it’s like, to go from no relatives to having them come out of the woodwork at you... Nice lot, considering.’

‘Who will be your Witness?’ Canadion asked. ‘Will you have bunting?’

Hanben smiled and leaned over to pat Canadion’s hand.

‘Of course we will have bunting; I will design it myself,’ Hanben said. ‘We thought – perhaps – one of our friends from the Healers’ Hall... but pray, don’t mention it yet. Please leave it to us.’

‘As you wish – Adar-in-Honour-to-be!’

‘Really, Canadion...!’

‘Let your Adars be,’ Thiriston said, waving over a server. ‘And can we start eating now? I’m famished.’

‘You waited for us? How very kind! I will admit I am rather hungry,’ Merenor said.

The wine kept coming round and round, the fare was plentiful, hot and fragrant, a welcome change from lembas and dried meat, and Merenor ate with relish, one eye on his plate and the other on his beloved, swathed in the warmth of his family and his fëa-mate. Hanben ate one-handed, the other resting on Merenor’s thigh under the table, not stroking or teasing, just there, a warm and gentle presence.

Even so, the contact was heady, powerful, reminding him that in a few short hours he’d gone from lonely to loved.

Presently, Gilrin pushed back her plate.

‘If you will excuse me, family, friends, I will collect Melion and take Mírien back to our rooms now; I can see she has fallen asleep in Healer Maereth’s arms. Honour-Adars, come and see us, soon.’

‘Thank you, Gilrin, we shall.’

Faerveren making his excuses too, soon it was just Canadion and Thiriston, Merenor and Hanben.

‘If you would like to come back and sit with us an hour, you would be welcome,’ Canadion said, not seeing the alarmed look fleeting across Thiriston’s face.

‘Ai, penneth, you are too kind to your old Adar! But I think I might fall into reverie at your fireside if I did... perhaps it is time I went home. It has been a long and lovely day.’

‘Let me walk back with you,’ Hanben said. ‘After all, it would never do for you to get lost on the way, would it?’

‘Ai, you are a kind heart! Perhaps you would not mind putting your arm around me... I am so tired, I may need to lean against you...’

Hanben helped him up and did, indeed, fold him into his arms.

‘Come along then, my rascal.’

‘My Hanben.’

‘My scoundrel.’

*

They meandered their slow way through the muted lights of the corridors to come to a halt outside Merenor’s rooms. The remainder of his belongings had been carried in, and he stood just inside the open doorway, his hands on Hanben’s arms.

‘Will you come in?’

Hanben leaned forward to kiss Merenor’s cheek gently.

‘It’s rather late, and you are tired.’

‘Will you not come in?’

‘You need rest, my dear rogue.’

‘I would rest better with you beside me. I will not... that is, we need not... I would like to hold you...’

Hanben stroked a finger across Merenor’s cheek.

‘You are exhausted, my love. And... it has been rather an exciting day. I will call on you for breakfast.’

‘I’d rather you nudged me.’

Hanben kissed him lightly.

‘Goodnight, beloved scoundrel.’

*

Left alone, Merenor sighed and kicked idly at one of his bags. Just a cuddle, that was all... to lie in Hanben’s arms, to have his arms around Hanben...

But Hanben was right; it had been an exciting day for them both, but perhaps particularly for the innovator. Perhaps he needed a little time alone to consider all that had happened.

Merenor opened up one or two of the bags and shook out the garments held within. They had gone away clean, but were now slightly damp, so he spread them on the settle to air and investigated more of his luggage, separating the bags into two piles; tools and equipment, and everything else. He came across the blackberry paste for Canadion and set it aside to deliver tomorrow, the remainder of his Home Tree branch which he set in pride of place in a shelf.

Well. More than half an hour had passed, that should be long enough for Hanben to have come to terms with the day’s events.

Thinking back to earlier in the evening, Hanben’s sweet, wild imaginings, he smiled to himself and headed for his beloved’s rooms.

*

Hanben had not imagined it would be so very difficult to kiss Merenor goodnight and leave him to his rooms; almost he had capitulated, but there was something very important he needed to do, and he needed to do it at once.

As soon as he got to the solitude of his chambers, he went to his work desk and took out a selection of items. No need to plan, to sketch; he already knew what he wanted, and he set to work fashioning a slender wire of Mithril into an elaborate band of curlicues and circles, working quickly as he made his vision real. It was not exact, it was not precise, but precision would have been wrong in this case; it had to flow, to dance, to weave and twine in order to capture the magic of his mood, and soon he had an intricate armband nearing completion.

Just in time, too.

No sooner had he set it in a drawer to rest overnight than he knew someone was outside, and he didn’t need the knock to realise it was Merenor; his soul had lifted, somehow, and he was on his feet even as the tapping came.

He opened the door to see Merenor leaning against the wall, his head thrown back to expose his throat and his eyes half closed.

‘I lost my way,’ he said, lightly teasing. ‘And I am so tired, I fear I may need carrying somewhere...’

Hanben stared, swallowed, remembered he had shared his fantasy with this scoundrel only hours earlier...

‘...I am just a poor lost thing, and I need rescue...’

The cheek of the scamp, playing on his own words...! But it was so very enticing...

‘You poor lost thing,’ Hanben whispered. ‘Let me help you... put your arms around my neck, that’s it...’

Merenor was gossamer in his arms, no burden at all, sighing into Hanben’s neck as he carried him through to the bed chamber, lying him down gently on the bed.

‘There. But you will never rest comfortably in those clothes...’

‘Would you help me...?’

With shaking fingers, Hanben released the ties of Merenor’s tunic, eased it off over his head. He pulled off his shoes and covered him with the blankets before carefully untying the band of his leggings and sliding them off beneath the covers the way he had learned to do as a Healer, sparing his blushes... not that Merenor would have blushed, the scoundrel, he was trying not to smile...

‘Ah, thank you. And now I sleep, yes? And you...?’

‘I sit beside you and keep watch as you rest.’

‘How long is it before I throw off the covers?’

‘Hours,’ Hanben said.

‘Hours? Really?’

‘Sometimes. Other times... minutes...’

Hanben turned out the lamps, letting kind darkness grow in the room. A faint light shimmered around the edges of the window, revealing Merenor’s outline in the bed. A sigh, and he rolled over, doing something with the blankets so they were no longer pulled up to his neck, but exposed his shoulders, his chest... Hanben drew back the curtains a little to let more starlight filter through, bathing Merenor in a soft blue sheen. When he looked back, the covers had slid further, exposing all the curves of the strong back, the swell of his buttocks.

Hanben swallowed; Merenor was just exquisite...

The sleeper rolled onto his back, throwing one arm above his head, his chest rising and falling softly, his hair a drift of silk, the whole length of his body bared...

There was such a long silence, Merenor was so still that Hanben feared he really had fallen into reverie. But presently, the sleeper moistened his lips and spoke into the darkness.

‘What happens next in your wild imaginings, my Hanben?’

‘Sometimes... sometimes you speak, it might be my name, I am never sure, and you... you grow aroused in your sleep and... I try not to look, but...’

‘You can look. What next?’

‘Nothing,’ Hanben said lamely. ‘It is not a very good fantasy, I am afraid, although it has brought me much solace and...’

‘It would follow on very nicely from one of mine, though. In fact, it would match more neatly than one of those beautiful dovetail joints you make so well...’ Merenor sat up in the bed, allowing a fold of blankets to cover his midsection. ‘If you would like to hear it?’

‘Yes,’ Hanben whispered.

‘We are both in bed. It’s your bed, I’m always aware of that, and profoundly grateful you invited me to share it...’ 

He slid back, making room, and patted the mattress. Hanben came to sit beside him.

‘We are lying down, and we are both naked,’ Merenor went on, gently freeing Hanben from his tunic. ‘Completely naked.’

‘Oh.’ Hanben flushed, hoping Merenor hadn’t seen in the darkness, and pushed free of his leggings, hiding under the blankets as much as he could. ‘Yes?’

‘You’re relaxed. Either asleep, or nearly so, on your side facing away from me, or rolled forward onto your belly.’

Hanben moved to comply, lying on his side with his back to Merenor.

‘This seems wrong,’ he said. ‘I should be able to see you.’

‘After a moment or two, I can’t help myself. I’ve been looking at your back, those little indentations either side of your spine, dimples...’

‘D...dimples?’

‘Dimples. I can’t resist; I begin to kiss you there...’

Hanben drew a sharp breath as Merenor brought his mouth to the relevant spots.

‘Mmm... this is so much nicer than in my imagination... your skin is so soft, so warm... ah, that’s lovely...’

‘Do you... does this go on for long?’

‘Sometimes... it depends if you’re enjoying it, or if you’re just asleep. But I could keep it up, kissing and tonguing these places for hours...’

‘What...what happens then?’

‘Eventually... sooner or later, you sigh, and fall onto your back...’

‘And...?’

‘Why don’t you try it, see what happens...’

‘Ah...’

‘That’s it; that’s exactly right, I come face-to-face with your magnificence...’

‘Oh, Merenor... and then what...’

‘Then I cannot help myself, I take you in my mouth... and there is so much of you, I cannot both work my tongue across the sensitive head to delight you and take enough of you in to please you and... I am not explaining it very well, let me show you what I mean...’

‘Ah! Merenor, are you sure this is... is a good... good idea...?’

Merenor stopped the busy enjoyment of his mouth and freed himself so he could speak.

‘I think it is an excellent idea; I will learn your body, and you will perhaps enjoy it... unless you fear you will not?’

‘I... simply fear what might happen, if I... lose control and...’

‘I will keep you safe, if you lose control. I will shelter you. And as for me, well, the only danger is if I breathe out through my nose at the wrong time... I seem to remember it stings a little...’

‘Master Merenor!’

‘Yes; my apologies. In my defence, I will say it was more than eight hundred years ago, before I was vowed... but one of us needs to know what we’re doing, don’t you think?’

‘I did not mean... oh, Merenor... I am not sure I am ready for this.’

Merenor propped himself up on his elbows, looking along the length of his beloved’s body and into his anxious eyes.

‘It is meant to be nice,’ he said, allowing his voice to sound a little unsure, a little sad. ‘In all my wild imaginings, you like me doing this for you.’

Hanben reached out a hand to stroke the side of Merenor’s face.

‘Do not distress yourself,’ he said. ‘It is only how new this is... and I do not mean your games, my rogue, I mean... being loved, loving in return... If...how could I ever...? I do not know how, and to not... not reciprocate...’

‘But you already do,’ Merenor said softly. ‘You said it yourself – loving in return. Who doing what to whom... it’s less important than the love behind it.’

‘Then come to me, let me hold you instead.’

Merenor nodded, moving slowly up the bed to lie next to his beloved innovator, to be cradled in his arms and snuggle in, and if it wasn’t a wild fantasy of mutual rapture, then it was at least loving and gentle and sweet to feel Hanben’s arms around him, and he settled with a sigh.

‘This was a lovely idea,’ he said. ‘I should not be surprised; you are an innovator, you have good ideas every day.’

‘Hush, now. It’s very late, you must be exhausted, the day you’ve had.’

‘Yes. I’m just a poor, lost thing...’

‘No, you are a rascal,’ Hanben said, his voice more normal now, amused. ‘But you are my rascal, so it’s all right, I suppose.’

‘And will you keep watch, just in case the covers slide down?’

‘Yes, I suppose so, if I must...’ Hanben smiled into the darkness and cuddled Merenor closer. ‘Now, open your eyes and go to sleep.’


	376. 'A Rather Perfect Moment...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Any kind of summary for this chapter would reveal too much about its contents...

Thranduil’s steps took him away from Nestoril’s door so swiftly that he was almost at the main healer hall with its reception desk before he realised something.

He couldn’t.

He could not simply walk away.

To have thought he would never see her again this side of the Sundering Seas, and to have had to live with the knowledge… and now to know she was back, here, really, prepared to return to her previous life and duty… but to see her so disheartened, despondent... he could not bear it...

Turning on his heel without pause, he headed back towards Nestoril’s rooms and hammered again on her door.

*

Nestoril jumped at the racket, wiping her eyes on the backs of her hands and hurrying to see who was there. Expecting one of the healers apologising and explaining she was needed, it was startling to see the king there, staring at her, his expression anguished.

‘Thranduil, I… did you forget something…?’

He gazed into her eyes, seeing the marks of recent weeping, and felt his heart kick him, hard, for not seeing the extent of her pain. Without thinking he stepped into the room and swung the door closed, his hands coming up to bracket her face and sweep her tears away with his thumbs before he pulled her to him and kissed her.

For a moment she was frozen in his embrace, shocked perhaps, and he felt his heart still in his breast as he waited, fearful he had overstepped the mark and that she was about to pull away, but suddenly she was pushing against him, her arms round his body, her mouth eager, seeking, and everything else fell away except Nestoril and Thranduil, there, locked into the most wonderful, most terrifying kiss ever, all lips and tentative tongues and heat and soft, gentle moans without knowing who was moaning, who was on the verge of weeping.

Finally they separated, and Thranduil pulled Nestoril close against his chest, his arms enfolding her. He kissed the top of her head.

‘Oh, Ness… I had to come back, I…’ He remembered her question, had he forgotten something, and he answered hastily. ‘Yes, I forgot to… forgot to say, do not ever go away again, Ness, don’t ever do that to me, you must not… I know you loved my son, I know you look at me only to scold or to see a friend when you need one, but that is not the point… even if you do not care, if you never care for me, I must have you where I know you are safe, where I can protect you…’

And she was kissing him again, he was sure it was she started it this time, not him, and she tasted sweet as honey and soft as a promise and he lifted her in his arms and carried her away to her room and laid her down on the bed.

And lay down with her.

And froze as he realised what he had done, what he was about to do.

Nestoril was looking at him with her huge grey eyes, her expression unfathomable. He swallowed, suddenly nervous, suddenly desperate, and caught up her hand, bringing her wrist to his mouth to kiss the soft skin, his eyes closing the better to savour the sensation of her pulse fluttering under his tongue, the contours of her veins beneath his lips, and she stretched out trembling fingers to stroke his face even as he kissed and mouthed the heel of her hand. 

Ness stared at Thranduil’s face. He had closed his eyes and looked utterly trusting, his kiss on her wrist reverential, almost, even as it stoked fires deep within her body to wakefulness.

 _But I do care_ , she wanted to say. _You are why I came back, even as I feared my king’s wrath, I needed Thranduil’s forgiveness…_

Could he not tell how she shook and trembled? How she longed for him?

All she could do, all she dared to do was to extend her fingers, trying to control the tremor of them, and stroke his face, his beautiful, beloved face, the miracle of healed skin.

Thranduil breathed into her palm and she lay poised between the exquisite agony of desire and delight.

‘Dear Ness,’ he whispered, feeling his own breath drift back at him, deflected by her tremulous palm. ‘Oh, Ness, I…’ He faltered, swallowed, and tried again. ‘May I hold you, Nestoril?’

His beautiful voice was ragged, hesitant, and she heard a question. Yes, whatever it was, anything, something, please, yes…

She nodded and Thranduil slid his hand along her arm gently so that he could move nearer and pull her into his embrace. Nestoril shivered, feeling her breathing quicken, her heartbeat ratchet up and she leaned closer as he gathered her up, her hands grabbing at his outer robe to position him over her body, stretching out beneath him with a shudder, her hands burrowing beneath the silk brocade, and it was perfectly natural to slide her palms over his perfectly-muscled back , sensing the response of his starving skin to the nurture of her touch, his heated breath in her hair, and her hands moved down to the towel he still had around his waist, tugging at the tucked-in overlap, and after a moment of astonished stillness, 

Thranduil shifted to assist, to pull at her hideous nightgown, trying to free her from its prison.

Ceasing her efforts on the towel for the moment, Ness brought her hands to the neck of her own garment, pulling at the seam until it began to tear, and Thranduil caught her urgency and helped rip her free of the fabric, a butterfly released from its cocoon, until they both lay exposed and unclad in the remains of towel and nightgown, covered only by Thranduil’s silver-threaded robes of state.

‘Oh, Ness…’

Thranduil’s voice was a ghost of a murmur as he kissed her neck, her throat, her so-willing lips, his hands stroking the mounds and dips of her body in hesitant exploration and she – she filled her senses with the moment, the heat of his lips, his tongue, the taste of his mouth, the clean scent of his hair, the warm aroma of his skin… the pounding of his heart, out of step with her own, wildly beating as she brought one of her hands to drift under the gossamer of his hair and caress his neck, the other slowly fingering the undulations of his spine. Nestoril knew this body, of course she did, with all the awareness of a healer, knew where he was strong and firm, where he was softer, more yielding, but she set her healer’s secret knowledge aside, relearning him as a lover, savouring and relishing every patch of newly-discovered skin, each curve and swell and hollow, and the kiss finished with agonising need, she couldn’t simply… he couldn’t just… how to go from that to where she longed for him to be, how to encourage without demanding, how to say, I want you…?

‘Ness, I…’ Thranduil pulled away, just so he could look at her, see her face, read her huge grey eyes. ‘Would you…? Might we…? Or shall I go?’

‘Don’t!’ Greatly daring, she slid an encouraging hand down between their bodies to grip him, hearing him gasp in surprise. ‘Do not you dare to go! Not until you have… fulfilled the promise implicit in this…’

Thranduil kissed her again, voicing his compliance in a moan Ness felt all the way down to her fëa as his hand cupped her breast, palmed her nipple, folded softly around her contours while he broke the kiss and trailed his hot, needy mouth down to take the bud of her breast in his mouth, to tongue and taste where her body rose beneath him and she kissed his forehead, the side of his face, cradling his head while Thranduil’s free hand dawdled down her ribs, over her hips, dancing down to furrow between her thighs, causing her to jitter and jump at the unwarranted intimacy of his exploratory fingers.

She gasped, taking the point of Thranduil’s ear between her teeth and nipping gently. He left off his gentle torment of her breast to moan and twist away from her teeth to reclaim her mouth and slide his tongue over hers, his erection nudging urgently against her hip.

‘Yes?’ he asked, a ragged plea.

‘Yes.’ 

She moved beneath him, settling his lean hips between her legs. Raising himself, Thranduil stared down into her softly silver eyes, wondering how it had taken him so long, how this could be possible, permissible, and as Nestoril lifted her pelvis to bring herself into contact with the head of his arousal he dipped his hips and found his way into her.

He wanted to plunge and thrust, to delight in eager plunder, but restrained himself, and instead sank into the heat of her with agonising slowness, feeling his way into the pull of her body, needing to be sure this was what she wanted, to read what was right for her.

Ness was so close against him, so snug and warm and soft that he could hardly bear it. She touched and grasped at his shoulders, his back, grabbed hungrily at his buttocks as their hips joined and she pushed and pulled encouragement as Thranduil allowed himself to lose his caution and move within her enfolding sanctuary, the bones of his hips bumping her thighs as he buried himself, hammered himself into her, again and again. She rose to meet him, matching thrust for thrust while the sensations and emotions built in him, pulling him onwards, and he looked down into the beauty of her gaze and saw himself reflected back and he dared to wish, to want, to hope…

Nestoril looked into the iced blue of Thranduil’s silvered eyes. He was so beautiful it pained her, his face and form and fëa, all uniting in her, focussing on her, and she felt her heart melt even as her body clutched desperately at him, throwing her head back as the heat of her blood burned through her and with a stifled cry she reached the heights of sensation and suddenly everything was releasing and melting and softening around the hardness of him and her heart almost broke with joy... the way he had touched her, so reverently, hungrily, the way he thrust and gasped, unaware even as he did it, as if he was thirst and she was water, and love swelled in her as the intensity of his passion built, as he shuddered, suddenly crying out, his face changing, disintegrating to reveal the damage to his fëa made manifest in his old injury, his blinded eye, his ripped cheek and exposed jaw…

His hips heaved once more and he dipped his forehead to her shoulder, his face relaxed back to its completed loveliness, and he kissed her cheek softly, as if there were no words and his arm came round her to hold on, as if she were an anchor in a sea of turbulence and not, as she herself currently felt, the storm.

‘Sweet Ness,’ he said, finally. ‘You are lovely.’

‘And not so bad yourself, my dear Thranduil,’ she told him, smiling as his lips brushed her cheek again.

‘Was it very dreadful?’ he asked, and she almost laughed, thinking it a joke, but then realised he must have been aware of the transformation of his face, and it was this he referred to. ‘Did it frighten you, Ness?’

‘No, and no,’ she told him. ‘Since I already knew the change could be triggered by intensity of emotion, be it rage or… or something more positive, rather, it was moving,’ she said. ‘That you felt so much as to change your face, and with me…’ She sighed, compassion and joy combined. ‘Humbling, perhaps.’

Thranduil moved suddenly, reaching for the towel to wipe himself off, offering her a clean corner with a grave courtesy that made her eyes twinkle even as she made her own adjustments.

‘I am sorry about your nightgown,’ he said. ‘But it was hideous.’

‘True. The individual who laid it out for me… whatever was he thinking?’

‘Well, now,’ he said with a smile in his eyes. ‘The thought of you in anything less demure was too much for me.’

In a sudden, graceful movement he left her side to fold back the bedding.

‘I would like, if you agree, to continue this beneath the covers? Although it is your bed, your room. Your rules, dear Ness.’

Continue? That sounded extremely pleasant, she had to admit… how had she not noticed this lack in her life, the lack Thranduil seemed so eager to make up?

He was waiting for her reply as if his existence depended on her response.

‘An interesting idea,’ she said, and appropriated Thranduil’s still-covering silver threaded robe to hide herself while she slipped off the bed and between the sheets.

‘You, a healer, shy of a little skin, Nestoril?’ he asked, smiling as he slid in beside her. ‘After what has passed between us?’

‘I am not functioning as a healer at the moment,’ she pointed out. ‘And, no. Not shy. Simply covering myself so that you can uncover me, at a time of our choosing.’

‘Come into my arms,’ he said, lying on his back and opening his arms to her. ‘Let me hold you. And tell me, how do you feel now? I do not mean to ask for praise, you understand, but... I was worried. You seemed so sad and I... I left you to your sorrow, abandoned you...’

‘Had you asked, I would have said I was fine,’ she said, allowing herself to curl in against his shoulder and rest her head on his muscular chest. ‘I had already assured my friends that all I needed was a little rest, some time alone. But I find I am glad you came back.’

Thranduil pressed his lips against her forehead.

‘I thought – I truly believed you were in love with Tharmeduil,’ he said.

‘So did I, for long enough,’ she said. ‘It was only as time went on that I realised otherwise. Still, I thought it would happen, that a deep and abiding love would grow instead... there were drawings of Tharmeduil and an elleth in healer’s robes, I assumed it must be myself... it was Feril, of course... foolishly, all the way home I did not know why I was so sad; I thought it was because of all I had left behind on the banks of the Anduin... not all I’d left behind here... I did not for a moment think I would feel for you in such a way, had I realised, I would have thought it not right. improper, knowing the love you had for your lady... and she was my friend...’

‘Ness... she and I, we knew almost from the start we did not have forever. But we thought we would have longer than we did, I suppose... never mind my past, dear Ness. We have the future...’

‘Do we?’ she said, unsure. ‘That seems rather a lot for me to consider... I am content with the now, with the moment.’ 

‘Perhaps that is wise. It is, after all, a rather perfect moment.’


	377. Dimples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor wakes up in Hanben's bed...

Merenor came awake, aware he was alone in bed. An odd thought, he mused, as was he not always alone in bed...? Ah.

Not last night. 

Last night he was sweetly held and cradled and had slept more peacefully than he could remember having done since he was an elfling in his naneth’s arms.

But alone now.

He blinked his sight clear and realised why. There, sitting on a coffer beneath the window, one hand propping up his chin, the other loosely holding a book, Master Hanben faced the growing morning in reverie. Clad only in a loose dressing robe that was open to reveal the firm muscles of his chest and which pooled demurely in his lap, he was completely unaware that Merenor had woken.

Cautiously Merenor sat up, not wanting to make any sound to disturb his beloved. This was the first time he’d seen him like this, in reverie, vulnerable, the soft skin of his face smooth and free of the slight frown that always seemed to be present, hair unbound and drifting down, relaxed, brown eyes shining through the nictitating membrane.

There was evidence that Hanben had not passed so peaceful a night as Merenor; several books lay on his worktable, overlain with scrolls, and, curious, Merenor tilted his head the better to see the book on Hanben’s lap, trying to see what he had been reading about when reverie had overtaken him.

Oh. Interesting. Or, possibly, odd.

The loosely-held book seemed to be open at a schematic representation, in lurid colours, of the male conjugal accoutrements...

Whatever was Hanben doing looking at such things?

And, possibly more importantly, were ellyn really that colour inside?

More worryingly, however did anyone find out...?

Hanben stirred fractionally, the book looking like it might slip. Smiling to himself, Merenor slid down in the bed, arranging himself, and the covers, as enticingly as possible, allowing his head to fall to one side, looking away from the window but all his senses alert.

He heard the slide of the book trying to escape, heard a rushed inbreath from Hanben as he prevented its fall. The creak of the coffer as Hanben moved, stretching, perhaps, getting to his feet. A soft sound, the rustle of silk, the setting down of the book...

Hoping his timing was right, Merenor allowed himself to mumble Hanben’s name softly, and rolled over onto his front, pushing away at the covers with his foot to expose his lower back as he did so, exhaling with a soft whimper as if dreaming.

A long moment passed. Merenor heard Hanben’s soft respiration, felt the dip of the mattress as Hanben joined him in the bed. A soft shimmer of sound as the dressing robe fell to the floor.

‘Merenor? My rascal?’

So quietly said, so softly voiced. Merenor allowed himself to stir, to snuggle into the pillows and murmur something deliberately inaudible.

The softest of touches, fingers on his hip, sliding the covers just a little further down. Warm lips pressing against the skin of his lower back, a hot, wet tongue easing out to explore the indentations bracketing his spine. Merenor smiled in bliss and exhaled, wriggling back against Hanben’s brave mouth and trying not to let desire get the better of him just yet, eager to wait and see what his beloved would do next.

The fingers on his hip flexed, stroked gently.

‘Are you awake, beloved rogue? Is now the time when you roll onto your back...?’

‘I thought this was my fantasy. And you rolled onto your back for me...’

‘Hmm.’ Hanben stroked the hair back from Merenor’s face, moved up the bed to kiss his cheek. ‘I thought your wild imaginings sounded rather more fun than mine...’

Merenor turned to hold Hanben in his arms, to fall onto his back and kiss the shy mouth, enjoying the awakening of his body, delighting in the response of Hanben’s own loins, feeling him grow firm and hard against Merenor’s own arousal.

‘Let me see if I remember this aright,’ Hanben said, beginning to work his way down Merenor’s body, intent on lying between his legs. ‘In this story, one of us has turned onto his back... and the other is somewhere here...’

...Hanben’s breath drifting across his erection, cool and hot and exciting, not something he ever expected to feel...

‘Yes... Hanben, my love, if...’

‘Shush. Let me see, now...’

Hanben settled himself between Merenor’s thighs and covered him with one hand, lightly working his fingers until he held his rascal securely in his grasp. He felt the surge and throb as his handful grew firmer, harder, and with a steadying breath he hoped went unnoticed, took the tip of Merenor’s erection into his mouth.

It was not at all as he had anticipated, the skin soft and pliant around the firmness, the smooth heat of the revealed head against his tongue, and Merenor gasping and twitching almost before Hanben had completed more than a cursory investigation, stammering his name.

Worried that Merenor seemed anxious, he allowed his mouthful to slip free, still holding him with careful fingers.

‘Do not be alarmed; I think I know how to do this, my rascal,’ he said. ‘I did a little research while you rested; it seems there are no ill effects from ingesting the male essence to either party, and so, if you will pardon my inexperience, I will continue, if you like...’

‘Ai, saes! Yes, I would... would very like... ah, you are wonderful... That... that feels...’

Merenor drifted off into incoherence as Hanben returned to his task. In fact, it was not nearly as difficult as he had anticipated and there was something about being in charge of Merenor’s bliss that made him feel wanted and needed, as if this was not simply something he was doing for his rogue, but for them both. He took more of him into his mouth, more than he thought he could, felt the stretch of his jaws as he moved his tongue, slid Merenor’s erection back and forth within his mouth, holding onto his hips now as his rascal jumped and jerked and cried out, suddenly, surging, spilling into Hanben’s mouth, hot and salt and somehow sweet and loving as Hanben drank him in, drank him down. There. That wasn’t nearly so difficult as he’d anticipated, not nearly so unpleasant, in fact, really, rather nice... and Merenor seemed to have enjoyed it...

Merenor lay in stunned bliss for what seemed an eternity before remembering himself enough to try to move, to reach his hand down to stroke Hanben’s rich dark hair where he rested over Merenor’s lower belly.

‘Beloved,’ he began, ‘dear Master Hanben... I... are you well? Was all... as you had thought?’

‘I am well.’ Hanben’s voice was slow, the no-nonsense, brisk edge gone from it, leaving him sounding languorous, dreamy. ‘But I am not quite sure how to move, I am rather discomfited at present... and all was as I had thought... it is surprisingly difficult to get the sort of information I needed from medical books, perhaps something should be done about it...’

‘A whole new career for you, my Hanben, writing guides for the innocent.’

‘I hardly think...’

But there was a smile in his voice, and Merenor laughed.

‘Now, come, what are you doing down there? You would be much better employed up here, with me.’

‘I agree, I would, but... I am not quite used to managing my anatomy when it behaves in such wayward fashion... I thought, a moment or two of stillness might help...’

‘It might help you, but it is doing nothing, forgive me, for my bladder... if I can just leave you for a moment...’

When Merenor returned, more comfortable for releasing the pressure behind his bladder, Hanben was sitting up in the bed, the covers over his lap.

Merenor smiled... Still shy, still so adorably bashful...

‘I love you,’ he blurted out. ‘I was worried all the way home, coming back so late, that you would be ferociously cross with me...’

‘I? Ferociously cross? When am I ever cross?’

‘My most beloved Hanben, it seemed to me, when first we met, you were always cross! Especially with me... I blame myself, of course...’

‘Of course. Although, rather, you should blame yourself that I am not cross at all at the moment. And if you will please to come here and allow me to experience a little more of the wonders you undoubtedly have in store for me, I am reasonably sure I will not be cross for some considerable time...’

‘What a lovely thought!’ Merenor smiled and fluttered his eyelashes. ‘Shall we begin with your dimples?’


	378. Yule Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil is not where he is supposed to be...

It was not his own bed.

Thranduil knew there was no doubting that; the covers felt wrong, too heavy, the mattress too soft.

Moreover, there was a fragrance in the air unlike any he allowed near him, and beneath it a soft, gentle warm scent...

Added to that the fact that there were a set of small and elegant fingers resting on his chest which he could see when he tilted his head, it was reasonable to assume he was also not in his own room.

He could not prevent an unexpected smile as he remembered the events of the evening, and realised he was fortunate enough to be holding Nestoril in his arms still.

The fingers began a delicate, sweet creep upwards towards his neck, and he took the elegant hand in his and kissed it.

‘Good morning, dear Ness. Did you sleep well?’

‘Thranduil, my dear. I believe I did.’

‘And how do you feel? I was worried about you last night...’

‘Better, I think. I had never thought to be warm ever again, but I am comfortable and at ease in myself...’

‘I’m pleased to hear it.’ 

Thranduil stretched, gathering her close and tenderly kissing her, feeling her smile against his mouth as she responded, and without thought, as if their bodies were already intimate with each other, they fell into an embrace and revisited the magic of the night in the clear light of morning.

Nestoril sighed as her body responded to the delightful assault of Thranduil’s mouth. Last night could have been dismissed as simple need, a reaching out, but that he had stayed, that they had tumbled so easily together again with no thought of anything outside of each other brought such joy to her fëa. Nestoril and Thranduil, Thranduil and Ness, natural and easy, best of friends and most tender of lovers... it was truly wonderful to be home.

Their morning encounter was as slow and easy as the interlude in the night had been swift and needy. Oh, the need was still there, but the urgency was tempered with a mutual desire to linger, to take time, to put each other first.

Nestoril shivered with completion in Thranduil’s embrace, and a moment later he shuddered to his own climax, moving to cradle her and lie in mutual wonder until, reluctantly, Ness sighed, and moved.

‘I am blessed to start this day in such a fashion,’ she said. ‘But pardon me; now I must wash, and dress, for if I know my ladies, someone will come knocking to see if I am well, meaning am I really home, or did they imagine me?’

‘Oh, if you are going to talk about work, then I probably should...’

‘But I am not,’ she protested with a laugh in her voice, slipping from the bed and heading to the bathing pool. ‘I am talking about my dear friends showing concern for me...’

‘Of course. Forgive me.’

She was back moments later, towelling her hair, wrapped in more towels to dry herself.

‘I think I might,’ she said, leaning across the bed to kiss him. ‘And I think I might be allowed a morning in a dressing robe... reality is far too demanding for me to welcome it just yet.’

She found herself a nightgown that fitted more closely to her shape and tied a dressing robe over the top with a rueful sigh. These things had been meant to be sent on, for reuse, but obviously her ladies hadn’t quite got round to doing so... a flicker of a thought crossed her mind and she wondered what other matters been neglected while she was away... no matter, she was home now.

A gentle scratching on the outer door made Thranduil jump, and Ness turned away to hide a smile.

‘That sounds like Maereth,’ she said. ‘I will be but a moment.’

Closing the bedroom door as she left, Ness noted Thranduil’s clothes still spread out before the fire to dry, and gathered them swiftly up to drop them in a pile behind a chair where they were out of sight from the doorway. The scratching came again, and she called out.

‘Yes, I am here now!’

She opened the door to Maereth’s anxious smile and saw her friend had a tray in her hands.

‘Tea, the very thing! Thank you, Maereth! This is very kind.’ 

She took charge of the tray and set it down, glad that of all the healers it was this one of her friends who had come. For Maereth, Eru love her, was more than capable of adding two and two together and getting three, sometimes.

‘We were worried last night, Healer Nestoril, you seemed so tired...’

‘Well, it was a long journey home. But I have had a good night’s rest and feel much improved. Do you know, did my friend Calithilon arrive as I warned you?’

‘Yes, he did, and has passed a comfortable night. He is anxious to leave, though, for the festive day meal, if you think he may?’

‘I am back, but I am not back on duty just yet!’ Nestoril said, chiding gently. ‘It will be up to whomever cared for him last night to decide. I will drop in and see him, though, for we were companions on the road. Now, if you would be so good as to tell the others that I will join them later for morning tea – if you suggest we take it all together in the main reception hall, I will be able to see you all at once and really feel myself at home.’

‘I will pass that on, of course, all of it. But... oh, I am glad you are back!’

Nestoril smiled and patted Maereth’s arm, steering her to the door, glad to shut it after her and bear the tray off to her bedroom.

Thranduil was not visible, but the sound of lapping water told Ness he was bathing. Bringing in his now-dry garments and folding them neatly on the foot of the bed, she went to the doorway of the bathing room, allowing herself the pleasure of the sight of him, standing up to his hips in the pool, his hair hanging down like a curtain of silvered silk, the elegance of his stance and the dusting of freckles along his shoulders.

‘Maereth brought tea,’ she said. ‘Which was kind, even if she was expecting me to take a sip and then leap straight back into running the place!’

‘You have been missed, you see. I seem to remember Maereth used to always speak your name with an invocation to the Valar for mercy – I rather think she believed you were going to your doom...’

Ness laughed.

‘Well, she has her faults, but she is also blessed with a kind nature and is very good with the elflings. Now, hurry up, the tea will grow cold.’

*

‘How will you spend your day?’ Thranduil asked as they sat over tea. ‘I have had one or two thoughts...’

‘There is the day meal in the Feasting Hall, of course,’ Nestoril said. ‘I probably ought to attend, to let it be seen that I am home.’

‘This evening, the ceremony of the Night of the Names... as you know, one individual is chosen to formally commence proceedings by speaking the first name... I would be honoured – and I am sure the populace would be pleased – if you would accept the charge?’

Ness was a little taken aback. The Night of Names was special for so many reasons and by tradition, the speaker of the first name was usually one who had suffered great loss themselves, or faced great danger.

‘Thranduil... it’s an honour indeed!’

‘Those who gather publicly because they have no-one to share privately with will be the ones honoured, Ness. It will reassure everyone that you are back to stay. That you care for them.’ 

‘Then I would be delighted to participate,’ she said. ‘Although I will need to give thought to whom I will name...’

‘I am sure you will find the right one to remember.’

She poured more tea and had just raised the cup to her lips when a knocking came at the outer door, sharp and urgent, and the voice of one of the healers in protest. Thranduil was on his feet in a moment, making Ness laugh and reach out to stroke his arm.

‘Be calm! I will go and see what the matter is... I knew the peace of the day was too good to last!’

Pulling the bedroom door closed after her, she tied her robe and glanced around the sitting room, making sure no evidence of Thranduil’s presence was visible. Satisfied it was so, she went to the door as the knocking continued.

‘Yes, whatever is the matter...? Lord Arveldir! This is a surprise...’

Behind him, Healers Maereth and Gyril made apologetic, helpless gestures.

‘Forgive the intrusion, and welcome home, Healer Nestoril... might I speak privately with you?’

‘Of course. We will go to my study.’

Nestoril’s workroom was opposite her living quarters, near enough for convenience, but ensuring she could separate work from her private life, and she was grateful now for the distinction.

‘But you are not dressed,’ Arveldir said, shamefaced. ‘I am so sorry to disturb you and were it not urgent...’

‘I was on the point of readying myself for the day,’ she said, closing the door to her rooms after herself and leading the way into her study. ‘Well, goodness! Someone has lit the fire already, I see... it is as if I have never been away! Maereth, Gyril, thank you for arranging this for me.’

Alone, the door closed, she took her accustomed place at the desk and waved Arveldir to a seat.

‘How may I help, Arveldir?’

‘It is... and now I am here I am aware how inappropriate it might seem, but I mean no disrespect... I cannot find the king anywhere... I beg your pardon, but, you see, I last spoke with him yesterday evening, when I put your letter into his hands... Oh, I did not think you would be able to help, Healer Gyril was on duty here and she says she did not see him... but she did also say that she was busy for a time with Captain Calithilon, who arrived in poor health... and so, you see... do forgive me...’

‘In fact,’ Nestoril began, hoping part of the truth would satisfy Arveldir’s obvious worry, ‘in fact Thranduil did pay me a visit. He was kind enough to assure me I was forgiven for leaving his sons – Healer Feril sailed with them – and as I had been worried, this was a great comfort to me. He stayed a little while, and took tea with me, and made sure I was comfortable. Then he left.’

She did not add that he had returned, of course; that was none of Arveldir’s business.

‘I see. Oh, dear. Well, thank you. But he was not in his rooms for our breakfast meeting, and nobody has seen him... I even sent to the training ground, but he has not been there, and Prince Legolas has not seen him yet today... you will think me over-anxious, but while you were away...’

Arveldir broke off and shook his head.

‘Arveldir? What, while I was away? Was he well?’

‘There were... instances. I do not wish to be disloyal, but... well, we both know he can be... prone to mood swings...’

‘Yes, we’ve seen him suffer. Go on, Arveldir. I know you speak from friendship...’

‘He was... well, the Dorwinion, obviously, his first refuge. But he seemed to gather himself, we thought he would be well... a few bouts of ill-temper... and then he left one day with not a word to anyone.’

‘By himself?’

‘He rode out on Nelleron. We did not know where to seek him, whether he had rid off after his sons, or was gone to see Flora and her child, or what had happened. Eventually we found him in one of the northern villages with his old friend Einior Brambenos... but we were extremely anxious!’

‘I am not at all surprised! Oh, dear...’ 

Nestoril thought for a moment. She was not about to admit where Thranduil had spent the night; in fact, if it was anyone else needed to know, then Legolas should be told first, she supposed... now, that would be an interesting conversation... 

‘If I should see him, I will of course tell him how concerned you are,’ she said. ‘Would you mind if I ask you one or two things? While you are here?’  
‘Um... I really do not have much time, if the king...’

‘It will take but a moment. You should have had a report, Glorfindel was bringing it after me?’

‘Yes, I did have a rather weighty pack of papers left on my desk for me...’

‘Good, and Glorfindel himself? And Calithilon?’

‘They are back, safe and sound.’

‘Oh, that is good news. And Master Merenor, who brought me in his little wagon? How is his donkey? And how is he? He confided in me he was pining for a friend, none other than Master Hanben, in fact...?’

‘The donkey is fine, I understand... And Merenor himself... it is not official and formal, you understand, but he arrived at the Feasting Hall hand-in-hand with Master Hanben... the family seemed to then have a private celebration amongst themselves...’

‘Oh, how wonderful! Merenor was very kind to me, when I was in quite low spirits; I am pleased to hear his friend has forgiven him for being late home... I would like him to have my deepest congratulations.’

‘If I see him, I’ll tell him.’

‘Thank you. And Hanben too, of course. I liked him, when he was one of my healers; he made me laugh, probably when I ought not to have done...’

‘If there is nothing more?’

‘Oh, there are endless questions... but they will keep.’

‘It’s good to have you back, Nestoril. The place has not been the same without you.’

*

After Arveldir had left, she sat for a few moments longer, absorbing the sense of the room. Nothing had changed since she had left it, she noticed, her desk having been carefully kept clear of dust and the room swept. Really, it was nice, it was thoughtful... but she did have the feeling that perhaps her friends had missed her in a perhaps unhealthy way; the Healers’ Hall had to be more than just its individual leader...

Ah, well. Time enough to talk these things through later; she had better get back to Thranduil and suggest he find his way discreetly back to Arveldir...

Returning to her rooms, she shut the door and went straight through to the bedroom.

‘My dear, I...’

But Thranduil was gone. So, too, were his garments from the bed and, in case she was in any doubt what had happened, the little window to the bedroom was wide open, letting the cold morning air sharply in.

With a sigh Nestoril fastened the window and sat down on the bed. She shouldn’t have been surprised, really; it would have been embarrassing for them both, had Thranduil been found in her bedroom. Except there was no reason why he should have been discovered; nobody was likely to force their way into her most private chambers, after all! She would have to have words with him, when next she had the chance, point out that sidling from her room by the window was not appropriate behaviour for an elf of his standing and age... really, it was a trick worthy of Iauron, not his father...

The thought made her smile, and with a rather better opinion of Thranduil than he probably deserved, Nestoril dressed for the day and prepared to face her friends, the healers.


	379. Premarital Euphoric Hallucinations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor and Hanben cannot quite believe their eyes...

Hanben shuddered and grasped at the sheets, trying to hold himself in place as his body exploded and shattered and his fëa expanded with love and gratitude.

‘Ai, Merenor! You are far more skilled than I, I am sure...’

‘We have forever to practice, my love.’ Merenor slid back up the bed to lie beside him. ‘Now rest a little, allow yourself to enjoy the knowledge that pleasing you pleases me.’

‘Thank you, my scoundrel... I dread to think what else you might have in store...’

‘Dread to think? Beloved Hanben, surely you mean, cannot wait to find out...?’

Hanben sighed a happy sigh and snuggled Merenor against his chest. Somehow, although being held was wonderful, holding was better... 

A little time passed, slowly and softly while Hanben wondered at his bliss and good fortune.

‘Canadion and Thiriston have been most diligent in making sure I break my fast with them in the Feasting Hall,’ he said, once he was certain he had stopped shaking. ‘If I am not seen there soon, I fear they will come seeking me...’

‘I’m glad they’ve been looking after you; I’d already noticed how you neglect yourself when you are busy... we should dress, I suppose, and go and knock on their door before they can decide whether to knock on yours, or mine...’

In fact, when Hanben opened his door, Thiriston was already halfway along the corridor, and grinned broadly when Merenor followed Hanben out.

‘Wait for it,’ he said by way of greeting. ‘Any second now, Canadion’s going to come round the corner saying how he can’t make his Ada hear him...’

‘We had... matters to discuss,’ Hanben said, flushing.

‘We did indeed,’ Merenor said with a grin. ‘And then he cuddled me to sleep, it was wonderful!’

Hanben’s blush increased and he looked away.

‘Sorry,’ Merenor said. ‘I mustn’t tease you. Especially not in front of Canadion, he’d blush even more than you, my dear Hanben. Thiriston, thank you for looking after him for me.’

They found Canadion knocking anxiously at Merenor’s door.

‘Over here, ion-nin!’ Merenor called out. ‘I hope you were not worried.’

‘Adar!’ Canadion’s face lit up in bright smile. ‘I was beginning to wonder what had happened... but there you are!’

‘Here we are.’ Merenor hugged his son, turning to wink over his shoulder at Hanben. ‘So, shall we to breakfast? I am hungry today, I blame it on three weeks of lembas... and other things. And that reminds me, I have something for you, Canadion – Eregnith sent back some blackberry paste for you. After breakfast, I must go and see Cullasbes and thank her for bringing us home... then I must pay a visit to the Healers’ Hall...’

‘Adar? Are you well?’

‘I am just not making sense. I am sure it is all right if I tell you now... but please, it is known only to very few at present... Healer Nestoril is back.’

‘What?’

‘Indeed, I brought her in my wagon. Glorfindel and Calithilon and Erthor were to follow... poor thing, she was tired out, I want to look in on her and see how she is...’

‘Well, time for that later! I have an errand of my own, my rascal, which I will attend to while you are busy elsewhere...’

Merenor smiled and took Hanben’s hand.

‘Breakfast first, then. And how lovely this is, my family here, and you as well, I am such a lucky ellon...’

After breakfast, the newly-betrotheds went off in different directions, Merenor to visit Donkey Cullasbes and Hanben back to his rooms... their rooms now, he thought, if Merenor would be happy to share the space... there was an empty chamber adjacent they could expand into, if Merenor wanted his own workspace, or even turn it into a bathing chamber, it would mean digging out, of course, but if Merenor would rather soak than use a washing cascade... 

Collecting the mithril arm band he had fashioned before Merenor had arrived outside his rooms last evening, Hanben made his way quickly to the smithy where he knew he could find the heat he needed to melt the mithril wires sufficiently to meld them together into their finished form. That done, the bangle plunged into cooling waters to hiss and steam its excess heat away, a last polish, and it was ready, in the pocket next to his heart, and he set off for the stables to catch up with his beloved rogue.

Merenor was brushing Cullasbes’ silver coat, clucking gently to her, using tender terms in soft tones that were, Hanben was pleased to note, very different from the tender tones and gentle endearments Merenor used on him... the thought, the realisation that it might have mattered, made him laugh at himself for his foolishness, and smile fondly as Merenor looked up, his eyes lighting in much the same way, he noted with melting heart, that Canadion’s did when he saw Thiriston.

‘Look, dear old thing, it’s our Master Hanben! My love, our friend is none the worse for the journey, but she wants to be out in the field where she can flirt with Commander and Prince. I don’t think she realises it’s a waste of effort...’

‘She will enjoy the air, I am sure. Now, when you are done, I have something for you...’

‘Oh? Then I am done, I am already setting down my brushes...’ Merenor smiled. ‘I am ready, my dear Hanben.’

Hanben smiled and slid the armband onto Merenor’s wrist, keeping it concealed by his hand until it was in place. Merenor looked down, grinned, and launched himself at Hanben’s neck in an exuberant hug.

‘Ai, it is beautiful! The pattern wanders and meanders around like I did in the forest, but it always comes back again to the start, as I came back to you... thank you, I will treasure it!’

Hanben smiled and held Merenor close.

‘I thought, when we are married, we could make avowal rings for each other, if you do not mind? Because, as you said, we are not warriors, and warrior bands would not be appropriate for our wedding tokens.’

‘A fine idea. And now, I want to ask after my dear friend Nestoril...’

‘I will come with you, if I may. We can perhaps ask her if she will be our Witness, when the moment comes.’

Linking fingers, they made their way out of the stables and round towards the gardens of the Healers’ Hall. The path took them passed the windows of the healers’ living quarters, and a small commotion made them draw back into the shrubbery out of sight. To Hanben’s great astonishment, he thought he caught a glimpse of flashing silver-blond hair and a figure sidling off around the side of the mound of rock into which the Healers’ Hall was built.

‘Did we just see what I thought we saw?’ Merenor asked.

‘Did you think you saw our king removing himself from the window of somebody’s living quarters?’

‘I did indeed.’

‘Then I would say, no, no, I did not see that. Neither did you. Whatever it was we saw, it was not his majesty. Perhaps it was Commander Govon, in disguise, playing tricks... or... or... or we shared a mutual hallucination, caused by euphoria. Yes. Premarital euphoric hallucinations, that must be it.’

‘Premarital euphoria... That is a lovely phrase, and so apt... Well, she we go and see how Nestoril is?’

‘Do you think that is wise?’ Hanben asked. ‘Given whom we just did not see leaving?’

‘I am not sure I follow...?’

‘Ah. Well, suffice it to say that, of all the persons who might possibly have someone not-leaving there quarters via the windows, I doubt it would be Healer Maereth...’

Merenor laughed.

‘Ai, we had some interesting discussions, Healer Mae and I, before I left... so, do you think our king and Healer Ness...?’

‘I do not think anything of the sort!’ Hanben said quickly. ‘It was but a hallucination brought on by...’

‘... by premarital euphoria, of course it was... Well, I still intend to ask after my friend Calithilon and see if he is recovered from his spider bite.’

‘And how long have you been friends with Captain Calithilon...?’

‘I met him on the road, of course, poor chap was looking rather glum... he did manage to drink a fair dose of my winter wine, though it was before Glorfindel took it from him...’

‘Do you mean to tell me while I was worrying about your safety, you were drinking with Calithilon? And... and Lord Glorfindel...?’

Merenor looked up under lowered lashes.

‘So handsome, the Balrog-slayer, no?’ He grinned, and leaned in against Hanben for a moment. ‘And so spoken-for, he was delighted to learn his Triwathon was waiting for him...’

Hanben sniffed.

‘You are only trying to make me jealous; it will not work, I happen to know you are not the sort to stray in spite of all the flirting and teasing you do.’

‘I do love you, Hanben!’ Merenor said, swinging him round in a hug. ‘You are so wise, and make such beautiful things! And you have such an expressive face! And you are simply adorable. And I love your hands, did you know, you have exquisite hands? Mmm...’

‘Yes, indeed, I am betrothed to a scoundrel, a rogue, a rascal and a flirt!’ Hanben found himself smiling. ‘It is actually rather wonderful. Come, if we are to impose ourselves on the healers, let us do so forthwith.’

*

Having managed to find a tunic and skirt in her wardrobe so that she didn’t quite feel she was still in travelling gear, nor yet dressed in her formal healer’s habit, Nestoril left her rooms and was startled when, on reaching the main reception hall, the assembled healers burst out into applause.

‘My friends, there is no need for this!’ she said, smiling, although deeply moved. ‘Now, come. First of all, I would like to visit Captain Calithilon, and see how he is today.’

‘I attended him last evening, of course, Healer Nestoril, and apart from the wan complexion and some residual nausea – which he admitted might have been from an excess of winter wine – seemed reasonably well.’ Gyril said. ‘At present, he is attended by Masters Merenor and Hanben...’

‘My friend Merenor is here? How wonderful! Which room is he in?’

‘Let me show you,’ Gyril said. ‘And I do hope you were not inconvenienced by Lord Arveldir earlier – Underhealer Aeglosdes is the official contact between us and the King’s Office, but she was elsewhere and...’

‘An official contact? Why?’

‘Following the incidents with his majesty...’

Nestoril stopped in her tracks; Calithilon could wait a few more moments...

‘Incidents?’

‘Matters have not been easy between the King’s Office and the Healers’ Hall... well, between the king... he... it is true, we were not able to send anyone to help the injured Dragon Guard, but Master Hanben went so it was all right... nor were we able to send out to collate information on the Children of the Forest this autumn, but he was unreasonably angry about the matter... and he has no patience with poor Maereth...’

‘I see. Perhaps I had better have the records in my study as soon as possible.’ She smiled, despite the misgivings of her heart. ‘I will visit Calithilon, but I will not be able to take tea with you all just yet; you had better bring the hall records for the last three months to my study, I will catch up a little first, I think.’ 

‘Ah well, you are home again, Calithilon, and you look much less poorly today,’ Merenor was saying as Ness looked in at the doorway. ‘You’ll be out and about in time for the day meal, I am sure.’

‘Oh, an expert diagnosis, Master Healer!’ Hanben said with a sniff and a smile that had Calithilon laughing. ‘Just because you are going to marry an erstwhile healer does not mean you acquire my skill along with my affection...’

‘I am just trying to be cheery, that is all...’

‘And you are expert in that,’ Nestoril said, smiling as she tapped on the door and entered. ‘Master Hanben, I do not know what I would have done without Master Merenor bringing me home – he even permitted me to stroke his donkey’s ears, after which, of course, I felt much better!’

‘Never underestimate the healing power of fuzzy ears,’ Merenor said. ‘Healer Ness, you’re looking so much brighter!’

‘Thank you; I feel much refreshed... Captain Calithilon, you do, indeed, look well. I think Healer Gyril will be in to see you shortly and pronounce your fate.’ With a smile, she turned to go. ‘So do not fear, I am sure you will be able to leave us today.’ 

‘Healer Ness... I’m sure you must have many demands on your time, but could we have a moment with you? Privately?’ 

Merenor had asked in such serious tones that she could not help but nod.

‘Come to my study in about ten minutes,’ she said. ‘I have one or two documents to look over, but it will not take me long.’

The hall daybooks were there, as asked, and next to those a sheaf of notes, written in a hand she did not know; it took but a glance to see it was a report on the Children of the Forest and her brow furrowed in puzzlement as she saw Merenor’s name appended to the document. Investigating further, she found a report rather like the ellon himself; charming and full of interest. He had added little sketches here and there; an elfling, born to one of the Children of the Forest, a family scene. Just little drawings that showed happy, loving lives and made her smile.

As to what Merenor was doing investigating in the first place, she thought she had an inkling why as she dug down into the day notes... such a shame the healers had not been braver... Thranduil did not like it when people let him down. No, she corrected; Thranduil could usually be appealed to; the king, however, was often unreasonable, implacable.

...What was this? Veiled threats – and not so veiled, suggesting there were too many healers...? No, that she could not like. And Flora, the baby again? But he would not, surely, have...?’ 

Nestoril shook her head, trying to align the gentle and tender lover of the night before with this monster of a king...

The gentle tapping at her door distracted her, and she was able to smile and welcome Hanben and Merenor into her rooms as if she hadn’t just been reading horror stories.

‘Merenor, might I ask?’ she began, once they were seated, curious and, well, he was there, why not ask him? ‘How is it you are reporting on the Children of the forest?’

‘I?’ Merenor said. ‘I couldn’t possibly comment... if one were involved in such an undertaking, and were to mention the matter to anyone at all, then one might run the risk of seeing one’s son suddenly transferred away...’

‘Is that why you were late back?’ Hanben asked. ‘Healer Nestoril, forgive me...’

‘I...’

‘Merenor, Hanben knows all about the Children of the Forest, there is no need to worry...’

‘All about them,’ Hanben said, stressing the first word.

‘Yes. I happened to be heading that way, and so I was asked if I would... just listen out, get chatting to people... I do find it easy to talk to people, I love listening... and that’s my report, there.’

‘Then, my thanks. I do not understand why nobody was sent out...’

‘The ladies missed you,’ Merenor said. ‘I spent a little time helping with the autumn forage, before I left, we got to chatting. They don’t feel safe in the forest these days. Didn’t, I should say; we’ve tried to bolster them a little.’

‘And is it true? Did the King’s Office threaten to send Canadion away?’

If there was one thing that had kept coming up in her short journey with Merenor, it had been how proud he was of his sons, especially the youngest one, how much he wanted to make up lost time with him, and if Arveldir had resorted to threats...

‘Please, forget what I said, it was not... not... and I am sure, it was just, from one who had lost touch with two sons so lately, it must have been weighing on his mind...’ Merenor shrugged and looked up at Hanben. ‘But yes, that is why I was late. And I am sorry, my Hanben. Yet, consider... had I been back sooner, perhaps we would not have missed each other quite so much and might not have reached our understanding... for that’s really why we wanted to see you, Ness, if I may call you that...’

His eyes softened as he smiled up at Hanben.

‘We’re going to be married and, if you would, Hanben and I would like you to be our Witness.’

‘That is wonderful news!’ Ness latched on to the happier subject with relief. ‘I will admit, I had a hint of it... but I am very pleased! Do you know when, yet?’

‘I would like it to be soon, so that Hanben can cease to worry about me,’ Merenor said with a laughing smile. ‘But I would like Caraphindir and Baudh to have time enough to be here, if they wish... so no sooner than a month, perhaps six weeks?’

‘Halfway between solstice and equinox,’ Hanben said. ‘I like the notion. If you would consent, Healer, we would be most pleased...’

A peremptory rap and the door was flung open. A servant brought in a laden tray and stood, bemused, until a voice gave swift orders. 

‘Set it down on the table near the window, there. And then depart. Masters Merenor and Hanben, Healer Nestoril thanks you for the honour of your visit and will detain you no longer.’

Nestoril stared, positively gaped at the intrusion, getting to her feet and gathering a sense of barely-recognised outrage around herself. Merenor and Hanben, too, rose, Merenor smiling across at her. 

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘We can talk later, when you’re free.’

‘I am free now,’ she said, but Hanben led Merenor out of the room and his majesty King Thranduil shut it behind him as if oblivious to having done anything wrong.

*

‘What was that all about?’ Merenor asked as they headed back down the corridor towards the main reception hall and the way out.

‘I am not quite certain. Another premarital euphoric hallucination, perhaps...’

‘Perhaps we had better go home and top up on the euphoria a little, it seemed rather real to me, for a hallucination...’

‘Do you know, my rascal? That actually might be a good idea...’


	380. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil interrupts Nestoril's morning, and Erestor has a letter...

‘I do not know what you think you are doing, Thranduil, but...’

‘Breakfast,’ the king said. ‘A little late, it is true...’

He gestured in his most majestic manner towards the window, striding across to pull a chair out for her before seating himself with a sweep of his regal robes... Yes, he had found time, after absconding through her window, to dress in his best and put on his majesty along with his red robes of state and his silver circlet... Nestoril wavered as the sleeve of his robe fell down to cover half his hand, reminding her how like a child he could look sometimes, how vulnerable and fragile.

But then he looked round and beckoned, imperious.

‘Do come and eat, Nestoril, it grows cold. And we went to such pains...’

Her heart full of fathers threatened with separation from sons, gentle ladies castigated for caution, this use of the royal plural only infuriated her further.

‘We did, did we?’ she murmured, obeying the command of her king and reluctantly sitting opposite him but not lifting the covers from the dishes.

‘Ness? Whatever is the matter? It is but two hours to the day meal, it is true, but...’

‘What is the matter?’ she asked, incredulous. ‘You ran away! You scuttled out of my window like a thief in the night – worse, as if you would have been ashamed to be found with me...!’

‘It would have done no good to either of us to be discovered so,’ he said with a shrug.

‘And how would that have happened? Do you think anyone would have the effrontery to burst into my private sleeping chambers? Do you have so low an opinion of my healers that you would think they would behave with such disrespect? Or was it merely that you imagined yourself caught up in scandal, my king?’

‘Well, it would have been awkward – for us both, Nestoril...’

‘And then you simply sweep in and send away my guests – my friends...’

‘What did they want, anyway? You are hardly home and already besieged...’

‘Merenor brought me back. You may recall I was in low spirits when I arrived, and he was worried about me. The visit was personal.’

‘He did not mention to you what he had been doing before meeting up with you in the forest?’

‘Packing up his old life for a new one here, to be closer to his beloved son.’

‘And he didn’t happen to mention the Children of the Forest...?’

‘Not before I did, since I had been given a document about them written in his hand. Even so, he would not speak until I assured him that Master Hanben already knew of our reports on them. The document will be forwarded to the King’s Office in due course, your majesty, and while we are on the topic, there was no need to berate my healers for...’

He lifted a hand.

‘Peace, Ness.’

‘Nor do I like that you sent my friends away; it was uncalled for.’

‘There was not enough breakfast for everyone,’ he said, trying to lighten the mood, for suddenly it seemed to need lightening; Ness, his dear Ness was staring at him as if she wanted to murder him...

‘It’s not a laughing matter, your majesty,’ she said, enunciating clearly. ‘I have been hearing stories of... of healers threatened and fearful, of persons kept apart by wilful manipulation and it has quite put me out of humour...’

‘I came here with the intention of asking you to be my queen, Ness,’ he said, his voice bewildered. ‘And you throw accusations in my face? After last night?’

‘After last night?’ she echoed, shaking her head. ‘You are not the same person as he who was here last night! I shared my bed, my body, my fëa with Thranduil, my friend, as I thought, and now – now you arrive, the king in all his majesty, after I have been hearing how my poor friends have suffered at the king’s hands? I could never, never be queen to such an unkind king...’

‘But, Ness... we have spoken in similar vein before; I thought you understood how it is to be a king, that there are things one must do for the sake of the kingdom, however much one...’

‘I thank you for the honour of your visit, your majesty,’ she said, her voice as icy and sharp, belying the white heat of her fury. ‘I know you have a busy day ahead; do not let me keep you from matters of state. Perhaps, in future, all our dealings can be overseen by Underhealer Aeglosdes in her current role as intermediary? I am sure it will make matters much easier between the Healers’ Hall and the King’s Office.’

‘Nestoril... I do not know what has happened since I left, but...’

‘You really don’t, do you?’ she said with the saddest sigh in the world as the anger seeped away. ‘It doesn’t matter. You left, that is the point... and while I might have been able to forgive that... then you came back. Like this. Please, sire, I do not want to be angry with you; it is unseemly in me to be so unprofessional. But I find it difficult to be calm at present.’

‘Very well. I will leave you; you are obviously overwrought, perhaps the long journey, the distress of... well. You will be at the daymeal?’

‘I have work here.’

‘I see. It is a pity, for many would be glad to see their Healer, their Nestoril amongst us again... but I will not press you. But remember; you are leading the remembrances in the Feasting Hall tonight. Arveldir will send to you.’ He rose from the table and she went ahead of him to open the door. ‘Good day, Nestoril. I hope whatever is amiss passes swiftly; I had thought... hoped...’

But she didn’t speak, didn’t look at his eyes, just saw how the sleeves of his robe hung down, making him look as if he was wearing clothes two sizes too big, and began to wonder, as she held the door wide, as he left, whether she had just made the biggest mistake of her life.

*

‘There has been a sighting.’ 

Erestor folded his hands neatly together in front of his body as he stopped in front of Arveldir’s desk. The small smile on his mouth was triumphant, affectionate, amused all at once.

Arveldir set aside the papers he had been trying to get into order and tilted his head to one side; his own investigations into Thranduil’s whereabouts revealing only the alarming fact that the royal bed had not been slept in, and knowing Erestor to be as discreet as himself, it was only natural he should split the task of finding news of the king with his friend.

‘Is all well?’

‘Breakfast for two ordered from the kitchens, a servant to bear it away to the Healers’ Hall and the study of Healer Nestoril; it would seem his majesty is glad our friend is back.’

‘Well, that is a relief! I suppose I had better take over the more obvious of his majesty’s duties for the morning... I will need to seek out Lord Glorfindel...’

‘Captain Triwathon has look-in duty at the barracks this morning; perhaps we could assume Glorfindel would be interested enough to go with him...’

‘A good thought... I will seek him out in person, I think...’ Arveldir shuffled together the papers, and a sealed missive peeped out. ‘Erestor? This has your name on it...’

He held out the paper to his friend.

‘Thank you. Would you like me to take care of the office while you seek Glorfindel?’

‘That’s very good of you; Parvon is organising the Feasting Hall.’

Left alone, Erestor broke the seal and unfolded the missive carefully with his long, elegant fingers. He had recognised the hand that had inscribed his name; Arwen’s writing, slightly childishly formed letters, large loops and tails. She did not need to write like that, and, indeed, generally wrote her notes in a clear and neat hand... this was the writing she used when she wanted something; she thought it endearing, and so he was wary even before he began reading...

_‘Erestor, my dear friend,’_ Arwen started. _‘My brothers were waiting at Lothlórien when I got there. They told me Father has been very sad and lonely of late, truly repentant of all that silliness. I do not know if I can forgive him what he has done to my mother, but he is the only father I have... And I have been thinking, and Grandmamma has been talking to me, and I decided I ought not to sail... Iauron is not really the sort of ellon I could be happy forever with, I do not quite know why... but if I go back home, I will have no friends there, other than my brothers... I know you have struck up a friendship with the advisor of the king, and I am sure I do not want you to change your plans just for me...’_

Erestor set the letter down with a sigh. Of course Arwen did not want him to change his plans; she simply did not want him to have any plans which might need changing...

He propped his elbows on the desk and covered his face with his hands. He should have known his forest idyll was much too wonderful to last.

After a moment he gave himself a little shake. Was that it? Was he simply going to read into Arwen’s letter a summons back to duty, or was he going to put himself first, for once? After all, it was not his fault she had decided not to sail, relieved about that fact though he was...

But the love he had found with Arveldir was too much to simply abandon. And yet the pull, the tug of centuries of duty, of service, of innate gratitude for harbour from the world and a purpose after his kin had been lost...

He was still sitting there, staring at the letter with defocussed eyes and a chill growing in his heart when the door opened and Arveldir came in, bringing Glorfindel with him.

‘...regret taking time from your morning but I thought, while Captain Triwathon is busy would be better for you both than...’ Arveldir broke off. ‘Excuse me, Lord Glorfindel... Erestor?’

Erestor lifted bleak eyes to his friend and tried to compose himself.

‘I beg your pardon, Lord Arveldir... I will leave you to your business, I...’

‘No, do stay,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Don’t mind me! I can’t help noticing dear Arwen has sent you a little note...?’

‘Indeed; I am glad she did not sail... no disrespect to Prince Iauron, I did not really see him at his best...’

‘It is fair comment and no more than he deserves, in truth... but, Erestor?’

Erestor held out the note and both Arveldir and Glorfindel looked it over.

‘I confess I did not finish reading it...’

‘I don’t blame you... Ai, she is such a little princess at times...! I told her, I said, Arwen, you have your brothers, and I will stand your friend, always... you do not need to disturb Erestor from his new life... I thought she knew that, I thought she had accepted it... Ah, here... _‘I know you have a new life and you ought not to be disturbed, but I thought I would let you know I do not expect you to drop everything just for me and my father...’_ She is as manipulative as Elrond!’

‘Well, hardly,’ Erestor tried for a small smile. ‘Not without my leadership, at least...’

Glorfindel barked a laugh.

‘Look, you’ve worked so hard for Imladris, Erestor, you deserve some time. Arwen is just trying to get in her father’s good books by somehow convincing him she’s persuaded you to go back. You deserve an apology from him at the very least before you even look as though you’re willing to give the matter any thought at all. I... I’ll be returning, though, so you can rest easy, the lads will have someone sensible to look out for them...’

‘Sensible? Your good self, Glorfindel?’ Erestor said with a return of his old acid humour. ‘How reassuring...’

‘Well, don’t worry about it now,’ Glorfindel said, grinning. ‘Arveldir, just so you’re not worried... when I do go back, I won’t be asking Triwathon to come with me, it wouldn’t be fair... he’s just so delighted with his new position, and his rooms, and his uniform, sweet Eru, that uniform...! He’s got friends now, people looking up to him and respecting him, as they ought to... he’s blossoming and growing and I can’t take him away from that... I just need... just need to inhale him for a little while, I think. He’s got an admirer too, I think, that Parvon fellow of yours...’

‘I have tried to warn Parvon, Glorfindel, but it is not really my place...’

‘No, no, no, I meant only... if – no, when – Triwathon realises he doesn’t need me any more, it’s a comfort to know there’s someone sincere waiting for him to look up and notice.’

‘That’s most generous of you, Glorfindel, but... I must say, I think Parvon will be waiting a considerable time.’

‘Which is just what my battered old ego needs to hear! Ah, well...’ He nodded at the reports scattered across the desk. ‘Everything you need to know is in there. Erestor will tell you, I do know how to write a report, even it I don’t like it that much... so I don’t need to take up your time, which would be much better spent looking after your friend...’

And, indeed, although Erestor was trying hard to bear up under the weight of Arwen’s expectations. Arveldir could find no reason not to trust Glorfindel’s reports.

‘Thank you, my lord,’ he said. ‘Should there be anything more, I can ask you, I hope?’

‘Of course you can. Well, I go and see if Triwathon’s done encouraging his troops yet. And, Erestor – please, don’t worry.’


	381. Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil seeks advice...

They were supposed to be deciding what to wear for the Yule daymeal, but Legolas had become distracted by Govon’s bare chest and the way his hair swept across his shoulders, and so they were in a greater state of undress than when they had started opening the wardrobe doors some time previously. Matters were starting to get interesting, braids unwinding, heads thrown back, Govon sucking and licking Legolas’ throat, Legolas clutching him close against his body when a sudden hammering at the outer door broke the mood.

‘Who...?’

‘Don’t worry,’ Legolas said, ‘the bolt is drawn; they cannot enter. Now, where were we...?’

But then there was a voice.

‘Legolas! Legolas, open this door immediately!’

‘Adar!’ Legolas hissed needlessly. ‘Govon, my father’s at the door...’

‘Well, we are married...’

‘Yes, but...’ The knocking came again. ‘Ai! He is not going to go away!’

He pulled his shirt back on and was still attempting to tuck it into the waist of his leggings as he opened the door to admit his father.

‘Adar, what...?’

‘Legolas...’ 

Thranduil pushed into the room, shut the door after him. His movements were sharp, anxious,

‘Legolas, ion-nin, I need to speak with...’

He stared at his son, the wild abandon of his braids, the untucked shirt and bare feet.

‘Am I interrupting something?’

Even as Legolas tried to frame the word ‘no’, Govon’s voice soared from the bedroom.

‘Yes, Adar-in-honour, most definitely!’ He followed his voice out, a tunic in his hands but not yet on his back. ‘We were deciding on our clothes for meal; uniform, or regular clothes, and...’

‘I see you have lost your awe of me, at last, Govon!’ Thranduil said, his voice dripping venom. ‘It had to happen one day. Today is not a good day, however.’

‘I’m sorry; I can see there’s something wrong,’ Govon asked, contrite; there was a look about Thranduil’s eyes that was not going to be chased away or mended by a little humour. ‘Has something happened?’

‘Yes, I...’ Thranduil dropped onto a chair and lifted a flagon hopefully only to drop it down, disappointed to find it empty. ‘I fear I have misjudged...’

He sighed and broke off. Legolas and Govon exchanged glances, found a bottle of wine and a goblet. Legolas poured his father a glass while Govon shrugged into his tunic and came to sit near his fëa-mate and adar-in-honour.

‘I need your advice, Legolas, perhaps Govon’s, too, I do not know whom else...’ Thranduil took a sip of wine ‘I... Nestoril is back and...’

‘What? She didn’t sail?’

‘No, but that is beside the point, the point is I spent the night with... that is, we... and... Legolas, this is not how I intended to tell you, please understand, I loved and do love your mother, but we can talk about her later, tonight, I will talk in full, but Nestoril... and this morning, when I returned, she ejected me from her rooms as soon as she had the opportunity and I do not know what I have done to so anger her, but I wish to make amends; I need to, Legolas, I find I am far more attached to her than I realised...’

Legolas stared, looked at where Govon was wide-eyed and boggling at Thranduil’s confession for some sort of clue, but found none.

‘I don’t know what you want of me, Adar...’

‘Perhaps if you told us everything, well, not quite everything, but... there has to be more to it than that?’ Govon said, torn between curiosity and distaste. ‘What did you mean when you said you returned, if you spent the night...?’

‘Is Nestoril all right?’ Legolas put in.

‘Ion-nin! What do you take me for?’ Thranduil protested, although, in truth, he was not sure if Nestoril was all right or not, not this morning.

‘I meant, it’s a long way from Rauros, was she tired, hurt...?’

‘I see. She was weary and low spirited. I... when I heard she was back, last evening, I went to see her, left here feeling better, I thought, but I then returned... I... happened to stay, and she was generous enough to... but this morning, someone knocked at the door and I left in haste; I did not want to cause her embarrassment. But when I returned once more she was not pleased to see me... it is true, I suggested her guests left, but I had cause, I thought, the right to a few moments of her time, but she... accused me of having treated her healers unkindly, of being unfair and... I need her friendship, Legolas, if nothing more and I do not know...’

Legolas shifted uncomfortably, shaking his head.

‘I’m sorry, Adar, I can’t help...’

‘I see. It’s because of your mother, I suppose you feel I have betrayed her...’

‘No, Adar, it is...’ Legolas shrugged, unable to find the words. But if he needed to explain to his father why he couldn’t help, then any possible advice he could give would be pointless anyway...

‘It’s really not because of his mother,’ Govon said. ‘After all, it’s not as if you seduced a much younger and very innocent person of a different gender, so you could pretend to yourself you hadn’t broken any vows, like some Noldo we know, is it?’

‘Govon...’ Legolas said, protesting. ‘Ada’s not a bit like Elrond! But he’s right, Adar; I like Nestoril, you’ve been alone a long time and why should you be lonely if you don’t have to be? But... it’s not my place to interfere. Even if I knew how to help. Sorry.’

‘I see. But, Govon – I said you had lost your awe of me... I wondered if it might be that Nestoril is too aware of the differences in our station, since I arrived in formal robes and she made much of the fact that I am king...? I wished to ask, how did you find yourself reacting, when you knew who your rescuer was? For you said you did not know at first, when you were ill, who was caring for you...’

‘I’d already lost my heart and my fëa to Legolas before I recognised him, I just had to get on with it... to be fair, he did help me along rather a lot, and it wasn’t as if he was a king, or even the Crown Prince... but I don’t think that’s it with Ness; I don’t think she’s in awe of anyone, especially not you...’

‘Govon!’ Legolas protested with a laugh as Thranduil bridled at this.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it quite as it sounded, I meant... she’s surely seen you in all your moods, Honour-Ada. Worried about your sons. In pain of your own, and seeing your warriors suffer...’ He shrugged. ‘If anyone can see beyond a little pomp and a shiny circlet, I’m sure it’s Ness.’

It wasn’t quite what Thranduil had hoped to hear. He drained his glass.

‘I should allow you to dress, I suppose. Uniforms, perhaps. Kilts, if you must. Glorfindel, Calithilon and Erthor are back, and Master Merenor also. I am sure the sight of you both in formal uniform will enliven the feast and take attention away from the fact that I might not be in the happiest of moods.’

He got up from his seat and patted Legolas vaguely on the shoulder as he left, Govon rising to see him out.

‘What else could I say?’ Legolas asked, once they were alone again. ‘If he needs it explaining to him, is there any hope for them?’

‘Only if Ness does the explaining... but I’m more concerned for you, was it right, what you said? You really don’t mind?’

Legolas shook his head.

‘No, of course I don’t. It seems a little strange, thinking of Adar and... well, anyone, I suppose. But my mother is dead, and that ended all vows between them; I don’t think she’d mind Father finding some comfort, some solace. If he hasn’t ruined it for himself... I wish I could help, but...’

‘My fair elf... you might not be able to advise your father, but... you could help Nestoril, perhaps?’

Legolas considered for a moment, slowly nodding his head.

‘Yes, do you know...? I think we could...’

‘We?’

‘Of course – you wouldn’t want me to say the wrong thing, would you? Come on. Get dressed, we need to go and welcome our healer home. Before I lose my courage.’

*

Erestor lay curled on the bed, still clothed, Arveldir behind him, mirroring his posture and holding him close. One arm was under the raven black hair supporting Erestor’s neck while Arveldir’s free hand stroked his face softly as he offered the comfort and shelter of his body until Erestor would be ready to talk, or to listen. But for the moment, all communication was in the gentle drift of his fingers, the dependable solidity of his chest against Erestor’s back.

Finally, Erestor reached for the hand that was stroking his hair and pressed it to his heart, freeing Arveldir to speak.

‘I love you, Erestor,’ he said. ‘Whatever you decide, whatever you wish to do, that will not change.’

Erestor sighed.

‘And I you, beloved friend. But I cannot see my way...’

‘That does not necessarily matter; I can see mine. If you should wish to return, I will go with you.’

‘Arveldir! You cannot sacrifice so much for me.’

‘You sacrificed as much for me.’

‘I did not; there was far less to hold me in Imladris than there is you in the forest.’

‘But you see, I would rather be with you anywhere than without you.’ Arveldir leaned forward to kiss Erestor’s temple. 

‘What shall I do?’ Erestor whispered.

‘Allow me to help you with your fastenings, my love, to slide off your robes and ease you into bed, where I will join you. Then we will proceed to make sure we are both extremely late for lunch...’

Erestor turned in Arveldir’s arms and allowed himself to be kissed and caressed out of his garments.

‘Do you know, I rather like this idea of yours,’ he said. ‘It may not prove a long-term answer, but as an interim solution, it is extremely pleasant...’

*

Nestoril was still staring at the breakfast dishes when a knock came to her door. Turning her head without moving from her chair, she called out.

‘Enter.’

Not one, but two heads appeared around the door. Almost like a pair of naughty elflings, Govon and Legolas tumbled into the room.

‘Welcome home,’ Legolas said.

‘Good to see you, Healer Ness,’ Govon said, and before she knew it, they had joined her at the table. ‘Have you not eaten yet?’

‘In fact, Govon, I...’

He lifted the lid from one of the dishes and stared at the food beneath.

‘Toast?’ he said. ‘Toast and butter and honey, that’s nowhere near a hearty enough breakfast, not when you’ve been running around the forest for months on end!’

Nestoril felt her eyes fill up when she saw the offerings under the lids... Ai, had she known...! But no, it wasn’t Thranduil reminding her of the simple companionship of their shared supper, it was the king attempting to play on her feelings and earn a forgiveness he did not deserve...

‘Are you going to be at the daymeal?’ 

Legolas broke in on her thoughts.

‘We’ve been told to wear our ceremonial kilts,’ Govon added.

‘I had intended staying here, with my friends, I have so much to do...’

‘Are we not your friends, Ness?’ Legolas tried the innocent, wide-eyed look that had always worked on her when he had been an elfling. ‘So many people will be pleased to see you, too...’

‘Never mind all that, how are you both?’ She found a smile for them. ‘You look well.’

‘It’s been interesting,’ Govon said. ‘Quiet, mostly.’

‘Really? Do you call Adar running away from home, and my being jumped and... and molested by that little vixen quiet?’

‘Well... there was the wedding, too, of course,’ Govon said. ‘Bunting everywhere, and Canadion’s father turning up and flirting with absolutely every ellon he saw...’

‘...until he saw Master Hanben and then he became much better behaved...’

‘You can stop there, mellyn-nin,’ Nestoril said, amused in spite of herself. ‘Master Merenor and his donkey cart brought me home last evening, and I am most fond of him.’

‘Many people are,’ Legolas said.

‘Including Master Hanben, although he pretends otherwise...’

‘If that is all you came to do, to gossip with me...’

‘It’s not, Ness, it’s really not,’ Legolas said softly. ‘My father’s an idiot – you probably already know that... and you’re fare too good for him, but in case he manages to find some way to redeem himself, I wanted you to know, I wouldn’t mind. I think – I know my mother would not...’

‘It’s very sweet of you, Legolas,’ Nestoril said hurriedly. ‘I don’t know what your father might have been saying, of course, but we have had one of our misunderstandings... you know how we do, sometimes...’

‘Yes, that’s true,’ Legolas said. ‘But...’

‘It is lovely to see you looking so well, and content with each other,’ Nestoril said, getting up to open the door for them, smiling as kind a dismissal as she could muster. ‘But if you have still to scramble into your uniforms and get to the Feasting Hall in time for the daymeal, you will have to hurry.’

‘Will we see you there, Ness?’ Govon asked.

‘Of you go,’ she said, shooing them out, for she really didn’t know the answer to that herself.

But once they had gone, and she had time to think about it, she sighed and rose from her seat, going to her wardrobe to find one of her blue habits and headrails. This time yesterday, all she had hoped was to be allowed to return and serve in her Healers’ Halls; well, that much had been assured her. The disappointment of her heart at the reminder of the king’s ruthlessness (necessary ruthlessness, her conscience amended) would pass soon enough.

She shook out the blue habit and changed into it, putting on her air of gentle authority along with the headrail that hid her hair. Yes. Ness and Thranduil might not be on good terms, but Healer Nestoril and the Elvenking, they could maintain a mutually beneficial working relationship, surely?

Secure behind her working persona, Nestoril left her rooms for a word with her staff before she set off for the Feasting Hall.


	382. 'Do You Remember...?'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril speaks the first name on the Silvan Night of the Names...

Nestoril had approached the Yule Day meal as if it were a challenge, a test of her resolve. Persuading Parvon to allow her to sit near Canadion and his family at the end of the high table, she had hoped to avoid undue attention from the king, and certainly on those few occasions when she dared glance at him, he had not been looking at her. Sombre, he had been cold and dignified at the head of the feast, and she had overheard Glorfindel’s implied suggestion that perhaps his majesty was hungover with a hint of amusement, even if the real reason for it ached guiltily through her heart like a hot knife through butter.

Still, there was so much happiness at her end of the table that she was able to throw off her own heartbreak and sample the joy around her; she could not remember ever having seen Canadion with his father, and to observe the love between them – between Merenor and both his sons, his honour-daughter and his grandchildren – was nothing short of delightful. Added to that his easy affection for Thiriston, and obvious adoration of Master Hanben, Nestoril felt positively cocooned in love.

It was a pity, she thought in a quiet, wistful moment, that she and Thranduil had failed to reach an understanding, but perhaps it was better so; stifle the pain while it was still nascent, before it had time to grow and cause more distress...

The meal had passed in tales of Canadion and Thiriston’s wedding and its miles of bunting, of Merenor and Hanben’s plans for their future, of Melion’s delight in coming home, of another son, Baudh, moving up to the palace shortly to everyone’s satisfaction, and little tales of Canadion helping her healers with their archery practice, and how lovely the new uniforms were on the Dragon Heart Warriors, in case she hadn’t already noticed Commander Govon and their prince in ceremonial kilts...

‘And do I need worry about your interest in this warrior garb?’ Hanben had asked with just a hint of a smile in his voice. ‘Or do I need to change career again, my rascal, and wear a kilt of my own just to stop your eyes from straying...?’

Merenor had laughed.

‘Oh, my beloved Master Hanben, I am sure innovators could wear kilts too, if they chose. Perhaps I could invent you one...? With plenty of pockets, for that long-shafted drive tool of yours?’

‘Perhaps we should include headgear in our innovator’s garb? A set of blinkers, I think, to keep your eyes on your work, my dear rogue...’

Towards the end of the festivities, Nestoril was brought back down to reality with a little bump.

‘What are your plans for the observances tonight, Healer Ness?’ Canadion asked. ‘Because if you are alone...’

‘In fact,’ she said with a smile that was only a little hesitant as she remembered her part in the forthcoming remembrances, ‘I have been invited to speak the first name; it is an honour indeed as I am sure there are many more worthy...’

‘But no, that is a wonderful idea!’ Canadion said. ‘I know you cannot say, of course, but have you decided who, yet?’

She smiled.

‘No, not quite yet. But I think it should be someone important, someone many people will have memories of... it will come to me, I am sure.’

‘We’re having private observances,’ Thiriston said. ‘But we’ll come here and see you start the night off.’

‘Thank you; it is kind. Later, I will remember with my healers; as you know, we open our doors to any who wish to join us, who might otherwise be alone.’

‘Commander Govon and Prince Legolas are doing something similar in the Dragon Heart common room, I hear,’ Canadion offered. ‘And Mistress Merlinith and her fëa-mate in their Friendly Rooms, too... and then, Lord Arveldir, he always oversees a gathering... nobody need be alone tonight.’

*

Nobody need be alone tonight.

As the skies outside faded and blued and softened, and as she prepared for the formal commencement of the Night of the Names, Nestoril wondered of Thranduil, would he be alone? Or would Legolas be with him, for at least part of the night?

Well, it was not her problem. He had a family of his own, which was more than she had, any longer.

A gentle tapping at the door to her sitting room and she rose to see who was visiting. Underhealer Aeglosdes was there, and she smiled.

‘Healer Nestoril, I wondered if you would like me to bear you company to the Feasting Hall, given the circumstances...’

And what circumstances were those, she wondered? For the truth was, while she had said that Aeglosdes acting as in intermediary between the healers and the King’s Office was a good idea that should continue, she had not actually said she was out of temper with his majesty.

But for the moment, she smiled.

‘How very thoughtful of you, Aeglosdes. I am grateful. And afterwards, we will return here, and hold our own observances, yes?’

‘Yes, indeed; I understand Healer Maereth thought the welcome hall a good place; we have no occupied rooms at present, as Calithilon is back with his family, and so none under our care.’

‘That’s good to know.’

‘Of course, but it has raised questions; what do we do, in times of peace, other than mind and teach the elflings of others?’

‘Has that been asked indeed?’ Nestoril raised an eyebrow. Not while she had been in charge, it had not! ‘Well, there used to be training injuries, for one thing; Commander Esgaron used to say if there were no injuries during training, his warriors were not working hard enough! But that aside, I could write a very long list indeed of our duties and the services we provide... in fact, I will do so, tomorrow, so that it can be referred to as needed.’

Reaching the main reception hall, she was surprised to see Arveldir and Erestor at the desk, apparently waiting for her, for they came forward with greetings and welcome-homes for her.

‘Thank you, my friends; do you come to tell me I am relieved of my duty, perchance?’

‘In fact, to say how very much you have been missed and to act as you honour guard, you and Healer Aeglosdes both.’

‘Thank you, Lord Arveldir. And Erestor – this will be your first Night of the Names, I expect?’

‘Indeed, Healer Ness. From all I have gleaned, it is inappropriate to say I am quite looking forward to it, but... I am intrigued.’

‘I hope the observances will bring you only joy, Erestor.’

‘My thanks; your own too, of course.’

‘Shall we?’ Arveldir gestured towards the corridor, holding the door for the healers to pass through first, although he soon took up a station next to Nestoril. ‘I feel I ought to mention... with no apparent cause, it would seem his majesty is out of sorts today...’

‘Indeed?’ 

Nestoril’s heart sank. True, she had noticed Thranduil’s mood at the daymeal, and believed she was the reason behind it, but that his mood was severe enough for Arveldir to remark on it filled her with guilt and remorse...

She took a breath and braced herself, steeling her resolve and pausing outside the Feasting Hall, now laid out in very different order from earlier in the day.

The top table had been replaced by a much smaller one, with only two places at either end where she and Thranduil would sit. Between their chairs, in the centre of the table, an empty place setting was laid.

In the main body of the hall, groups of tables had the same unusual central place setting and while the hall was not full, a significant body of elves were gathering. Around one table, not far from the front, she could see Thiriston and Canadion, Merenor with Hanben standing at his back, arms around him in a very chaste embrace. Legolas and Govon were at another table with some of the Dragon Warriors.

‘I do not quite see the significance...?’ Erestor said softly.

‘I was going to explain, and then came that missive and I was distracted...’ Arveldir said. ‘Simply put, the empty place is set for our honoured dead. The observances begin with an exchange between the Speaker of the First Name and the king. There will be someone here all night, to hear the names and answer the questions, but once the exchange is completed, the private remembrances can begin. I understand Triwathon is sharing his Night of the Names with Lord Glorfindel; I have duty here for an hour or two, but afterwards, if you would join me in my private observances, Erestor, I will explain further. Ah. Healer, Parvon has just signalled his majesty is here. You are prepared?’

‘Yes, indeed.’

Although she still had no idea whose name she would speak. Perhaps one of the warriors who died on the plain, the ellon who sacrificed himself for Prince Iauron, giving him the chance to save Commander Govon? Or one of the others, one whose hand she held as the fëa slipped from the burned and battered body...?

It did not really matter, not to the one remembered. What mattered was that it was important, meaningful...

Thranduil took his place, dressed now in silver and grey, a huge diamond glinting at his throat, a mithril circlet on his brow, himself as icy and cold and sharply faceted as the stone he wore, hard and unyielding, shaped by the pressures of the world but with a fire burning at his heart, just like the stone.

And just like some gemstones could be, he was flawed, damaged, but that did not stop the fire burning in him. It did not make him any the less beautiful, or hard, or enduring.

A sudden sense of clarity caused Ness to lift back her head as she realised something; he was as he was, as he had always been, and she had loved him anyway, balancing the flawed king against the fiery, dangerous fëa she had so long served and admired. And even though she feared the hardness of the reality of rule would taint her, corrupt her, she knew it would not happen, that her own fëa burned bright enough, pure enough to allow her to keep her integrity; Thranduil had not been ashamed of being caught in her rooms, she realised, he had simply panicked, and fled, and his return in majesty had simply been his refuge.

There was one name she could speak, she realised, as she came forward to take her place, one who had not just walked between the two worlds of lover and queen, but who had danced joyfully between them, making each equally valid, and to offer that name now would be her apology to Thranduil, her atonement, her acknowledgement, and open the way for them to communicate, perhaps to try again.

The king reached his place, and Arveldir escorted her forward to her seat. The server poured wine into three glasses, the king’s, the empty glass by the empty plate, and Nestoril’s.

Thranduil stood with folded hands and his head tilted slightly to one side. Nestoril was locked into the mithril blue gaze, finding nothing reflected back, no clue, no hope, no warmth.

_...his sleeves, oh, will nobody tell him about his sleeves, why do not the seamstresses turn up the cuffs, lost, so lost and...?_

Nestoril swallowed and lifted her glass.

‘It is the Night of the Names. We gather once more to remember our beloved dead. My lord king, my gathered friends... do you remember Baralinith?’

Thranduil raised his own glass and to Nestoril’s dismay the side of his face distorted, melted for a fraction of a heartbeat, revealing the damage to his fëa. He stared at her as if she were his mortal enemy, and even as her heart quailed in her breast she realised; he had not seen the analogy, the apology, he had only seen an accusation, a reminder of pain long-struggled with.

But now the name was spoken, she had to continue, had to describe the one whose name she announced for all the hall to hear and hope her words would alleviate the pain she had unwittingly inflicted.

‘Best of friends, mother of princes, royal consort and beloved queen in our hearts, if not in name. Baralinith’s grace and laughter, her easy joy lifted our hearts in the dark days. I say again: Do you remember Baralinith?’

The beautiful ice of his features restored, his voice a glacier, Thranduil answered.

‘Most beloved consort, harbour of my heart, loving mother of my sons, elk-tamer, guardian of the forest and lost too soon, sacrificing herself to save us all, yes, I remember Baralinith.’

The glasses saluted the empty place. Out in the darkness of the feasting hall, the gathered celebrants did the same. Thranduil and Nestoril drank, and then turned to face the hall. Almost in unison, the question asked again:

‘Do you remember Baralinith?’

For a moment, all was silence, as if the intensity of the exchange between Nestoril and the king had been too much. But then, from the side of the hall, a light voice rendered deep with emotion called out.

‘I remember Baralinith. She was my mother, she would wire our braids to resemble antlers so we could get nearer to the herds... I will never forget, my head aching from the wires, sitting under a tree in her arms while one of the white hinds brought its fawn across to her... and I forgot all about the pain, all about how wonderful my father was, and just saw how magical my mother was...’

‘I remember Baralinith,’ Arveldir’s clear tones joined in close on the heels of Legolas’ remark. ‘When I began my duties as a very junior assistant. She patted my shoulder and told me that she could handle King Oropher if I would but make sure his son didn’t make a mess of things...’

‘I remember our queen Baralinith,’ Thiriston’s gruff voice hurled across the hall. ‘Spoke up for me when I got into a bit of bother once. Told me to get married and settle down, it’d be the making of me. Wish she could see she how right she was...’

And one after another joined in with their memories until the hall was loud with the buzz of the name Baralinith...

Shaking, Nestoril set down her glass and looked round to see how Thranduil was taking this outpouring of memory in honour of his lost love.

But he was gone.


	383. Overwhelmed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil's sudden absence is noted...

There was a knocking, an urgent hammering, a selection of voices calling out his name, or his title, or variants of them, startling him up from the dark well that held him trapped.

_‘My king? Sire, are you there?’_

_‘Adar, Adar, open the door...!’_

_‘Thranduil? Adar-in-Honour, are you hurt?’_

Thranduil sat up, a hand going to his aching, throbbing head... His questing fingers came away damply stained with red and he felt nauseous and confused.

Hurt? It would seem so.

He was on the floor in his private chambers, and it looked like a battlefield, a plundered, pillaged ruin. The chairs were overturned, the table near the window lying on its back like a dying creature. Objects had been swept from surfaces to lie, smashed and broken on the stone flags. 

A huge red stain like translucent blood showed where a flagon of Dorwinion had spilled, its crystal decanter lying exsanguinated on the rug nearby. The heavy hangings around the window had been slashed and sliced... what had happened here?

The hammering on the door came again, the voices outside conferred.

_‘It is no use, if he is there, then he does not wish us to intrude...’_

_‘But he could be injured...’_

_‘Or sleeping the sleep of the Dorwinionion...’_

_‘Govon!’_

_‘Sorry, melleth... But this is your father we’re talking about...’_

What...? They were discussing him...? In such terms...?

At his side lay one of his bright twin swords, out of its scabbard, and as he moved a hand to get purchase against the floor in order to rise, he found the cold blade of the other under his fingers. 

Had he been attacked? Here, in his own rooms?

He started up, his blades in hand, taking a defensive stance as he looked around the rooms.

No, not attacked... he, he...

Oh.

*

Nestoril’s misgivings had begun as soon as she had seen Thranduil’s face distort to expose his inner pain. But all around, everyone in the hall was remembering Baralinith, joyful memories for the most part, happy to recall the lady they had loved as their queen in all but name.  
Sitting down again, relieved that her distress was covered by the outpourings of memories from the hall, she turned towards her king, already framing an apology.

But he was gone.

Astonished, her first thought – that he was running away, again, she had to admit was, perhaps, although accurate, a little unfair. Was she going to have to go after him, follow in his wake trailing pleas for forgiveness? 

What if he would not, could not, grant her absolution, not this time, when it mattered?

She clenched her hands together in her lap and tried to stay her sudden trembling. Erestor was coming across and she had to appear calm...

‘Healer Nestoril, that was most beautiful... but you look pale, are you quite well?’

‘I... my thanks, Erestor, I did not realise how eager all our friends would be to remember Baralinith... it has taken me quite unawares...’

Erestor had poured a glass of wine and pushed it towards her, concern in his dark eyes.

‘You should sit quietly for a moment, and then perhaps your friend Aeglosdes will escort you to your halls. Or is there any more I can do for you?’

‘Yes, I... it may be foolish of me, but could you ask Arveldir, as soon as he has a moment, to check on our king? Or perhaps Legolas could go... I...’

‘Lord Arveldir has already noted that his majesty left a little precipitously; do not worry, we will make discreet enquiries.’

‘He should not be alone, Erestor – none should be tonight, it might be too much for the fëa to bear...’

‘Leave the matter with us,’ Erestor had said.

And so she had. She had sipped the wine, watched the two advisors confer with Legolas and Govon, all leaving the hall together with not another word.

It was then that Aeglosdes had joined her.

‘Shall we go back to the halls now, Healer Ness?’

‘Not just yet,’ she replied, although she did not quite know why she was waiting. ‘I would like to stay a little longer.’

*

The knocking on the door of the king’s chamber halted while the persons outside discussed matters.

_‘Nestoril has emergency keys to all the rooms; someone should find her, bring her...’_

_‘I left her in the hall, she seemed a little shaken, she may be there still.’_

_‘I’ll go.’_

_‘Thank you, Commander; please hasten...’_

Nestoril?

For some reason, he did not want to be in the same room as she, not at the moment, and his pain-fogged mind refused to tell him why. All he knew – all he remembered, and that vaguely, was leaving the Feasting Hall in some confusion, and...

And coming back here.

And rearranging the furniture.

Buckling on his sword belt, Thranduil considered his options swiftly. Really, there were only two; stay or go.

He went.

*

Aeglosdes looked up as Commander Govon approached the table and she moved towards Nestoril protectively. Ness patted her hand.

‘Aeglosdes, the commander and I are old friends. What is it, Govon?’

‘I’ve been sent to ask – to beg for the use of your emergency keys; there is a room Arveldir needs to get into at once and...’

Nestoril got to her feet.

‘Aeglosdes, will you go to our halls and ask Healer Maereth to oversee the observances? I will see if I can help Lord Arveldir with his locked room.’

‘If you are certain...’

Nestoril nodded and smiled and set off with Govon, leaving Aeglosdes no choice but to follow her instructions.

‘Sorry to disturb you, Ness, my honour-ada is not opening his door...’

‘Oh, Eru, no!’ It was all her fault, she should not have mentioned Baralinith... Ness fumbled in the pocket of her habit for the bunch of emergency keys and began to isolate the ones for Thranduil’s rooms. ‘Yes, here they are, private study, private living quarters... of course, there are connecting passages between there and the throne room, and the private practice ground’s viewing chamber...’

‘I’m not sure any of us were thinking, Ness, not tonight.’

*

Through the door in his bedchamber that led to the Attack Stairs, the secret way prepared long ago in case of need, up and out went Thranduil, still reeling from his fall and trying to ignore the throb from his head, the confusion of his memory. 

The fresh evening air of the forest revived him somewhat, and almost by themselves his feet struck the path to the Sacred Grove and he followed on, complicit. Yes, that was what he needed, to have his family around him.

After a few moments, he found his balance, and soon the rhythm of his steps restored some order to his confusion. No, it had not been that he could not remember what had happened, he had chosen not to, had run away from the memory just as he had run away from Nestoril and the possibility of discovery this morning... was it really only a few hours ago, had the day really started so well only to disintegrate around him with such rapidity?

It all seemed rather bewildering. One moment he was offering Ness everything, and the next he was left with nothing. During the Yule daymeal, he had glanced across at her and seen how she was coddled and cossetted by Merenor and his family, appearing far less distressed than when he had parted from her... far more content, in fact, than she should have been, surely, if she cared at all for him? And then... then to speak the First Name and of all the names, to choose that one! Yes, Nestoril and Baralinith had been friends, close, even, towards the last. But had they been such friends that Ness thought it acceptable to speak her name? Or was it more, was it an accusation, delivered in perfectly friendly tones so that he alone in the hall knew it for a reprimand?

The grove loomed, its sentinel hollies greeted him and he bowed, the action making his head swim and pain resurface. He gathered his thoughts and tried for a sense of calm as he stepped into the dark peace of the Sacred Grove.

For a moment the soft tranquillity wrapped itself around him like a cloak and he breathed the green stillness into his fëa. The frozen remnants of Baralinith’s soul tree beckoned to him, and he put his arms around, around her, and laid the damaged side of his face against the trunk feeling the roughness of the bark against his skin, the solidity of the tree against his chest.

Last night had been the first time since Baralinith’s death that he had held another in so intimate an embrace, and he needed to remind himself of his first love, needed to know how she felt about his moving on. For despite the understanding between them and, indeed, Baralinith’s exhortations on her death bed, Thranduil could not quite believe he had not betrayed something precious, had not broken his word...

But of course he had not, the rational part of his mind insisted. From the outset, he and Baralinith had only ever been bound by short vows, and although he had never quite understood why she kept insisting, kept refusing to marry him, to be his queen, he had had to accept it as her choice.

And would he have to accept Nestoril’s choice, too? For it had sounded as if she had irrevocably decided against him; had that been her message, hidden in the name Baralinith, that their intimacy had made him adulterous? 

The more he considered the matter, the more the thought returned to anger and outrage him, for, of course, that was why he had been so incensed when Nestoril had spoken Baralinith’s name; that she was accusing him of having been unfaithful.

No. Because he feared that by turning to take Nestoril in his arms, he had betrayed his vows, and he had projected his own guilt onto her, had turned it into an accusation.

He relaxed his embrace on the tree and stood back, his eyes drifting over it.

‘What do you say, Baralinith, beloved harbour of my heart for so many of my years? Have you truly released me from my vows, would you smile to see me and your friend? Or would you be content just not to have to see...? I remember, Baralinith, I remember when first I saw you, how furious you were with me, I had trespassed almost into the Royal Elk-tamers’ lands, where the herds were kept...’

His head was still aching, and so he put his back against Baralinith’s tree and slid down to sit, resting against the trunk.

‘I remember, Baralinith, I remember you laughing at me, you spent so much time laughing at me, and I find that is what I miss the most, having a companion who is unabashed at my side, who knows when I am being excessively formal... like Nestoril, I suppose... except I fear I have lost her... what do you say, Baralinith, you always knew what to say, how can I retrieve our friendship? Or is it already too late?’


	384. Delirious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Legolas and Nestoril seek the king...

When Nestoril and Govon arrived at Thranduil’s door, Erestor was alone outside, wringing his hands.

‘Ah, you are back! Arveldir and Legolas have gone round to the other access points...’

‘Let me see... There.’ Ness turned the key in the lock and stepped back. ‘Well, if you need me, I will...’

‘Oh, no!’ Govon took hold of her arm gently but with determination. ‘What if he’s hurt?’

‘Then I am the last healer he would want tonight, I think!’

Erestor shook his head and turned the handle of the door with a determination to which he felt he had no right.

‘By all the Valar, what happened here?’ he exclaimed as he pushed against something that had fallen against the door. ‘Commander, will you help?’

Through the open doorway Nestoril could see glimpses of the chaos beyond and her hand flew to her mouth in a gasp, pushing past Govon and 

Erestor to insert herself into the room as her resolve to keep out of this crumbled.

‘What about being the last healer he’d want to see?’ Govon asked, following.

‘If he is hurt, I do not care, I must... Thranduil? My king?’

She gave a little cry as she saw the spreading red stain of the spilled Dorwinion, but Govon was there to soothe her.

‘Easy, Ness, it’s only wine.’

‘However, this is not,’ Erestor said, crouching down to examine a damp, red stain on a rug towards the back of the room. ‘How should we read this, Commander? Could someone have broken in and stolen the king away?’

‘No, I doubt it,’ Govon said, putting a consoling arm around Ness, for she had given a little moan at Erestor’s discovery of the bloodstain. ‘His swordbelt and swords are gone, and anyway, how could anyone hope to get away with a captive king in tow? There’s no sign of anyone else having been here, and the only obvious ways out – the door and the window – secured...’

‘But what could have happened?’ Erestor asked, bewildered. 

He picked up the fallen decanter and set it on a shelf, the urge to put things to rights making him want to begin tidying the room. Govon shrugged, leaving Nestoril to sigh and attempt an explanation.

‘Our king has the heart of a warrior; if he sees an enemy, he battles it. On occasion, he struggles with more hidden enemies, a darkness within... his instinct is always to fight it, but, if there is no physical enemy...’

‘I see, I think. His majesty externalises, perhaps?’

‘Perhaps. Although it does worry me that you found blood, Erestor...’

‘What’s that?’ Legolas pushed through an internal door, followed swiftly by Arveldir. ‘Sweet Eru! He’s had one of his moments again...! Where have you put him, Ness, his bed?’

She shook her head slowly. ‘I am sorry, my prince, he is not here.’

‘What? He’s gone?’

‘With his swords,’ Govon said. ‘And at least a minor injury about his person.’

‘Probably he will have lost his footing and tripped,’ Nestoril suggested, having found a glint of red on the edge of a shelf corresponding, near enough, to the stain on the rug. ‘His head connecting with the corner, there, and him falling to the floor here... were it a serious injury, he would still be here, or would not be far away... we did not yet explore any of the other rooms...’

Legolas tapped on the bedroom door and looked in.

‘No, he is not here, and all is in order, too...’

‘We must seek him at once,’ Arveldir said. ‘Where would he go?’

‘You have duties in the Feasting Hall, Arveldir,’ Nestoril said. ‘You and Erestor return there. Legolas, I know it is your first Night of the Names as a couple, but, if you can spare Govon to the barracks’ observances alone, you and I will seek your father...’

‘Yes, of course... but what of your observances, Ness?’

‘I have already spoken the name uppermost in my heart tonight,’ she said. ‘Come, we waste time.’

Having made her suggestions, the healer left Thranduil’s rooms, assuming Legolas would follow and the others would do as she had bid them. 

Sure enough, Legolas was at her side in seconds, his bow slung ready across his back.

‘Where are we going?’

‘The Sacred Grove,’ she said shortly, finding the external doors and striking a path. ‘He will either be there, or with Nelleron, and I think he would want to dampen his ire before visiting the elk. Besides, there is more risk of being seen, at the stables, and I think your father wishes to escape company, rather than seek it. And I rather fear that of all the people he is avoiding, I am at the top of the list...’

‘And that’s why you dragged me along, isn’t it? In case he won’t talk to you?’

‘Well, you’re all the family he has here now,’ Nestoril answered. ‘And although I love... that, is while I care deeply about your father, Legolas, we seem not to be communicating well at present; I would not make worse the distress I have already caused...’

‘You’ve been away,’ Legolas said. ‘You’re out of the habit of each other, that’s all.’

Nestoril sighed. ‘I would it were so simple,’ she said. ‘But there is rather more to it than that, I fear.’

‘Ness, if there’s anything I can do...’

‘It’s kind of you, Legolas, I am grateful. But I think you are perhaps reading more into this than...’

‘Didn’t you just say you love him?’

‘I think my precise words were that I care deeply about him.’

‘I’m fairly sure it’s mutual, you know.’

‘Perhaps not quite at this moment. But listen... do you hear that?’

*

‘So many lost, over the long years, Baralinith, and you were there to laugh me out of my gloom, to show me death is not so bad, not for the one experiencing it, only those left behind, but after Dagorlad, my father and so many, many lost... worse were the accusations, the loss of respect to my father the king, the loss of the heart of the forest with so few elves returning... the loss of laughter, and you, you were my only laughter then...’

Thranduil sighed. His head ached, and when he opened his eyes he was sure he could see a white hind through the trees, staring at him. Closing his eyes against the throbbing pain, he could still see it, approaching to nuzzle at him, to nudge the stone at his neck. He felt its sweet breath against his face, and it felt as if something inside him broke free, somehow, releasing something he had not known was trapped, and he realised that the things most grieved over were the things one had chance to save, but did not try...

‘Ai, Baralinith, mother of my children, are you reunited now with Iauron and Tharmeduil? Have you slapped Iauron yet, scolded him for all his misdemeanours? Still, our little leaf, our Legolas, I am so proud of our son, he loves – he is loved – by a Silvan and has at last found himself... it has happened so quickly, indeed, this time last year I was still worrying about him...’ 

*

Legolas and Nestoril made their obeisance to the sentinel holly trees and entered the grove in silence. Thranduil was limned in light from the moon, his head thrown back, and he was talking – remembering – and the gemstone at his throat burning, spitting fire from its heart. His face was streaked with wetness, his eyes closed.

‘...I miss you, Baralinith, I hope all is well with you... did he find you, that Maia who could not stop looking at you, the day we met? Do you run with Oromë, hunt with him across the woods of Valinor? When the wind blows across our forest, like the horns of the Valar, do you ride our skies for an hour? What should I do, beloved? How make amends?’

Legolas started forward, attempting to pull Nestoril with him, but she held back, shaking her head and retreating into the shadows.

‘...remember you, Baralinith, laughing with Ness when each of our sons was born, laughing as if it were a conspiracy between the pair of you and I irrelevant...’

‘Father? Adar, I remember Naneth – I remember her saying, you should not be alone on the Night of the Names...’ Legolas dropped to the ground near his father, took his hand. 

‘Legolas? Why are you not at your observances?’

‘We were worried, Ada, we found blood...’

‘It is nothing.’ 

‘Let me help you; Father, you need a healer.’

Thranduil opened his eyes and held his son’s gaze.

‘No, Legolas,’ he said. ‘I do not need a healer, I need the Healer; I need Nestoril, but...’

‘I brought her. Ness? Ness, please...’

Determined to be the Healer and not Ness at all costs, she came forward and knelt beside the king.

‘I am her, sire. Let me look at you, where are you hurt?’

He lifted a hand, perhaps to gesture to his heart, but the movement jarred his head and made him wince.

‘Let me see, my king, lean forward a moment...’

With careful fingers she explored Thranduil’s head, soon finding a sticky mass of drying blood in his hair, the contusion beneath.

‘I have been remembering Baralinith, my love, since you asked me, asked us all,’ Thranduil said, his tone half-drunk with tiredness, or concussion. ‘Do you remember Baralinith?’

‘I do indeed, sire, a dear friend. She bade me take care of you for her; it seems I have been remiss in my duties, allowing you to injure yourself... Legolas, will you take this cloth, soak it in water from the spring outside the grove and bring it back to me?’

‘Of course. Is he badly hurt?’

‘Thick-headed, your adar, do not worry.’

‘Well, do you?’ Thranduil insisted. ‘Do you remember her? Do you not also remember that our vows ended with her death?’

‘I do, sire, but more, I remember her humour, her kindness when I arrived, a very junior assistant...’

‘She taught you how to cope with me, didn’t she? In my dark hours?’

‘We spoke of many things, over the years.’

‘Ness, dear Ness, I want... I want your friendship back. I want to unravel this day all the way back to the moment when that knock came to your door this morning, I want to fling it open and demand of Arveldir that he leave us alone unless he has brought breakfast with him, I want...’

Legolas returned and passed Nestoril the cool, wet cloth in silence. She nodded thanks and applied it to the back of Thranduil’s head. He hissed in momentary discomfort.

‘There. You should feel better presently.’

‘Ness, I want... want you to...’

‘I remember you telling me, once, that we cannot always have what we want, Thranduil. I thought you, as king, understood that.’

‘Does not stop the wanting... Baralinith, she would have said...’

‘I know what Baralinith would say, sire. She used to tell me, do not give him what he wants, just make sure he has what he needs.’

‘But, Ness, I need you.’

She swallowed and covered her mouth with her hand for a moment. Thranduil was not watching, but Legolas’ eyes burned into her.

‘What you need is to get back to the palace, sire, and to sleep off this concussion. Legolas, will you help me get your father to his feet?’

‘I need to stay here,’ Thranduil protested. ‘I need...’

‘I need to send to for one of those carriages for the injured I have been hearing so much about, obviously,’ Ness said with a touch of her usual acidity. ‘Come along, on your feet or you will be wheeled like a bushel of firewood to the Healers’ Hall.’

‘To your rooms, Ness?’

‘He is concussed,’ she said over Thranduil’s head, feeling her cheeks grow hot as Legolas grinned at her. ‘Or drunk. Whichever it is, he will regret saying this tomorrow.’

‘I regret not saying it sooner, Ness, dear Ness...’

‘Enough now, Thranduil,’ she said, hauling him up and sliding one arm over her shoulders while Legolas, eyes dancing, supported his father on the other side. ‘Not a word of this, Legolas, or next time Govon is injured training, I will leave him in pain!’

It was too much; even as Legolas bit his lip, the laugh escaped him.

‘Sweet Ness, beloved, beloved Ness...’

Nestoril shook her head, embarrassed, annoyed and relieved all at once.

‘On second thoughts, since he is rambling so, he had better go in his own rooms. Come, it is the Night of the Names, Legolas, let us share it, as we walk... I will start... I remember Tegolon of the Court Guard. In our first skirmish with spiders, he and Hador kept us safe, joking about how my aim was better than theirs. And I remember how peaceful he looked in death.’

‘I remember Tegolon, a fine warrior, he saved Iauron, after a fashion, who saved Govon for me. He gave so much. Maedon, do you remember him, Ness?’

‘Triwathon’s friend? Yes, indeed. Such a cheeky soul, always up to mischief... but a fine shot, and Triwathon was very fond of the scamp... Do you remember Mithanar?’

‘I knew him only a little. One of those career warriors, service was everything to him...’

‘Yes, always so brave, too...’

They continued, determinedly talking of warriors lost and friends gone, Ness resolutely ignoring Thranduil’s attempts to sweet-talk her.

Presently, a shout from ahead, torches. Arveldir might have returned to the observances, but not without first sending out a rescue party. Or, rather, he had sent Masters Hanben and Merenor and a wheeled chair, such as Ness had already heard so much about.

‘Rather than alarm your healers, Nestoril, while they are busy, Lord Arveldir suggested Merenor and I assist,’ Hanben said, inclining his head. ‘I am most experienced with the...’

‘The elf-barrow,’ Merenor put in, to be granted a withering look that only made him grin. ‘Or should that be the king-cart?’

‘The invalid conveyance,’ Hanben corrected. ‘And for some reason, the King’s Office believes my scoundrel Merenor is fit to be trusted...’

‘Well, I am delighted to have your help. Our king is a little concussed...’

‘What would you have me do, Nestoril, sweet Ness...?’ Thranduil asked as Nestoril attempted to help him into the wheeled stretcher.

‘...And delusional, he is delusional,’ she added quickly. ‘Sire, just sit for me here... that is right... Master Hanben, how does one secure...?’

‘Permit me,’ Hanben said, his face giving nothing away of his secret enjoyment of Thranduil’s endearment and Nestoril’s blush. ‘There. And now I will take the handles here, and Master Merenor will go at the front and try not to steer us into the undergrowth.’

‘It is the blow to the head,’ Nestoril insisted. ‘I would not have you think our king inebriated, or... or... lucid, he is quite delirious...’

‘Never fear, we will have him safe and sound before you know it... the Healers’ Halls?’

Thranduil began again to beg Nestoril’s pardon in the most affectionate of terms, and Ness blushed further.

Merenor grinned.

‘Maybe not,’ he said.


	385. Private Observances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thiriston and Canadion share a private Night of the Names together...

When Thiriston had spoken his memory of Baralinith to the hall, Canadion put his arm around him and held him tight for a moment, causing the big elf to look down and smile. Nearby, Merenor was cocooned in Hanben’s arms in a very dignified cuddle, Hanben’s chin on Merenor’s shoulder, both of them facing forwards.

‘That’s it,’ Thiriston said softly a moment later. ‘King’s left. Private observances now?’

‘If you are ready, my thalionen.’

‘Always ready to be alone with you, penneth. And... can I...? Tonight, I’d really like to.’

‘Of course you can. I like it too, especially afterwards...’

Thiriston took hold of Canadion’s hand and together they made their way back home, pausing to knock on Edwenith’s door.

‘Good evening, Captains! Will you be wanting the meal?’

‘Please, Mistress Edwenith,’ Thiriston said. ‘Two servings, three extra settings, please.’

‘It will be with you soon, then.’

‘Thank you,’ Canadion said. ‘What of your observances, have you someone to share with?’

‘I do indeed, thank you for asking. I have been invited to Mistress Merlinith’s Friendly Common Room; it is open to all tonight, whatever their preferences, she has said.’

‘That’s good. May your night be blessed.’

*

In their rooms, Thiriston shut the door and turned to smile at his husband. Although they had shared the Night of the Names before, it had always been at public observances and Thiriston was aware that there were some names he’d not shared with his husband, just as he was pretty sure Canadion had a few of his own to bring out; the last thing he wanted was his husband getting upset in case he got upset about any predecessors he may have had.

‘Looking a little glum there, penneth. Anything you need before we start?’

Canadion turned from where he’d been prodding the banked fire into life, his eyes in the lamplight huge and tragic.

‘I need... there is one name tonight, I...’

Thiriston opened his arms and drew Canadion in. 

‘I love you. Whatever, whoever was part of your life before me, well, I’ve lived a lot longer than you. Doesn’t matter, well, I mean... it doesn’t change that I love you. Just makes me want to care for you as well as I can, so you’re not sad again.’

‘Thiriston, I... if it won’t hurt you...’

‘Well, I want to understand, I know you cared for someone, we did all that stuff when you had me drawing spiders all over you, and the storm, remember?’

Canadion nodded into his neck.

‘So don’t worry, penneth. Did you say something about getting changed, earlier?’

‘Yes, I... do not fear, I will be decent, we will have guests, after all...’

Thiriston chuckled and Canadion slipped out of his arms and went through to the bedroom to find the clothes he knew Thiriston loved him in. The thought that his dead friend would also have liked to see him dressed in his formal kilt made him smile sadly...

He heard the knock at the door, and Edwenith’s voice... that was soon, with the meal... or had he been dallying?

All he wore was his kilt and his armband, removing his braid clasps so they could unravel at their own pace, or at Thiriston’s, and went back in to his husband.

‘That looks beautiful,’ he said, and the table did, indeed, look pretty. Laid for five, two of the places were for him and Thiriston, the others represented the people whose lives they were celebrating tonight. Candles lit the table, and the lamps in the room turned down to focus all the attention on the meal.

‘So do you,’ Thiriston said. ‘Come and sit down. Wine, or beer, or water?’

‘Wine, please.’ Canadion sat down, his husband next to him, the three empty settings opposite. ‘Who will start?’

‘Well, we don’t have to jump right in, you know. Have a drink, some food, then... I suppose the easy way is the recent ones. Remember Tornir and Mithanar?’

‘Yes, I used to shoot against Tornir.’

‘Mithanar, he was almost as ugly as me, they used to say. Served with him a long, long time ago, back when I wasn’t so well behaved... he was a good fellow. Understood me. Anyway, he’s gone now, out of this place, but we’re alive, Canadion, to live and love and celebrate.’

Canadion nodded and sipped at his wine.

‘Duvainor,’ he said abruptly. ‘I remember Duvainor, he was... was... did you know him? Do you remember him?’

‘He was killed in a battle against orcs and spiders, quickly, so he didn’t suffer, but you didn’t know that, you were on duty with him, he’s the one, isn’t he? That’s his name, Duvainor?’

Canadion nodded.

‘He was the most beautiful ellon in the forest. In all of anywhere, I think. But all I know is that he was nice, too, and he was kind to me, and gentle, although he was not always gentle with the others. They were so cross, after we met, he stopped playing with them. Only me.’

‘I don’t blame him, penneth. Beautiful Darkness, his name, yes? What made him beautiful?’

Canadion nodded around a mouthful of food.

‘Everything,’ he said, when he could. ‘He was very tall – as tall as you, almost – and his hair was dark, almost Noldo-dark, but it had that rich dark copper sheen to it, it fell to beneath his waist, so very long it was. His eyes were amazing, greener than beech leaves in the spring and his skin was like milk.’

‘The two of you together would have been a sight to see...’

Canadion smiled and speared some more food.

‘They said we were breathtaking,’ he said. ‘For long enough, I thought people were gathering to watch the archery practice, but the days we didn’t work at the range, there were far fewer... a certain type of ellon, of course, and ellith who didn’t realise... Duvainor laughed about it.’

‘Not sure I met him; I’d have remembered someone as lovely as you... remember a lot of sadness around his death,’ Thiriston said. ‘Whole story didn’t come out, not publicly. Many years after, one night of names, company commander told me. In his cups, didn’t mention you by name. Said Duvainor’s lover had been ill after, almost faded from grief.’

‘So...so you knew? All this time?’

Thiriston shrugged.

‘Not all of it. Your story, happy to wait for you to tell it, penneth.’

‘You are lovely.’

‘Eat your dinner. My turn now. I remember... Ada and Naneth, Orobenenon and Arradis.’ He sighed. ‘Miss them still, miss them so much... I was... what? Bit older than Mírien, I think. Not much more. Can’t remember Ada much, just... he used to sing to me, on his lap on the seat of the wagon, tucked into his cloak although I was almost too big... had a light voice. Nonsense songs, telling where we were going, what we were doing, to simple tunes, just passing the hours. Nana sometimes had sight. She knew... something. Tried to warn everyone, but she and Ada still went. Something about, if they were there, the dragon wouldn’t get everyone and the palace would be warned, but if they weren’t...’

‘It must have been awful,’ Canadion said. ‘I know how I missed my Ada when I was little, and he was only the other side of the forest...’

‘It was, it was awful. Naneth hid me, said they loved me, other stuff, you know. Next day, there’s two other elves, one human left alive, a few horses, enough of a wagon to get us home. They said, dead, burned, I didn’t know... didn’t realise... we got to an inn, watched the spit turning, as you do, then later, someone, one of the men at the inn, complained the meat was burned, and suddenly I understood...’

‘Oh, you poor thing,’ Canadion said, putting an arm around his husband as if he was cuddling that long-ago orphan. ‘What happened to you?’

‘Bronwenith was old enough to look after herself and the business, not old enough to cope with me as well... The other elves took me in as if it was meant to be. Fasdes and Cadudor, lovely people, better to me than I ever deserved... got married, she was a healer, he in trade... when I was old enough to join the guard and seemed to be out of mischief, I told them to sail, be happy, and they did. Hope they’ve got elflings now, of their own.’

Canadion topped up Thiriston’s goblet.

‘Steady on, sweetheart, I’m going to need a steady hand later!’

‘You will be fine.’ Canadion smiled and sipped his own goblet. ‘I remember our lady Baralinith too, of course.’ 

‘Of course you do. Who else would have dared to speak to a second-family-far-cousin about a big rough elf always in trouble? I know you told her about me, got her to help.’

‘She was lovely, the sweetest elleth... well, no, she wasn’t all the time, she could be. But, oh, she had a temper on her if you weren’t careful near her herds! And the swear-words she knew!’

Thiriston grinned, as he was meant to, and allowed Canadion to distract him through the rest of the meal.

There was much more to be said, of course, about their special lost ones, Orobenon who sang and Arradis who saw things, sometimes, and beautiful, kind Duvainor, but they had all night and could afford to say a few words and move on before the pain became too much.

After they had finished eating and had sat at the table for an hour, Thiriston smiled in that special way he had when there was something he really wanted to do.

‘Now?’ he said and Canadion nodded.

‘Now would be wonderful. Where do you want me?’

‘I think, if it won’t muffle your voice, on your stomach near the fire. But you will keep talking, won’t you?’

‘Yes, all right. If I lie on some of the cushions, that should help.’

Thiriston pulled cushions off the settle and Canadion arranged himself on them, snagging his hair out of the way so his entire back was exposed from neck to where his kilt sat low around his waist.

‘Here we are. Starting with pink, looks wonderful against your tawny skin.’

‘And what are you drawing tonight?’

‘Honeysuckle, all down your back, pink and dark red and yellow... well, talk while I draw. I want to know more about Duvainor.’

‘No, you don’t.’

‘Yes, I do. He loved you, and he died, if he hadn’t I don’t think we’d be here now. Don’t think I would be.’

‘How do you know he loved me?’

‘Because you keep not saying it.’

‘Duvainor... I first saw him, in the pool. Yes, the alcove. I hadn’t even realised I liked males then I... just didn’t like any of the ellith I met. And he was so, so beautiful, my body started to do things... he was very sweet when I apologised, said we were there for the same thing, but... well, we weren’t. So he moved out of the alcove and then we went to his rooms and talked. Just talked, at first. Then, after a few times, he showed me what... what it could be like, slowly, over several visits, not rushing me, and he... well. But the thing is, he was sad, too. His special friend had died, and... he said, Duvainor, that beauty isn’t in your hair or your bones or your eyes, it’s in your fëa. And he was right.’

Canadion sighed into the cushions.

‘That’s tickling!’

‘Just filling in. Moving on to gold, now.’

Thiriston shifted position, straddling Canadion’s hips, admiring the contrast of the flowers against his skin. Covered with blooms he would be, by the time Thiriston had finished... he set to work on the yellow elegant petals of the flowers, working from Canadion’s neck down to the ones at his hips, allowing his husband a few moments of silence.

‘You loved him, of course.’

‘Who could not? He was beautiful... you know how people laugh at Glorfindel, banging on about Triwathon’s beautiful fëa? Well, Duvainor was like that, and his inside glory shone out of his face. And he was my first, he taught me... well, amongst other things, he taught me to be careful around ellyn, how to protect myself, not to get cornered.’

‘I think I would have liked this Duvainor...’

‘But you see, I would not have stood a chance, if you’d seen him before you saw me.’

‘Penneth, as I remember, I heard your voice before I ever saw you. And that was enough.’

‘You say such lovely things.’

‘Well, only because they’re about you. Dark red now, hold still...’

‘Tell me more about your naneth Arradis?’ Canadion asked. ‘Was she nice?’

‘She was lovely, penneth. Mind, I don’t know what I would have thought about her when I grew older... I used to wonder sometimes if she’d mind, about me... but, well, not since we paired off. Should have married you sooner, love, sorry.’

‘Well, we’re married now, and perhaps waiting was good, because it was difficult at first, remember? It’s only very lately that ellyn like us have become at all respectable!’

‘May the Valar save us from ever being respectable!’ Thiriston said, causing Canadion to giggle. ‘Careful! You’ll smudge it!’

‘Sorry. So I suppose you were too little to know much about your parents?’

‘Really, yes. I knew they loved me, though. It was hard, growing up, but I’ve had long enough to realise, well, that was the important thing. Green now. Leaves and stems. He was an archer, you say, your Duvainor?’

‘Better with a bow than any other weapon, yes. He was good at open-handed combat too, well, he used to tell me it was just like some of the games he used to play... before me...’

‘He gave everyone up, for you. And you gave everyone up for me.’

‘Really, it was not difficult.’

Silence settled over them while Thiriston concentrated on leaves and stems and finished the honeysuckle’s fine details.

‘There. If you go outside tomorrow, all the bees will wake from their hives just to taste you. Up you get.’

Thiriston helped Canadion to his feet and his penneth slid warm arms around him and held him close.

‘Can I kiss you, Thiriston?’

‘Of course. You don’t need to ask.’

But Thiriston understood; Canadion had been talking about the only other ellon he’d loved, who had loved him, and he didn’t want to taint Thiriston’s mouth with Duvainor’s name. So he kissed him kindly, allowing his love to show through the slow joining of lips and tongues and stroking Canadion’s face with pigment-stained fingers.

‘Do your front now?’ he suggested eventually. ‘Want some more wine?’

‘Wine would be lovely,’ Canadion agreed. ‘And what are you going to draw on my front?’

‘Could I...? Would you mind if I did a dragon?’

Canadion sat on a stool, drinking wine and answering Thiriston’s questions about Duvainor until he felt sure Thiriston knew as much about him as he ever had... well, almost. His husband worked the pigment sticks across his chest and stomach in quick, deft strokes, and soon a coiled dragon, blue and purple and silver, breathing fire, lay across his body. He craned his neck trying to see, and Thiriston laughed and pulled him to his feet.

‘Looking glass, come on.’

In fact, they had two mirrors, angled so that Canadion could see his back and his front clearly reflected. The lamplight cast shadows, but he could still see how beautifully decorated he was, back and front, flowers and dragons.

‘Ai, that is so lovely, melleth! I wish there were some way to keep the image...’

‘No, that’s why I love doing it so much, you can’t keep it. It’s the moment, now, seeing the pictures fall onto your skin, seeing them come away again when I make love to you, spreading between our bodies, smudging all over us...’

Canadion smiled and folded his arms around his husband’s neck, pressing close against him.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘Smudge me. All over.’


	386. Kingwatching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor and Hanben continue to help Nestoril with the king

Arriving at the king’s living quarters to find the sitting room had been hastily cleared and tidied, Nestoril tried to find a polite way to thank Merenor and Hanben and dismiss them, intending to ask Legolas to help her get the king onto his bed.

But the two innovators had other ideas.

‘No, we are glad to assist, Healer Nestoril,’ Hanben said. 

‘But I could not possibly ask it of you – since you are no longer one of my healers, it would be...’

‘You don’t want to be trying to manage him on your own, do you?’ Merenor said with a grin, for Thranduil’s hand was reaching out for Nestoril’s and he was murmuring her name. ‘Not while he’s... delirious...?’

‘It is the Night of the Names, though, and you must surely...’

‘We can have our observances here,’ Hanben said, ‘while we watch our king. The formality of the place setting is not necessary; if speaking the name draws the attention of our lost ones, what else is needed?’

‘It is very kind...’

‘He is our king; it is an honour to help.’

Legolas leaned on the doorframe, grinning as Thranduil achieved his goal and caught Nestoril’s fingers in his grip.

‘You know, Ness, it might be easier if you just give in and let our friends take charge.’

‘Then, thank you, Hanben,’ Ness said, retrieving her hand. ‘Legolas, I am sure it is nothing serious, please, go and be with Govon, he will want to talk about his father, perhaps. We will keep you informed of developments...’

‘If you’re sure, Ness?’

She nodded.

‘I could come back, after our observances.’

‘If you wish, of course. But there is no need.’

Since Thranduil seemed to respond to Nestoril’s voice, Hanben took over talking to the king, explaining calmly what was happening, and behaving as if Ness was not there. She was grateful for the small respite, for Thranduil’s persistent endearments had been both alarming and embarrassing... and were probably simply a by-product of the blow to his head taking him back to a happier frame of mind before their disagreement.

So although she washed and tended the injury to his head, it was Hanben who told the king what had happened, who took off his boots and settled him on his side with pillows at his back and covered him lightly, Hanben who assured him there would be someone present, while Nestoril retreated to the doorway in an agony of anxious embarrassment.

‘Come now, Healer Ness,’ Merenor said softly, taking her arm and leading her out of the bedchamber. ‘Hanben knows what to do, so you leave it to him.’

‘But I must know that Thranduil is settled...’

The innovator led the way to the sofa and sat her down, himself sitting beside her.

‘Well, stay a little while; I wanted a chat with you anyway.’

‘I hope all is well...?’

‘Better than well, these days.’ Merenor smiled. ‘You know, Ness, I never had a chance of love. I was vowed too soon... the first time I did see an ellon I could have fallen for, I had four grown-up children and didn’t want to break my promises... he was beautiful, too; better looking even than our king, there... well. And time passed, and I came here for Canadion’s wedding, and found Hanben, and I realised I had another chance to get it right, that he was the one my fëa had been waiting for...’

‘Indeed, I am very pleased for you both...’

‘But the thing is, why I’m telling you this...’ He took her hands in his, the father in him wanting to reach out and help. ‘No matter how long you’ve lived without love, how used to the lonely you believe you are, there is nothing, nothing to compare with finding someone who will love you, and let you love them back.’

He smiled fondly at the doorway where Master Hanben could be heard patiently explaining to the king that, no, he was not, in fact, his dear Ness and just lie back...

‘My Hanben is wonderful! Not to everyone’s taste, I suppose; they do not all understand his little ways, but I do, or I am coming to, and he is very patient with my foibles, too... my dear girl, you have a chance for happiness. You...’

‘No, I do not,’ she said sadly. ‘To begin, I... and then tonight, I ruined everything, I thought I was apologising and he thought it an accusation... And I do not even know how he feels about me...’

‘Hanben was in love with me for months before he realised it,’ Merenor said, ‘or so I like to believe. But this morning, when Thranduil arrived and threw us out...’

‘I am so sorry about that, I...’

‘No, he was just doing the thing we males do; look, here is food, I can provide for you, let me take care of you...’

She smiled sadly. ‘I hope we have moved on from the time when the ellon provided the food and the elleth cooked it...’

‘He loves you, even I can see it. Ness my girl, he isn’t delirious – I’ve seen enough illness to know delirium when I see it, and he isn’t delusional either. Or drunk. So either you’re saying that because you know he means it and you’re covering up for him in front of me and my beloved in there... which is a little bit pointless, as we saw someone who looked just like the king exiting your window in a hurry this morning, no, shush, don’t worry... or else he’s taking advantage of his bump on the head to tell you all the things he wants to say but is scared to say to you as an equal – and that you’re equally scared to hear.’

‘But... Oh, I do not know where to start with all of that! Why would he be scared of me?’

‘In case you turn him down again, of course. There’s only so much rebuttal we ellyn can take before we need to go away somewhere and cry or kill something.’ He glanced towards the doorway again. ‘I was getting rather near my own limits, I must admit...’  
‘Master Merenor, it is not simple, he is the king, and I...’

‘That doesn’t mean he isn’t an ellon, too, you know. It doesn’t mean he doesn’t care or that he can’t be kind, even if he has to be stern sometimes...’

‘But he is, he is kind!’ she said, stung by this. ‘You do not know him as I do...’

‘Tell me?’

‘He... I was having a terrible day, once. Everything was going wrong, too many injured in my care and he... he brought me flowers. He walked on dreadful wounds in great pain to find some wild flowers, and he put them where I would find them... they lifted my spirits so much...’

‘Well, there you are, then. Now, off you go and have a little think about it. We’ll be fine, we’ll send to you if we need to, but otherwise, you go and put your feet up; you’re still looking a bit peaky, you know, all that rushing around in the forest.’

‘You will call me, if there is any change?’

‘Of course we will. Now, go and find some more names to remember with your healers.’

He walked her to the door and waved her off, turning back to find Hanben in the doorway to the king’s bedroom.

‘You were rather near your limits, indeed?’ he said. ‘Really, I could not tell from your demeanour...’

Merenor smiled.

‘Well, it would have been a shame to worry you.’ He nodded towards the king. ‘How is he?’

‘Resting. I do not think it was a concussion, you know. Just a painful bump at the end of a difficult day.’

‘Come and sit with me. Look, if we pull the end of the settle round, you can see him through the doorway. There, isn’t that better?’

Hanben lowered himself onto the settle and allowed Merenor to put his arm around him, dropping his head to rest on his shoulder with a sigh.

‘Much better, my dear rascal. What is to be done, do you think, about those two?’

‘They are amongst the oldest elves in the forest, if you don’t count Glorfindel...’ Merenor stroked Hanben’s hair. ‘And they can’t sort out a silly little misunderstanding?’

Hanben raised a hand; in the bedroom, Thranduil had stirred as if listening and about to protest. Grinning, Merenor winked.

‘I tell you one thing, though; he picked some wild flowers for her once, really taken with those, she was... I am sure, it is a shame it is Yule and there are few flowers to be found at this season...’

Hanben scowled and shook his head while Merenor gave in to silent laughter, but finally could not prevent himself from smiling.

‘He is not asleep, you rascal,’ he mouthed in a near-silent whisper. ‘His eyes are closed...’

‘I know,’ Merenor retorted, grinning.

He settled himself comfortably against Hanben, cuddling in, happily silent together. Finally, Hanben gave Merenor’s shoulder a little squeeze.

‘There, his eyes have dropped open, the king is sleeping now. And it is the Night of the Names.’

‘The Night of the Names,’ Merenor said. ‘Our first together... I suppose I am fortunate that I do not have that many people to grieve; most of my kin sailed or are still living, somewhere or other. There is one who has been on my mind tonight, though...’

‘One of your conquests from long ago?’ Hanben said, his tone as serious as ever, but his eyes twinkling.

‘Oh, yes, my past is littered with the bones of languished lovers...’ Merenor said, batting his eyelashes. ‘I can count up for you, if you like. But none died for the love of me, nobody faded from grief...’

‘The numbers will not be necessary, my scoundrel! Of course, if you want to tell me about this one who is in your thoughts...’

Merenor sighed.

‘I spoke of him to Ness tonight, but I was thinking of Canadion... we both knew him, you see, and I was thinking, his first Night as a married ellon... well. The elf I want to remember, his name was Duvainor, and he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen... his eyes were that amazing green you get from jewelled leaves, but overwhelmed with heartbreak and grief... his hair dark and with hints of autumn to it, and so very long it brushed the water, an archer’s physique, very tall... I went to wash – only that...’

‘Ah, that alcove, again...!’

‘Yes, and I knew what it was for then, but really, it was the only place I could think of that Cullasbes wouldn’t look for me... I’d decided I’d been away too long, I wasn’t expected home and didn’t want to turn up until I knew one of the boys would be there, too. And there he was, in the alcove, pouring water over himself... I stopped breathing for a moment. He saw me, and smiled, and my mouth was dry and watering at the same time...’

‘Must you?’ Hanben said. 

‘Yes, I must, you will see, but he was nowhere near as lovely as you... well, he came over and asked if I was new in the palace – it was so long since I’d been there, he could be forgiven for not knowing me – and offered his company, very subtly propositioning me and just for a moment my mouth formed the word yes... but then I sighed, and thanked him with regret, explaining I was vowed, and that while my wife would likely not care, still, I had promised the Valar I would be faithful, and so we parted amicably. But his face stayed with me, those eyes, so lovely, so sad, I did have a few regrets.’

Merenor smiled sadly.

‘I saw him once again, perhaps a decade later. I was at home, having almost pushed past Cullasbes to claim a seat at my fireside, hoping for a glimpse of Canadion in his uniform, for I had heard he had joined the guard. Sure enough, in he came, bringing a friend, and it was obvious to me that it was a certain sort of friendship, the love in his eyes... it was Duvainor, and we looked at each other and he stared, while I came forward to speak kindly and try to let him see I was pleased he and Canadion had struck up a friendship. When I heard of his death, I was distressed to say the least, I had half imagined Canadion and he together always... and so I am thinking of beautiful, sad, dead Duvainor tonight, and I hope Thiriston is as kind as I think he will be with my son.’

Silence, but something was different. Merenor moved his arm from Hanben’s waist and turned onto his back, resting his head in his beloved’s lap to look up into his eyes.

‘Your breathing has changed; I’ve distressed you with my memory.’

‘No, I... it is foolish of me, pray disregard...’

‘No, but will you not tell me? It is poor, dead Duvainor, isn’t it, how close I came to breaking my vows because of him?’

Hanben shook his head. 

‘It is... well, I know he is gone, and... but I do not have enchanting green eyes or exquisitely long hair, it is just brown, as my eyes are brown, I am not exotic and bright, I am... I am only brown and what you see in me...’

‘Your eyes are the softest, gentlest brown I have ever seen, so very kind and lovely. And your hair is not just brown, it is mahogany, it shines like properly-cared for wood and every time I stroke it, I feel I am sweeping my hands over the heart of the forest... and if that was not enough, there is the beauty of your mouth, so shy, so prim, so very sweet... but what I see in you is the cleverness, the urge to make and create and improve things for those around you. The generosity of your fëa, that you gave so much of yourself as a healer and now all the things you do to just to be helpful... and your hands, you do have such wonderful hands.’

‘I do not see myself in the same way that you do, obviously.’

‘No, obviously not. But perhaps that is a good thing, for me, at least; it has probably helped you not see when others admired you, and has kept you single all this time. I am blessed by your modesty...’

Hanben’s arms around him, lifting Merenor up to lean against him as he turned, putting Merenor’s back against his chest, holding him there so his beautiful scoundrel was not looking at him.

‘You see, I was in love, once, Merenor. I did not know it, to begin; I thought I simply admired the one who taught me my healing lore, that I respected him for his wisdom and patience, but as time went on I found strange stirrings...’

‘Ah, I knew you must have had some inkling...’

‘It was not like that.’ Hanben sighed, his mouth close to Merenor’s ear. ‘It really was most awkward... his name was Camaechon, and he was several millennia my senior. I was of age, of course, and these strange, stray and wayward feelings were making me uncomfortable. I found them a distraction when I wanted to listen to Camaechon and drink in every word of his tuition, there would be this tightness and... well. He was very wise, and very kind, and did not refer to my awkward crush until after I had finished my training. Then he was just as wise and kind as always. ‘Hanben,’ he said. ‘Do not be offended, but I am a widower, and have only ever liked ellith.’ I looked at him and said, ‘why should I be offended?’ So then he explained, much to my embarrassment, but he tried to make all easy for me. ‘There is no reason why you should not find a nice ellon to be friends with one day,’ he said. The discussion helped, but it made me aware that I loved him, was in love with him, and it was acutely painful for several years. I realised that it would be better for me to live a single life, rather than try to pretend I was... forgive the word, normal, and marry an elleth, even an understanding one; I am not as brave as you, my Merenor.’

‘I feel for you, Hanben. It is never easy to choose how to live. But you are an elf of integrity, I am not surprised such was your choice. Tell me more of Camaechon?’

‘I moved away for more training, more work. We would cross paths every few years and then, suddenly, he was gone. I was not there, I only found out later... spiders, of all things, poor fellow. Multiple stings and bites, he did not have a chance, I heard...’

‘I am sorry – that’s a horrid way to go.’

‘Is it? I would have thought otherwise, instant unconsciousness, little pain after the initial puncture wounds... but any death is a tragedy. He had been very kind to me, but by the time I heard of his death, my hapless crush had transformed into a more mature gratitude, and I found I could think of him with love, yes – but not the embarrassing physical side-effects...’

Merenor smiled, even though he knew Hanben wouldn’t be able to see.

‘And so you lived a lone and a celibate life all these years.’

‘Yes. But I think the fact that I was unmarried reassured those whom I healed; they felt I was not distracted by other priorities. Is there anyone else whose name you would remember tonight?’

‘No, not for me. You?’

‘My parents are still living... I should speak to them about us...’

‘Do they know about you?’ 

‘No... so that will be a delicate conversation... would you permit me to move? I should check on our king.’

Merenor got to his feet to allow Hanben up, stayed standing while he peered intently at Thranduil and was waiting with a hug when he returned.

‘All is well,’ Hanben said, and with Merenor’s arms around him, he relaxed with a sigh. ‘Quite wonderfully well, in fact. And I do not just mean with our king.’


	387. Flowers at the Dark of the Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the king appears much recovered...

Merenor came out of reverie with a start. A small, sharp noise as something clattered on the stone at his feet disturbed him and he saw a little cluster of braid clasps there which he’d not noticed the previous night.

Well, in fairness, there had been other things happening.

Next to him on the settle, head thrown back and mouth open, Hanben was still in reverie and Merenor bent to pick up the braid clasps with silent care.

Plink.

Another landed just short of his hand and he glanced up, following the trajectory back.

Through the still-open door to the king’s bedchamber he could see Thranduil, sitting up and preparing to flick another clasp in his direction. Noting Merenor was watching, he appeared to change his mind, weighing the clasp in his hand prior to throwing it through the door in an arc that may well have ended in Master Hanben’s mouth, had Merenor not slid out a hand to snatch it from the air.

Thranduil tipped his head in salute and beckoned languidly.

‘Good morning my king,’ Merenor said softly, bowing low and offering his handful of collected missiles. ‘These are yours, I think.’ 

‘Just put them anywhere.’

There was a bowl on the nightstand, and Merenor placed the trinkets in it before turning back to the king. Presumably he wanted him for something, but he didn’t seem prepared to say for what just yet.

‘Does the day find you well, sire?’

‘Better than I was last night... I am not quite certain of the order of events... perhaps you can enlighten me?’

‘Well, I would, sire...’ But Merenor quite liked having his head on his shoulders... perhaps Thranduil wasn’t quite that stern, but even so... ‘In fact, I only know part of the events. You had been located in the Sacred Grove suffering from an apparent concussion; Lord Arveldir despatched Master Hanben and I, with a wheeled conveyance, to assist. We found you attended by your son, and one of the healers, and helped you home. Once you had been tended and we were sure you had taken no lasting hurt, the healer returned to her halls – they are always busy on the Night of the Names, you know – and your son to his own observances. Hanben and I stayed.’

‘Might I ask why?’

‘Because it was the Night of the Names.’ Merenor glanced back into the sitting room where his betrothed was still in repose. ‘Hanben offered to attend you in his capacity as a former healer. I didn’t want him being alone.’

‘You did not want... him... to be alone...?’

‘Well, these quiet, shy, types, you never know what their pasts hold, do you?’ Merenor smiled. ‘Now, is there any other way in which I can be of service, my king?’

‘You can send for Arveldir. And I suppose I must have a healer look me over before I can bathe and change?’

‘Sire, if my Hanben will suffice...?’

‘If he is ever going to stir...’

Merenor withdrew, pulling the door after him not for the king’s privacy, but for Hanben’s. He sat beside him and took his hand, stroking his fingers gently.

‘Time to wake, my love,’ he said. ‘You are needed.’

‘...dimples again, and...’ Hanben started awake. ‘Merenor? What is going on?’

‘Perhaps you need a moment to remember...?’

‘Ah. I told you about... about my former mentor.’

‘Yes, and he sounded very understanding, but I meant, really, that the king had an accident, and we were here to make sure he was well through the night?’

‘Yes, yes, now I... why is the door closed?’

Merenor leaned in and kissed his cheek lightly.

‘So I could bid you good morning without making you blush. Our king is awake, he sounds as if he is well, but I am no judge. He wants me to fetch Arveldir.’

‘Let me attend him first, will you? Ai, my neck is stiff...’

‘Would you like me to massage it for you? Take your mind off your neck...?’

‘No, I will be... Merenor! We are in the Royal Chambers, do not say such things!’

But Merenor’s beautiful gold-clad eyes were dancing with mirth.

‘Forgive me! Well, I will stay out here while you look our king over, yes?’

*

Thranduil bore impatiently with Hanben’s careful exploration of his head and submitted to the various tests, answering the questions with some asperity.

‘Yes, I can see your finger, Master Hanben, and the rest of you, also! No, I do not feel dizzy, or nauseous, and there is nothing wrong with me that a bath and a change of clothing will not cure!’

‘Well, my king, you certainly sound more like your usual self today,’ Hanben said with a sniff. 

‘And what exactly do you mean by that...?’

‘Why, that your usual decisiveness is apparent, sire, that you are ready for the day’s business. If you wish to bathe, I will not insist on helping, but I will remain outside your chamber should you need assistance. Meanwhile, I will tell Master Merenor that he can take your message to the King’s Office forthwith. Perhaps I might ask him to procure a light meal for you, as well?’

‘Yes, very well. He may go.’

Hanben bowed and retreated, passing on the message.

‘I will stay here, in case I am required,’ he said. ‘But all seems to be well with his majesty. If you happen to be passing near the Healer’s Hall...’

‘I am sure our friends there will be glad of the news.’ Merenor smiled. ‘I suppose I’d better warn our boys not to expect us at breakfast.’

‘You can still go.’

‘No, I know – I’ll tell them we’ll be late, then we can go together. See you at home, when you are done here?’

‘Very well. Your rooms or mine?’

‘Mine, I think, bathing pool. I will try not to be too long, my love.’

*

Thranduil rose with care from the bed, but he experienced no dizziness. Relieved, rather than immediately making his way immediately to the bathing room, he first explored the contents of one of the several chests against the wall of the room. In one, he found a small box filled with soft paper and, amongst the folds therein, the item he sought; one rather sad-looking dried flower, rejected from his offering to Nestoril all those months ago for lacking in perfection; the stem had not been straight enough, or long enough to please him. But the flowers, he recalled, they had pleased her.

The gold and red petals had dried to dusty browns, the juicy green of the stem was now dark and desiccated, the leaves fragile and crisp. It made him think of death, not of preservation, and so he set it back in its box and put it away once more. No. If Nestoril wanted flowers, he would have to find something a little better than that to impress her...

For he did, he did still want to impress her, he thought, discarding his garments and making his way gingerly down into the water of the pool to sigh with relief at the supporting warmth. Belatedly he realised how they had been misunderstanding each other, seeing offence where none had been intended, constantly on the defensive; it was not that he had been wrong, of course; it was simply that his actions had been chosen in accordance with his understanding of the situations in which they had found themselves, and he had not always had sufficient information to act appropriately...

She had such beautiful hair, and the expression in her clear, grey eyes, so steadfast and calm...

Mostly. Except from the moments when they glittered defiance or anger, and then it was impossible not to at least be impressed...

With a sigh he submerged his head, feeling the sting and throb where the water met the injury on his scalp... how had that happened?

Ah. 

Returning to his rooms, enraged that Nestoril had held up his dead love like an accusation, mortified that his fëa had betrayed him on his face, he had purged himself of his fury in the only way he safely could, in a manic, dangerous dance with his twin swords which had ended with him misjudging his timing and catching his foot on something, unable to stop as the wayward energies of the blades pulled him off-centre, causing him to hit the mantelpiece on his way down to meet the floor rising up... after that, the knocking before he’d had time to set things to rights, and no choice but to flee in order to escape the inevitable questions...

Strands of slow red uncoiled in the currents of the water as the last of the blood was washed clean from his injury, his hair cleansed of its stain and he left the pool, reaching for towels.

His head no longer ached, but he found, to his dismay, his heart still did.

Dressed for the day in soft leggings and a loose shirt with tunic over – there were no formal matters to deal with and he would change again, if he decided to eat in the Feasting Hall tonight, he found Arveldir had arrived with a tray and was making polite and formal conversation with Master Hanben about his forthcoming nuptials. At the sound of the door, they both looked up. Hanben got to his feet and bowed to the king.

‘If you need me no further, sire, I will leave you in peace.’

‘Yes, do so. But hold yourself in readiness; should I feel in need of a healer, you will be summoned.’

Once he had gone, Arveldir bowed.

‘Sire, I am pleased to see you looking so well. We were alarmed when it was discovered that there had been an incident...’

‘An incident. Shall we speak frankly, for once, Arveldir? I lost my temper in a most unbecoming fashion, as is my wont on occasion, and retreated to my rooms to vent my spleen in private... how many were witness to the mess? For I am sure I do not remember the room being quite so ordered when I left them...’

‘Not many, sire, and those who saw are discreet, of course. The prince and his husband, myself and Erestor...’

‘Good.’

‘...and Healer Nestoril; there was silence, sire and we were anxious, particularly when the blood was discovered...’

‘I see.’

‘Commander Govon and I put the room back in order and went on to the observances. Knowing Legolas and Nestoril had gone in the direction of the Sacred Grove, I sent Merenor and Hanben after them, since they are attached to the King’s Office.’

‘And that infernal – what was it –? An elf-barrow?’

‘Ah. The person-barrow, yes. Commander Govon’s suggestion, and he was not grinning when he said it, I assure you.’

‘Very well. Did you bring food?’

‘Sire, I did... I assumed we would have our usual breakfast meeting, although there is not much business today...’ Arveldir busied himself with the tray and the table, pulling out a seat for the king. 

The hangings at the window had not yet been replaced, Thranduil noted as he sat, and they gaped awkwardly, letting in the last blueness of night.

‘And so it is over for another year, the Night of the Names,’ he murmured.

‘There is still time, sire, if you wish to name anyone...’

‘No. No, I am done with talking to and of my dead... I did not mention our fallen warriors, though, the one who saved my son, Tegolon. His comrades and companions, Maedon, Mithanar, Harnor, Tornir... the kingdom regrets their loss and acknowledges their sacrifice.’

‘Sire, they fought well and bravely and although they are missed, they are free now. I understand the observances at the barracks were particularly moving, but all ended with a party in one of – no, in several of the common rooms, so all was well. We lost no-one to grief again this year, sire.’

‘Then you did your job well. Come, eat. And tell me,’ Thranduil said as he began his breakfast. ‘What flowers bloom at the dark of the year? Do you know?’

‘Ivy, sire. One or two hardly, late plants. Winter aconite, if the weather is mild. In a few weeks, snowdrops and celandines... might one ask...?’

‘I will need a list, and probable locations of these flowers, as soon as possible. And, while I think... yes... Canadion’s wedding, there were small elflings handing out fabric flowers, someone must have collected them up...’

‘In fact, yes, to clear the Sacred Grove. The King’s Office had many requests afterwards, from the guests asking for them... I believe there may be a few left...’

‘Bring me one, if you will.’

‘Yes, sire... as to wild flowers, Healer Maereth would probably know...’

‘No, I do not want the healers involved, any of them; this is not to be mentioned, do you hear?’

‘Of course, sire, if that is your wish.’

‘And have we any jewelsmiths in the palace?’

‘Such work is usually handed out externally, sire, but I can enquire... I think Master Hanben has some skill...’

‘Is there no end to Master Hanben’s talents...?’

Arveldir allowed himself a small smile, glad to hear his king back on form.

‘One would have to ask Master Merenor,’ he said. ‘And, personally, I lack the courage to listen to the answer.’


	388. Wedding Blossom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor delivers a message, and Nestoril visits the king...

Merenor was just on his way to speak to Edwenith, Canadion and Thiriston’s corridor housekeeper, when he heard a peal of laughter from an adjacent passage. Swiftly followed by another laugh, deeper and the tone of voice familiar, he could not contain his curiosity and so backtracked a little to glance around the corner.

Gorgeous Glorfindel was heading towards him, his arm around the shoulders of a laughing, lovely ellon who slapped the Balrog-slayer’s chest delightedly. 

‘Laurefindil!’ he exclaimed. ‘Did you really?’

‘Well, only the once,’ Glorfindel replied. 

Feeling his own face lift into a smile, Merenor waved, and waited for them to join him.

‘Well met, my friends!’ he exclaimed. ‘Triwathon, it is a delight to see you so joyous!’

‘I have reason for joy; my golden warrior is returned.’

‘And my thanks, Master Merenor, for telling me he was waiting for me,’ Glorfindel said. ‘We are reunited, as you see. How are you, this wonderful day?’

‘I am joyous also, for I am going to be married. I hope you will both come to the wedding.’

‘Probably delighted to, but right now, we have to hurry away,’ Glorfindel said. ‘I have made my captain here almost late for muster!’

He lifted a hand in a loose wave, and set off, leaving Merenor smiling as their mingled laughter rang out again.

At sight of Merenor, Edwenith smiled and dipped a curtsey.

‘Good day, Master Merenor. If you are seeking your son, he bid me say they would not be at the Feasting Hall this morning; in fact, I sent a message to your rooms...’

‘Ah, I have been wandering around a bit this morning, Mistress Edwenith! In fact, I was coming to tell my boys we had other plans this morning, too, and for them not to wait. I hope your observances went well?’

‘Thank you, yes, it was a solemn night, but a joyous one.’

‘Good day to you, then, my dear.’

He smiled and moved on. Next on his list was a visit to the Healers’ Hall, a bit of a march, really, right across to the quieter wing of the palace.

But it was quiet time, thinking time, and he ran over plans in his mind for the avowing ceremony... Hanben had suggested the open space outside the workshop as an ideal spot, plenty of room, and with trees in the background, and the possibility of using the workshop for a bit of a celebration afterwards. No doubt Canadion would wish to petition the King’s Office to allow them to be married in the Sacred Grove, even though neither of them were nearly important enough for that, but then the penneth was still so full of the wonders of his own wedding, he’d probably suggest swans sculpted out of ice as a centrepiece...

So Merenor was smiling when he walked into the Healer’s Hall, and that made Maereth, on morning duty, smile back.

‘Good day to you, Healer Mae, I hope all is well with you and friends this morning?’

‘Master Merenor! Good morning also, we are quite well, and... we heard your news...’ She lowered her voice and leaned forwards. ‘Congratulations! We all hope you and Healer – that is, Master Hanben, will be very happy together.’

‘Thank you, my dear, that is very sweet of you!’ Merenor smiled. ‘I wonder if Healer Ness is free, just for a few moments? I have a bit of a message for her, you see...’

‘If you will wait a moment, I will enquire.’

She was back presently with a smile and an invitation to go through to Nestoril’s study, where he found the healer sitting at her desk, apparently trying to look as if she was working.

‘Master Merenor, how nice to see you!’

‘My dear Healer Ness, Hanben suggested I drop by as a courtesy to let you know how his patient is this morning. All appears to be well, the injury is much improved, the king is back to his usual mischievous self...’

‘Mischievous?’

‘Indeed. He began the day trying to lob braid clasps all the way from his room, through to where my Hanben was sleeping on the settle. But for my quick reflexes, my poor love would have had a very distracting awakening...’

‘Oh, dear, well, it does sound as if our king is on the mend, at least...’

‘He sent me off to order Arveldir to attend him, amongst other things, so no doubt my beloved will be dismissed presently... Anyway, Hanben thought you’d like to know how things stand. Well, I will not keep you, I can see you are busy...’ He paused, lowered and softened his voice. ‘You will...what we discussed... think about it?’

‘I must admit, I have thought of little else,’ she said, sighing.

‘Well, now, I will say nothing further on the subject,’ he told her. ‘Besides, you’re far too sensible a girl to cut off your nose to spite your face, and much too pretty, too! But should you need a shoulder, my dear, or even two, for my Hanben is surprisingly sympathetic, you know where to find us. Only we can’t make up our minds, so if I’m not at his place, he’s probably at mine. Good day to you, Healer Ness.’

*

Merenor had been gone an hour and still Nestoril shuffled papers and tried to pretend she was working. Finally, she abandoned her desk and left word with Maereth that she was going for a little walk.

‘There has been a small parcel delivered for you... do you want it now?’

‘No, but my thanks; it will be something to look forward to when I return.’

She smiled and left the halls, unwilling to be delayed, for she had decided it would be a good idea to visit Thranduil and see for herself how he was this morning.

At least, it was probably the right thing to do.

For what she had said to Merenor was true; she had thought of very little else but the king since last night, and whatever might happen in the future, there could be nothing, no restoration of the friendship, no successful working relationship, even, unless one of them apologised to the other.

And Nestoril was not too proud to apologise, especially when she knew she had not been in the wrong.

Her path crossed with Lord Arveldir’s not far from the King’s Office, and he paused to greet her.

‘His majesty seems no worse for wear after last evening’s escapade,’ he said. ‘Oh, and by the way – there should be a small package arriving at the Healers Hall for you at some point this morning...’

‘Yes, it had arrived when I left, but I have not looked at it yet; I do not suppose you know from whom it came?’

‘I could not say,’ Arveldir said in the closed way he had when he thought he was being discreet. ‘It passed through the King’s Office, that is all.’

She nodded thanks and passed on to the royal accommodation wing, pausing outside Thranduil’s door for a few moments to check her head-rail was tidy, that her habit was neat, that her expression was neither too serious nor too frivolous before she lifted her chin and reminded herself who she was, and knocked on the door.

‘Yes?’

Well, the king sounded more like himself this morning.

She pushed open the door and found him seated near the window. He wasn’t dressed in his usual kingly manner, and could have been just an ordinary ellon, albeit a startlingly beautiful one. At the sound of the door his head turned, and he tilted his chin as if startled to see her.

‘Ness?’

But she wasn’t there as Ness, didn’t want to be there as Ness; any rebuilding of their friendship could only start once the Healers Hall and the king were on better terms first, and so she dropped a formal curtsey.

‘Good day, your majesty. If you have a moment spare, there is a matter I wish to discuss with you...’

She saw the chiselled chin lift, the recognition in his silvered blue eyes, and she saw a hard shadow grow there, saw the warmth in his eyes become cold, his formal smile brittle and reserved.

‘You may approach, Healer Nestoril,’ he told her, and she knew the hint had been taken, absurdly regretting now the anxiety that had made her determined to start out on a formal footing.

‘Thank you, my lord king.’ He had not offered her a seat, and so she stood, her hands folded in front of her, clasped with a tightness she hoped was not obvious. ‘It has come to my notice... that is, sire, all is not easy between us... I find I need to apologise.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes, indeed.’ She swallowed, tried to find the right words. ‘To begin, the honour accorded me last night, speaking the First Name, I... I thought long and hard, perhaps I overthought my choice and unwittingly caused distress; I meant only to bring forward one whom so many present had known and esteemed and... and loved... but it may be that...that my choice was misinterpreted and may have caused offence for which...’

Silence. Was he really going to make her continue, to explain further? But to delve any deeper would surely just pain them both... she was not strong enough to continue on this topic, but there was another matter, still rankling, no, that was to make it personal and it really could not be personal.... still in need of attention.

‘As for the matter of the interruption to my meeting with Masters Hanben and Merenor yester morning, well, of course, there has long been a tacit understanding that the Healers’ Hall has some measure of autonomy within the palace. But even so, sire, its healers – all its healers – are still subjects of the king and so my time, sire, is yours to command, at every hour of the day, and... and the night, and, in fact, the meeting was in my study, not my private quarters and...’

‘Sweet Eru, Ness, what is this all about?’ Thranduil demanded. ‘You can’t possibly think I would demand admission to your private rooms, that I would... would... at every hour of the day and night, you said? Mine to command? What do you take me for?’

‘In fact, that was not what I meant at all!’ she protested, eyes flashing with sudden indignation. ‘I was suggesting only that, while at the time I objected to your dismissal of my guests, I should have borne in mind that we are all your subjects and so my time is yours, my service, is yours. I had not got as far as imagining you would dare to – or even dream of – and...’

‘Peace, Healer,’ he said abruptly. ‘It seems at present we are doomed to misunderstanding, even when one of us is attempting an apology to the other.’

‘I do not like, sire, that matters are uneasy between the Healers’ Hall and its king.’

‘Neither does your king, Ness.’ Thranduil sighed heavily. ‘I accept your apology for the speaking of a certain name. In fact, I have been assured that many were moved and touched by your suggestion, and so, while perhaps I was not personally amused, it seems the populace were delighted. As to the other matter... yes, I am your king. But had thought I was visiting as a friend. We were friends, were we not?’

‘I would like to think so, sire.’

‘Perhaps, in time...’

Nestoril cleared her throat. Having recovered a little, she now needed to extract herself before her resolve weakened and she found herself apologising for the things that really mattered between them.

‘I am grateful, sire, for your understanding and I hope the Healers’ Hall and the king can return to their former mutual respect. Now, I am certain you must be busy, and so I will not take up any more of your day, sire...’

‘Is there nothing more you wish to say, Healer?’

‘Other than I understand you were slightly injured last night; the attending healer informed me, as a courtesy, but it would be improper of me to enquire when I was not the healer in attendance...’

‘That’s not how I remember it,’ he murmured, but suddenly it was too difficult, too painful to keep her here when she obviously long for escape. ‘Very well. You may go. Good day, Ness.’

‘Good morning, your majesty.’

She was almost trembling as she left and so did not see the defeated set of his shoulders, so eager was she to be gone back to her rooms and time to think...

Hurrying through the palace, she regained her study and her desk and sat quiet for a moment, trying to breathe. All the things she had planned on saying had come out awry, and the king had misheard what she had managed to voice... perhaps she had been wrong to go in as the head of the Healers’ Hall, perhaps she should have tried being just Ness, but that way led to all sorts of confusing and alarming thoughts for which she was not quite ready...

There, on her desk, the package she had been told about, just a little thing, and to distract herself she tugged open the wrapping and pulled out the contents.

Oh.

A single flower, white and ivory and blue layers of fabric stitched carefully together to resemble a lily, very lovely, very simple, perfectly made and slightly grubby and stained slightly green on the edges of several outer petals.

How odd.

But... how nice.

There was no note, no explanation, and...

She remembered, suddenly, Arveldir and his ‘I could not say...’ when she had asked about the package... which, of course meant, he would not say... which could only mean the sender wished to remain anonymous. Either that or Arveldir disapproved, which seemed unlikely...

Had she not been talking about flowers to Merenor just the previous night? Of the time when Thranduil had brought her some wild flowers...

Had he been listening, and sent her this?

Had he perhaps been expecting her visit, thinking she had already seen this little flower?

Had it been intended as a peace offering?

It was very nice, if so, and would last longer than a regular flower, but still... Oh, and she had walked in with ‘your majesty’ on her lips and her most formal manner; it was no wonder he had grown so very coldly distant.

Even then, though, after the apology, he had called her ‘Ness’, it seemed he had tried...

She looked down at the flower, stroked its petals smooth and wondered how would it ever be possible to make any of this right...

A gentle tapping at her door and Captain Canadion’s friendly smile made her look up.

‘Good morning, Healer Ness! I am here to put your healers through their paces at the archery butts, and wondered if you would like to take a turn?’

‘That’s an interesting thought,’ she said with an effort of a smile, twirling the flower before setting it down. ‘Let me just get my bow, and I will be with you.’

As she made to rise, Canadion grinned.

‘I see you have one of my flowers,’ he said, ‘did Mae save it for you?’

‘Your flowers...?’’

‘Oh, you don’t know? From my wedding.’ He perched on the edge of her desk, lifting the fabric bloom with a smile. ‘Our little nieces had baskets of them to hand out to our gathered friends, Mistress Araspen made them for us... I kept one, too, as a reminder, not that I need one, of course.’

‘How lovely!’ she said, not a little taken aback. ‘No, it was left for me, but nobody mentioned...’

‘Of course, now Ada is getting married, too, and it will be wonderful! Do you think he will want flowers, Ness, or just bunting?’

She shook her head, laughing.

‘I think you should ask him,’ she told him. ‘So, where do we meet to shoot?’

‘In the gardens. Shall we see you there?’


	389. Blue Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Master Hanben gets a commission...

Thranduil looked out at the cold green of the day beyond his window and frowned. Surprised as he had been to see Ness, he had nevertheless been pleased, hopeful... until she had spoken so formally, so distantly. 

It was as if they had never touched, never kissed, never... perhaps, had they not, this now would not be so painfully, so difficult...  
However, he was not one to give up, to abandon a campaign part way through simply because his opponent had behaved unexpectedly... of course, Ness was not the enemy here.

Perhaps he was, his own worst antagonist, determined to pursue her, the fleeting happiness they had wrought together, at all costs...

It should not, however, be at the cost of Nestoril’s peace of mind.

Thranduil toyed with the idea of appearing at her door when all else in the palace were sleeping, so that it was just him and Ness and no-one in between to confuse matters... except it had been just the two of them this morning, and it felt that they were further apart than ever...!

He had so hoped the flower would move her, would remind her...

Perhaps it had been a bad place to start, a flower gleaned from a wedding, perhaps she had read into it more than he intended. To his mind, it had been simply: you were missed, we thought of you, I thought of you, I missed you...

Perhaps she did not even know the flower had come from the wedding, though; it could be that she simply did not like it.

The notion of using flowers to win his way back into Nestoril’s good graces was so firmly entrenched in his mind, however, that he could not bear to give it up; there was a rightness to thought, despite the unhelpfulness of the season.

Well, something more enduring, perhaps, more suited to his station, and to hers...

Scribbling a short note, he rang for an attendant.

‘See Master Hanben the innovator gets this immediately. If he is not in his rooms, try those of Master Merenor. Failing that, deliver it to the King’s Office with a word that it is most urgent.’

*

‘At last!’ Hanben said as Merenor secured the door behind him. ‘I have been waiting for you at least an hour...’

‘Well, it’s a long way from the King’s Office to Canadion’s corridor to the Healers’ Hall and back again! I am sorry, late as ususal...’

‘No, no, I am not scolding, of course not! It is merely that I missed you, and... I have news.’

Merenor pulled Hanben up from his seat and hugged him with all of his body.

‘Ah, that’s better! Tell me your news, dear one.’

Hanben’s arms snuggled around him, his lips brushing Merenor’s hair.

‘I have had an invitation to attend the king this afternoon in my capacity as a designer rather than as a healer,’ he said. ‘A note was delivered for me, the king wrote – his own hand – that he wishes to commission a piece of jewellery and he had heard I had some skill!’

‘How wonderful!’ Merenor agreed, keeping to himself the knowledge that this same king had started his day attempting to use poor Hanben’s open mouth as target-practice. ‘You do such lovely work, I am sure he will be pleased with whatever you make.’

‘It is an honour to be asked, and of course, I am delighted. Although I am mostly self-taught, and I have not done much fine work of late...’

‘I am sure you are very skilled, even so. And I am very pleased for you. Now, do you want to bathe, or to eat first?’

‘To bathe, I think. No, I think... I think I would like to... to love, first.’

Merenor raised an eyebrow and grinned, even though he knew Hanben couldn’t see; how very, very daring his sweetheart was getting! He pulled back a little, the motion bringing parts of his body into more interesting contact with his beloved’s and, yes, parts of him were certainly ready for a little loving attention, parts of them both, in fact...

‘What would you like? Are you ready for something new? Or are you content with our current pleasures?’

‘Oh, no, no! I think I need practice before moving on to anything more complicated... perhaps kissing practice is a good place to start?’

‘Kissing you, my beloved Master Hanben, is always a good place to start.’

*

To his surprise, Thranduil’s daymeal was delivered, not by an attendant, but by his son.

‘Hope you don’t mind company, Adar – I wanted to visit earlier, but we got tangled up in a meeting with Rawon, all the Dragon Guard commanders and seconds, and I was only able to escape by claiming my father the king expected my attendance... I abandoned Govon, poor fellow...’

‘And what exactly is going on? Ought I have been told?’

‘Expansion of the Dragon Companies. Rawon took one look at the state of us at muster, though, and said it was to be hoped our enemies never learned our nights of celebration, for many were so hungover they had to prop themselves up against one another...’ Legolas unloaded dishes and plates onto the table. ‘Erthor and Calithilon are going to be in the Black Dragons, they’re delighted, so is Bregon... our ranks are doubling, and that means we need lieutenants to help the seconds... Celeguel for the Greys, of course, she’ll be thrilled, and she deserves it...’

He kept up a flow of chatter about the Dragon Companies as he served food and poured wine, drawing Thranduil’s interest in spite of himself.

‘And that reminds me, Father, there aren’t many ellith in the guard, but Govon thinks we should be encouraging them...’

‘Yes. It is said it is difficult for an elleth to be both a mother and a warrior, and there has been need to guard the population...’

‘It’s not fair, though, is it? Almost as bad as making someone like Govon, or me, marry to increase the population...’

‘When you put it like that, I do take your point. One hopes there has been no coercion of our ellith...’

‘Not officially, no. I think it’s just the naneths, and they’re never going to stop. But, anyway, Govon thought if we welcomed ellith into the Grey Dragons, it might show others that they could be warriors, if they wanted, show the naneths that ellith can be top warriors and hunters, too. That’s not why Celeguel gets the promotion, that’s because she’s good.’

‘I am pleased to hear it. Do not forget we need to do something about the young hunters in the northern villages...’

‘Yes, Adar. We’ll want to get the new Dragons settled in first, to their new rooms and to their companies, and then see.’

‘I suppose this will mean I shall have to preside over another formal dinner...’

‘Uniforms... kilts... warrior paint...’ Legolas grinned. ‘Just the thing to brighten the dark nights.’

‘Speaking of dark nights, Legolas...’ Thranduil paused for a moment to eye his son appraisingly. ‘What exactly happened last night? I seem to remember you were there for at least part of it...’

‘Ah. Yes, you’d had one of your moments and then gone to the sacred grove, you were sat against... against my mother’s silver birch when we found you... we brought you back...’

‘Who brought me, exactly?’

Legolas sighed. ‘Me and Ness. Then Merenor and Hanben joined us. It’s probably just as well you don’t remember...’

‘Why?’ Thranduil asked, neither admitting nor denying Legolas’ assumption of amnesia.

‘Really?’ Legolas grinned. ‘Perhaps I’d best not say...’

‘Legolas...’

‘You kept calling Nestoril names...’

‘Sweet Eru! No wonder she was formal this morning when she came to see me; I thought I had only said...’

‘Oh, nothing rude. Just... endearments. Dear Ness, Sweet Ness, that sort of things. She’s pretty when she blushes, did you know? Even I noticed.’

‘Legolas!’

‘She said... although she pretended she hadn’t... that she loves you.’ 

Legolas got to his feet, helping himself to fruit, cheese and a hunk of bread. 

‘I’ll eat this outside,’ he said. ‘Glad to see you looking better, Adar.’

*

Yes, he remembered the names; he had hoped she would hear what was behind the endearments, would forgive him the liberty... but to hear Legolas say Ness had said she loved him, that was a hope unlooked for...

Except if there were anyone capable of ignoring her emotions for the sake of what she believed to be right, it was Nestoril. 

He understood, of course; how many times had he set his own feelings aside for the kingdom?

Well, it was some consolation. Perhaps not all was lost.

Master Hanben arrived promptly, bowing politely and waiting to be invited to sit.

‘I have heard that at one time you were eager to learn jewellery-making, yes?’

‘In my own, small, way, sire. Nothing dangerous, of course...’

‘No, indeed, of course not. I require a jewel creating, in the shape of a flower, to be worn as a brooch or a cloak clasp or a pin. It should have seven petals and be blue. Can you create such a thing?’

‘I am sure I can, my king; I will draw up some designs... the setting, do you want gold, or silver, or mithril? Is there a particular stone you wish me to use? Or it could be enamelled, there are some wonderful blue hues available...’

‘Sapphires, I had assumed. And mithril. But whatever suits the design; I will have your name passed on to the wardens of the treasury so you may choose freely from the hoard.’

‘Am I designing for you, sire, or for the recipient? If so, is this a person who is ostentatious, or more simple in taste? Sapphires would simply make it look expensive, and a modest person might not approve. There is also the meaning of the stones to be considered; many blue stones are attributed with mystic significance... ’

‘A fair point... no, I plan this to please another, not so that I might look at it and think how magnanimous I might seem... a person of mild bearing, who would not be impressed by apparent expense.’

‘Sire, I will craft you the most exquisite piece in my power. I would like to use lapis lazuli, and turquoise, with perhaps some aquamarine and, yes, a sapphire or two might be effective... I could make a tree, each leaf a different stone...’ 

‘It has to be a flower. Or, if you must, several flowers. It must be delicate, too, and I require it soon.’

‘Sire, I will make some drawings and present them for approval tomorrow, if it pleases.’

‘Do so. And, if I may enquire of you in your capacity of my attending healer for a moment, is there any reason why I may not leave my chambers today? I would like a walk. Alone, preferably.’

‘None at all, sire. In fact, perhaps a little fresh air would do you good. I see no need for an attendant.’

‘Excellent. Hanben, my thanks; you may go. I will look forward to seeing your designs.’

‘Sire, it will be a pleasure to work on them.’

Dismissed, Hanben bowed and headed back to his workshop, running ideas through his mind as he went... Lapis lazuli for the petals, its rich blue hues balanced by a disc of turquoise, into which he would set a central sapphire. Or, better, a boss made up from sapphire chips, mimicking the centre of a daisy except in blue. Leaves in aquamarine, perhaps, softer and lighter in colour, sometimes with a green tint to the crystal they would frame the darker blues nicely.

Of course, Silvan mystics would have a field day if they read the symbolism of the stones; harmony in relationships, protection, friendship, fearlessness and courage, and the only stone the king had asked for by name, the sapphire, would bind all these together in a pledge of new love.

Hanben smiled to himself. He had not asked, of course, but he was willing to guess whom the recipient of the floral jewel would be. And suddenly, he found himself more inspired than ever to make it perfect.


	390. '...at a loose end...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hanben needs to work, and Merenor goes away to stop distracting him...

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ Merenor said, perching his rather fine rump on Hanben’s workshop desk and utterly distracting him from the drawing before him. ‘You’re thinking, how can I tell that pesky rascal to run along and play without hurting his feelings...?’

‘My dear rogue, I...’

‘And in the early days of our acquaintance, you would just have made dismissive gestures with your hands, I do love you, Hanben, but you need to concentrate on this jewel for the king, so stop fluttering your beautiful brown eyes at me and get back to work!’

‘Merenor, I...’

But Merenor leaned forward and kissed him softly on the cheek.

‘I won’t be far away, never fear. I’m going to fuzzle Cullasbes’ ears for a bit, and then I’ll head back to the King’s Office. Don’t work too hard, my love.’

Donkey Cullasbes was glad to see him, enjoyed him fussing over her and saying silly things to her, mostly about how happy he was and how lucky, and how much he loved his Hanben, and how would it look, a donkey-cart as a wedding vehicle, probably (if Canadion had anything to do with it) bedecked with bunting...

‘We should decide who’s coming, at least get a message off to Caraphindir and Baudh... should I invite the former consort Cullasbes, do you think? She might think I was doing it to spite her, and, do you know, I’m not sure if I would be... but then, she did take up with her new friend rather quickly and... I have heard stories, of late, that he’s been around for some years... well, at least I only looked, before we were freed. Although that doesn’t mean I wasn’t tempted, and isn’t there something about thinking about doing something is almost as bad as doing something about the something in question? Or am I being silly again? Yes, it does indeed seem to be a habit with me, dear old girl... I suppose the boys might like to see her... maybe if I wrote a letter with the invitation...? You’re right, it’s probably not worth so much thought. Well, one more kiss, then, dear old thing, and I’ll head back.’

In the King’s Office, he found the large open work area empty, voices – well, a voice – coming from the room Arveldir used as his private office. He recognised Erestor’s clear tones and, of course, Erestor would not talk to himself so there must be someone there...

‘I hear someone now,’ Erestor said. ‘If you will bear with me, I will see whom...’

Merenor prepared his friendly smile as the advisor emerged.

‘I hope it does not disappoint, Master Erestor, but it is just I.’

‘Ah, well. I was hoping for Arveldir...’

‘And who could blame you? I’ve not seen him, I am afraid.’

‘No, he is caught up in other meetings, Parvon too, Feren is... well, I doubt Feren would have the experience I feel may be needed here, and I am come to somewhat of a standstill... in fact, if you have a spare moment, your perspective might be useful...’

‘How interesting! What could it possibly be that Feren can’t help with but I might?’

‘I have two persons who wish to discuss annulment, I have gone through the formal prerequisites and all seems in order but as for anything else, it is entirely outside my experience and I... pardon me, but my own perspective and traditions make it difficult for me to even contemplate...’

‘Ah, but your traditions wouldn’t have you take vows with someone not your fëa-mate! Would you like me to have a little chat with them? I do like meeting people, you know, and I would love to help, if I can...’

‘Master Merenor, if you would do so, I would be most grateful, they are rather shy, l... please, come with me...’

Erestor led the way to the inner office and inclined his head to the elves seated there.

‘Since I am not a Silvan, I thought perhaps Master Merenor would be able to guide you further. He is attached to the King’s Office and, moreover, has experience of the matter which brought you here today. Master Merenor, here are Mornith and Sarmen.’

‘Hello, Mornith and Sarmen! Erestor tells me you have something important on your minds... perhaps I can help...?’

Once Erestor had smiled his tight smile and left the room, closing the door softly, Merenor smiled at the couple, trying his best to seem friendly and helpful, for the two looked rather forlorn. Mornith had nodded a greeting, but now was looking down, and Sarmen looked equally troubled.

‘Maybe I should start by explaining why Master Erestor thought me a fit person to talk to you,’ Merenor began. ‘You see, I have the doubtful honour of being the first ellon in the palace to have my vows annulled. So I have almost a unique perspective...’

Mornith had glanced up in surprise, and although her eyes had dropped again, Merenor took it as a good sign. Sarmen sighed and shook his head slowly.

‘It seems... wrong,’ he said. ‘Against everything we had thought, or been told... but staying as we are seems worse...’

Merenor nodded. There was a document on the desk, partly completed, and he could see that, yes, these two took short vows only, yes, it was their families’ idea, and no, there were no elflings from the union and, yes, it was against the natural inclinations of one of them. That made it simpler, perhaps, but told a tale perhaps more sad than his own had been.

‘I and my lady – I can’t call her wife, of course – we were encouraged to take vows by our parents. Well, mostly hers, if I remember rightly. They said we were unlikely ever to find our fëa-mates on this side of the seas. They said love would grow, and it started to, perhaps, but then something happened and it died. And nothing we could do would make it live again. Ever since our youngest was of age, we have been living apart, she here, in the palace, and I down in the southern villages, working; I think I was back twice, once to see my little one, all grown up, in his warrior uniform, and next, to see him married. When she and I learned we could separate... well, it was strange, at first. It seemed wrong, as you say, and yet, what would be more wrong? To stay as we were, unhappy, unable to change anything? And with temptation all around, for, no, we had not found our fëa-mates in each other, but the forest was full of beautiful, single ellyn... and now you know more about me than you did before,’ he said with a quick wink. ‘So after much thought, well, not that much, true, but with much heart-searching, we decided it was time to let go.’

‘And... did anyone mind?’

‘Well, I had got to the point where I wouldn’t have cared if they had,’ Merenor said. ‘But the ones who suggested we pair up are long gone, and our sons have been wonderfully supportive...’

‘You were able to have children?’

‘Yes, I have four sons,’ he said, not commenting on the fact that he’d already mentioned it in passing. ‘Four wonderful, clever, beautiful, bright boys... ellyn now, all grown, all happy, two married... they have long been a comfort to me.’

‘But... surely, it is said the Valar only bless us with elflings if we ask, and if it is in an act of, forgive me, love?’ Sarmen said.

‘Yes. I will admit, I did not find it easy – meaning no disrespect to the mother of my boys – but it was an act of love, of love for the unborn elflings we hoped to nurture. And, frankly, I understand that childbirth, even for elves, is not pain-free. If she was prepared to endure hours of discomfort, surely I could manage a few minutes...?’

This drew an almost hysterical giggle from Mornith.

‘Oh, your pardon!’ she gasped, ‘but...’

‘No, I am glad to have made you laugh; you are both altogether too solemn, you know, even though this is a serious matter.’

‘I know, I...’ Sarmen glanced at Mornith and sighed. ‘They said we just hadn’t found the right person. And if we hadn’t by now, we never would, so why did we not just accept that and, well, we were friends already, good friends, it didn’t seem much more of a step...’

Merenor winced. ‘In fact, you soon realised it was worse, because with a stranger, you get to understand each other according to the terms of your arrangement, but a friend... ah, you already care about your friend, and know what will hurt or distress, and there are so many more things to go awry...’

‘Knowing what I knew, I couldn’t... it would have... she... so no elflings...’

Sarmen hung his head and Mornith covered his hand with hers for a moment.

‘We are still friends,’ she said firmly. ‘After nearly two centuries vowed. But everything around us is become bitter and harsh and I do not know how long before one of us says something to damage the other’s fëa, and...’

Merenor nodded, seeing suddenly very clearly to the heart of the matter sat in front of him; it wasn’t one tragedy, it was two. Or, if you counted the elfling hoped-for but not made fact, three.

He reached across and took their hands, because he didn’t want what he said next to sound wrong, to seem anything but kind.

‘They say it is easier to pretend, if you are an elleth. That you can quite successfully conceive even if you do not love or like or want the other person. But to me, that sounds barbaric, it seems as if that would make every time little less than a violation. So to refrain, Sarmen, is in itself an act of love and, Mornith, no doubt you have suffered – both have suffered if your families have not seen elflings appear... I am sure, if things had been a little different, you would have been perfect together. But we are as the Valar made us, and as it is, if you separate now, you can still be perfect friends, you can save that, salvage the respect and affection you hold for each other...’

Mornith burst into tears and Merenor let go of their hands so Sarmen could comfort her.

‘You are right, you are exactly right,’ he said over her shoulder. ‘We said it was me, of course, what else? But it has been so hard...’

‘I will say that annulling one’s vows is hard, too. Even though we heartily despised each other, at the end, still there was sadness and regret. But you are younger than we. You have so much to look forward to, if you let yourselves be free of the vows that bind you. She – mother of my sons – she has a new friend now, and I am going to be married in just a few weeks. I found my fëa-mate, after all, and he has been worth waiting for... so, what I think would be wise, and sensible, will be for you to go away and have a chat about this, think about its meaning for you, not your families, not those who thought you would make a nice couple, for you. Your families made their own choices, they have no right to dictate yours.’

They separated and sat back up, Mornith wiping her eyes, Sarmen’s arm around her shoulder.

‘To have managed to stay friends, that is lovely. So, if you happen to want a night out, I understand that Mistress Merlinith and her friend Araspen have what they call a Friendly Room, it’s one of the common rooms where they host social evenings, after the supper. Go along, meet some people, make new friends, other friends... Originally, the Friendly Room was going to be for people like us, who found it difficult to meet others with similar requirements. But, typical Merlinith, she said, nonsense, everyone finds it difficult to meet people, whatever their tastes, and so they welcome all elves.’

Really, there was no more to say. He got to his feet, coming round to put an arm around each of their shoulders and walk them to the door.

‘When you’re happy in your own minds, come back to the office and we’ll sort out the next step, is that all right?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ Sarmen said.

‘You’ve been kind,’ Mornith said. ‘So kind...’

‘Well, it’s a hard thing to consider.. Anything to make it gentler, I’m glad to help.’

He went with them to the main doors and waved them off, returning to find Erestor waiting.

‘I am truly grateful, Master Merenorr, they had been there for a very long while and I had no notion how to help... perhaps you could write notes for future enquiries? Or... or perhaps we could impose on your good nature and suggest you be the formal assistant in charge of matters pertaining to annulments...?’

Merenor smiled, and shrugged, and sighed.

‘How can I possibly refuse?’ he said. ‘Good-natured ellon that I am...? And to think I only wandered in here because I was at a loose end while Hanben is busy...’


	391. Winter Aconite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil goes looking for flowers, and there is a letter from Elrond...

It took Thranduil three days before he found what he was seeking. Three days of casual walks in the gardens, announcing his intention to connect with the near reaches of the forest and refusing all company for these small expeditions as he rode out on Nelleron, stopping along the way in likely spots.

Now, however, in the late light of afternoon, he crouched down beside a fallen bough which seemed to point the way, and sent up a prayer of thanks and wonder to the Lady Yavanna for her bounty as he stared at the tiny jewel of a flower shining in the undergrowth.

Like a drop of fallen sunshine, six glossy yellow petals around an equally bright yellow centre, the flower framed by a ruff of narrow green leaves. As he stared, he saw it was part of a community, a cluster of plants although this was the first brave enough to unfurl into flower.

The bloom lifted its head just a finger’s breadth or two above the ground, and even as he reached to pluck it, he hesitated.  
It was the first in flower of many to come; a healthy population of plants, and one would not harm... yet he could not quite bring himself to sever the bloom from its parent plant.

But it was exactly what he was looking for, it was perfect...

With a sigh he sat back on his haunches and thought for a moment before taking out a utility knife from his belt and stripping off a hand’s breadth of bark from the fallen branch. It curved in a natural echo of the shape of the wood beneath, and with the help of a few leaves, he managed to turn it into a vessel. Carefully excavating the flower, roots and all, he transferred it to the bark container, packing the bottom of the opening with leaves and filling in around with soil.

Satisfied, he patted over the mess he’d made in the forest floor, sent up another grateful prayer to Lady Yavanna, and rose to his feet.

Nelleron browsed nearby, and bumped the king with his nose in greeting.

‘Well, mellon nin, I am ready to return. How is that head of yours?’

The sites where Nelleron had shed his antlers was healed now, little hard bumps under the callouses indicating the promise of new growth to come. Thranduil scratched the elk’s neck and swung onto his back.

‘You will be budding in no time, my friend. Come, let us head home.’

As he rode, Thranduil considered the forwarding of his plan to win Nestoril over with floral tributes. He could have wished to be making these sorties in better season when there was more choice, but perhaps, in a way, it was to his advantage; she, a healer, would know how difficult it could be to find blooms in the dark of the year, would recognise the effort put in.

There was the planned brooch, of course. In his mind’s eye, it had started out as a cluster of sapphires, glinting and sparkling blue, but the drawings he had seen from Hanben had suggested an altogether more modest gem, a mixture of semi-precious stones, to be polished and set, with just a sprinkling of sapphire fragments as a centrepiece, and leaves formed from lighter blue stones. The design he had settled on, too, was the smallest and most delicate, more fitting for a pin than a brooch, and while a part of him thought it not grand enough, not worthy enough of Nestoril’s beauty, something in his fëa had said that, no, it was right for her, just a small token, a trinket, nothing too... too loud. Of course, you would not be able to tell from looking at it if it had come from a king or a market stall, but perhaps, that, too, would be for the good.

Hanben promised him the piece in ten days, perhaps less, depending on his other duties, which seemed a long time to wait for something so simple... but then, the innovator perhaps did not have all the resources at his disposal that a trained jeweller might... and, to be fair, with an avowal ceremony to plan and prepare for, as well as his other work, it was not unreasonable to expect to wait a few days...

Of course, it might just be that Hanben feared making mistakes, and so had built in time to correct any errors...

Hence the trips into the forest to find flowers of any sort for the interim... in an ideal world, he would have sent Nestoril a flower every day, if he could.

*

Returning to his rooms after seeing Nelleron settled, Thranduil found a letter awaiting him. It bore the seal of Rivendell imprinted in the wax across its folds, and was accompanied by a small note from Arveldir:

‘This arrived by courier an hour after you had left, sire. Should you need to discuss the contents, I am, of course, at your convenience, my king. There were missives, too, for Lord Glorfindel and for Master Erestor...’

By courier? So Elrond had something to say, too much to fit on a messenger hawk? Carrying the message inside, Thranduil seated himself absently and broke the seal.

Scanning the letter, he could not prevent a sigh of exasperation. Elrond thanked him for sending home his daughter, eventually. The Lord of Imladris went on to say that he assumed Glorfindel had ridden to the Greenwood instead of accompanying Arwen in order to escort Erestor back to Rivendell, and that he was eager for his advisor to return forthwith...

Reaching for writing implements, he scratched out a swift message: the king of the Greenwood, Thranduil Oropherion thanked Elrond of Imladris for his message but what Erestor and Glorfindel did with their lives was no concern of his. Both had served the forest well, and were welcome to stay for as long as they wanted to do so.

That done, he carried the message, and his reply, through the palace to the King’s Office, where he found Master Merenor at one of the desks, apparently writing letters and sole occupant of the space. It was an oddly peaceful scene, compared to the background noise. Someone, out of sight behind one of the doors, was shouting, growing rapidly hysterical from the sound of it, and other voices joined in, trying to soothe.

On seeing the king, Merenor rose and bowed as if there was nothing untoward going on.

‘Good afternoon, your majesty,’ he said politely. ‘How may the King’s Office – your own office, indeed – assist you today?’

‘I want to give Arveldir... what in the name of all the Valar is going on in there...?’

‘Ah. Lord Glorfindel has had a message from Imladris. It’s fair to say he is not delighted with news from his old home...’

Thranduil looked towards the door behind which there was shouting.

‘Arveldir’s office?’

‘The back study, sire, the one you reach through Arveldir’s office, I think, to stop the voices carrying...’

‘It is not working.’ Thranduil strode across, knocked on the door to announce himself, and marched in across the empty space to the inner door, knocking again and throwing it open to stride in.

Glorfindel broke off mid-rant. On a chair in the corner, Erestor was visibly drooping, but attempting to keep his dignity. Arveldir and Parvon had been engaged in trying to calm the irate seneschal.

‘Arveldir, will you look this over?’ Thranduil held out his planned reply for Elrond. ‘And tell me if you think it likely to cause a diplomatic incident?’

‘I...’

‘I can word it more strongly, if appropriate... Did I bring with me...? Ah, yes, here it is... I received this... and as I have you here, Glorfindel, and you also, Erestor, I wish to assure you that should you choose to decline Lord Elrond’s most charmingly-worded invitation to return to Imladris, you are both welcome to remain in our household. You have both served us well. Arveldir, we will discuss this at the morning meeting, perhaps; it will give you time to consult with Glorfindel and Erestor, and I, meanwhile, have other matters on hand.’

*

Merenor had listened with interest to the cessation of Glorfindel’s rage. When Thranduil left, he gave every appearance of being engrossed in his work, remembering just in time to rise and bow to his king before returning to his task in hand; invitations for the wedding.

Letters for Caraphindir and for Baudh had already gone by yesterday’s messenger, and another week would pass before the courier returned with word from the villages south. There would usually be a day or two while the new letters were read and replies made before another courier would make the run again. So there was no hurry, as far as Merenor was concerned, but it gave him something almost official to be doing while the other members of the King’s Office were busy elsewhere.

At present, he was rather enjoying himself.

Having talked the matter over with Hanben, Merenor had decided it would be best to invite Cullasbes after all, and it was a letter to go with the invitation he was now writing...

‘It will not be so elaborate an event as our Canadion’s,’ he said. ‘But that is as it should be, I suppose. Do not think me acting hastily; but you know how it is with us, when it is right, it is very right, and Hanben is the one my fëa was waiting for... to be fair, he wasn’t even a twinkle in his parents’ eye when you and I were vowed, so how could he and I have found each other out...? I know you have found solace, too, and if I get married first, people will think you are the badly-done to one and rail about how much poor Mistress Cullasbes must have had to put up with... ah, well...’

He broke off and a smile began to grow, turned into a grin as he found the perfect way to end the message.

‘...besides, it should stem some of the gossip about you and Ravomen having been secretly involved for decades, if I am thought to be in haste to marry and you take your time...’

There! She will be dying to know, of course, what exactly had been said, who was doing the talking, and to whom... and she wouldn’t be able to tell, from his tone, whether he minded or not... and, if she had been planning on marrying, now she would have to wait to make it look proper in her eyes...

Merenor folded the letter up and sealed it with a happy smile. Hanben should be finished in his workshop, soon, time for an easy hour or two at home before joining some of the family in the Feasting Hall. 

‘Master Merenor? Are you busy?’

Merenor turned in his seat to acknowledge Arveldir.

‘No, I am merely minding the shop, so to speak. Do you need me?’

‘I may do, in future... may I just check, you are willing to speak with any visitors to the office who might wish for advice on annulment of short vows?’

‘Yes, of course, if my assistance if of use...’

‘Thank you; it is possible there may be more such couples, once the word begins to spread. I am... it may be that Master Erestor may be leaving us soon...’

‘Oh? I am sorry to hear that,’ Merenor said, although, of course, he had not been able to help hearing the gist of Glorfindel’s ire – that Elrond had sent a message ordering him to escort Erestor home at once... ‘He seems so much a part of the King’s Office, besides being so very eye-catching....’

Arveldir sniffed, amused in spite of himself. ‘I thought your eye had been caught by Master Hanben?’

‘And my heart, and my fëa. It does not stop Erestor from being very handsome, however, you are a lucky ellon, Arveldir, almost as lucky as I...’

‘Thank you – I think... my point being that he has been so very efficient we may be hard pressed to manage without him at first. To know you would be willing to take on more formal responsibilities...’

‘That you would trust me with such matters is in itself an honour. I will do all I can, of course.’

‘Good. Would you start, then, by fetching Captain Triwathon? I think Lord Glorfindel needs a word.’

*

There was an hour between the end of the afternoon and the start of the evening when the healers gathered to take tea together in a quiet room just off the main reception hall. This hour was, for Thranduil, the perfect opportunity, and he placed the carefully-wrapped winter aconite in a blue bowl before slinging on his cloak and setting off through the grounds around the palace until he came to the hedge which marked the edge of the Healers’ Hall gardens. Just through, and along, he knew which windows belonged to Nestoril’s rooms, and, careful to ensure nobody was anywhere in the vicinity, he knelt before her private sitting room and set the bowl down on the outer sill. The bright blue of the ceramic pot, the glowing yellow of the flower framed by its bright green ruff, would be enough to catch her eye when she entered or, if not at first, when she went to draw across the curtains. And the little plant would be happy, there, in the air of its natural environment, it would be safe for days, if it were to go unnoticed.

But he did not think that it would.

Satisfied that he now had at least a day or two to find another floral tribute, Thranduil returned to his rooms with the glimmer of a smile on his face.


	392. Ignoring Elrond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Triwathon gets Glorfindel talking about Elrond's summons...

‘It is simple,’ Triwathon said. ‘Do not go. Unless you want to, and then go. But do not feel you must.’

Glorfindel stared at the young fire growing in Triwathon’s hearth. The flames were not clear-cut, crisp, but the edges blurred and ran together... it was probably the smoke, making his eyes water.

A glass of spirits was pressed into his hand, fingers smoothed a strand of hair into place behind his ear.

‘It’s a horrid letter. I want to go just so I can yell at him, say, how dare you write such orders, telling me to bring Erestor back like an escaped captive... it insults both Erestor and me. And I don’t want to go. I want to stay here. With you.’

‘Our king has said you can. I would be happy for you to do so.’

‘Erestor doesn’t deserve this!’

‘No, nor do you.’ Triwathon stood behind Glorfindel’s seat and dropped his hands onto the broad shoulders, thumbs circling, kneading the tight muscles in soothing fashion. ‘I do not know how things are in Imladris, but it seems to me that neither of you are valued as you should be. But here, Erestor is much appreciated by our king and greatly loved by Arveldir. And you are feted by everyone, you are honoured for bringing Nestoril home safely, and your worth to me is inexpressible.’

‘Is it, is it really?’

‘Well... I do not have the words, Laurefindil-nin, but I am willing to try...’

‘Or to show me, perhaps?’

‘Perhaps. If you are not too distressed, still?’

‘You know, it might be that if I had one of those special cuddles of yours, it might help me feel less distressed... and we could move on from there...?’

Glorfindel’s tone was more hopeful now, at least. When Triwathon had been called by a very non-committal Merenor to the King’s Office, and had seen the rage and sorrow in his golden warrior’s eyes, it had been a very different story, and all he could do not to take the Balrog-slayer in his arms there and then to console him. But Parvon had been present, and Erestor and Arveldir, and they didn’t look much happier.

Bringing Glorfindel away, shutting the world out and sitting him down with a drink, that had been the easy part. Now Triwathon had the feeling that his glorious iphant would try to pretend it was all right, to bury himself in lovemaking without facing the reality of the summons back to Imladris.

And, really, what could Triwathon do if he wanted to go? He had always expected Glorfindel would return, he was too loyal, too honourable to let Elrond down, however appallingly the peredhel treated him. Ignoring Elrond was all very well, but for one who had been Seneschal of Imladris for centuries, those duties and responsibilities would be far harder to ignore.

But for the moment, Glorfindel needed comfort, affection, protection from the looming future, and Triwathon knew all about that.

He finished the gentle shoulder-massage and drifted his hands through Glorfindel’s hair, gathering the bright tresses together and smoothing them.

‘Your hair is like the warm sunshine that bathes an autumn forest,’ he said. ‘So beautiful. Come, spread your rays of sunlight across my skin, Glorfindel. Let me bask in your warmth.’

Glorfindel tilted his head back to hold Triwathon’s gaze, the too-blue eyes brimming with unshed tears.

‘Just feeling a bit fragile today, my beautiful fëa’d friend,’ he said. ‘Might be sunshine and showers, I’m afraid.’

‘I’m not,’ Triwathon said. ‘Not afraid, that is. Each moment with you is to be savoured and treasured, the sad along with the sweet. So come, let me hold you, let us share the moment.’

He stroked Glorfindel’s cheek and smiled at him before heading off towards the bedroom, knowing Glorfindel hated becoming over-emotional, that he would follow when he was ready.

Undressing swiftly, he slid into bed on the side Glorfindel preferred, warming the sheets so that when his golden-haired lover joined him, there would be no cold bedding to chill his skin.

It wasn’t long before he heard the soft noise of Glorfindel’s breathing, and slid across to his own side of the bed.

‘You really are very kind,’ Glorfindel said, his voice more normal now. He hurried out of his clothes and got in, turning to put his arm around Triwathon and kiss him. ‘Kinder than I deserve.’

‘But nobody gets what they truly deserve, Lauretindil. So we will have to accept bounties beyond our measure and, occasionally, misfortunes undeserved as balance for the good...’ He paused as Glorfindel’s hand travelled down, seeking, questing, finding, and smiled. ‘I thought you wanted a cuddle first?’

Glorfindel gave a little groan. ‘I want everything first!’

Laughing, Triwathon pushed him onto his side, facing forwards, keeping his touch affectionate and loving. He took the tip of Glorfindel’s ear between his teeth, holding the sensitive flesh there while his tongue danced across and around the skin. This elicited another groan, more needy now, and he released his hold to kiss softly down the ear to the sensitive skin just behind, close to Glorfindel’s hairline before spooning in around the strong body, fitting himself to contours of back and legs, sliding his knee over Glorfindel’s thigh and his arm around his waist.

‘There. Now you can feel comfortable while you talk.’

Safe, he meant. But the idea of the Balrog-slayer feeling unsafe was so alarming that Triwathon didn’t voice it outright.

‘I don’t know what there is to talk about. I’m not going back. So there. End of discussion.’

‘There is always a place for you here, in my rooms, in my heart, hir-nin, iphant nin.’

But although it was the end of the discussion, Glorfindel found something more to say.

‘Besides, if I stay here, who would dare try to drag Erestor back to serve in that dungeon of a library? No, I’m doing us both a favour by ignoring Elrond. All, doing us all a favour, really. Do Elrond good to have to think for himself, get used to running his own guard company... he was a warrior, once, he can do it again...’

Triwathon placed the softest of kisses on Glorfindel’s shoulder.

‘And he didn’t even say, how are you Glorfindel, thank you for not letting my daughter follow that... follow her prince to Valinor, Glorfindel, thank you for sending her home, Glorfindel, nothing about, sorry if I didn’t live up to your expectations, sorry I was an unfeeling bastard...’

‘Glorfindel!’ Triwathon protested.

‘Sorry. But he is, sometimes, he’s a right... well. Just demands. As if nothing had happened.’

‘Perhaps, rather, it feels as if too much has happened. Perhaps if he once looks at himself and admits to one fault, he will see no end to his failings, he will feel the need to keep apologising and begging forgiveness forever. Our king – not that my king is ever wrong... but our king, we see, sometimes, when he wishes things had been otherwise. But it is not his fault, and so he cannot apologise. If he did, if he ever doubted himself, perhaps some of his shyer subjects would doubt him... it might be similar with Elrond Peredhel. Of course, he is not a king, surely it doesn’t matter as much... but there. He has human blood, and who can say what that does to a heart?’

Glorfindel rolled onto his back and pulled Triwathon on top of him.

‘You know, my beautiful one, that sort of makes sense. The things in the past that I’ve seen... been part of... sometimes, the guilt... even if undeserved, it can bite at you like wargs, you know... Even so, there was no call for him to be so harsh.’

‘I quite agree,’ Triwathon said. 

‘Did you know Thranduil showed us his reply to Elrond’s letter to him? Basically told him to go f... that we were welcome to stay and what we did was up to us... offered to add menaces to it, too. And when Erestor said, but the messenger will be expecting not to go back without us, Thranduil said, Arveldir, you’d better have the chap given basic safety training, then. And ask if he likes trees...’

‘We are so fortunate to have such an understanding king caring for us here,’ Triwathon said, allowing his hips to wriggle just a little bit, for Glorfindel was out of the gloom now, was turning towards more positive thoughts, and the twitch and stir beneath him confirmed that his Lauretindil’s mind was moving on.

‘What I will do, I think,’ the golden hero said, ‘is ignore this letter, and let Thranduil’s reply do its work. If Elrond then writes back in a more considerate tone, well, we’ll see. But there are better things to think about, and better things to be doing with your unexpected afternoon off.’ He smiled as Triwathon began to circle his hips in a way Glorfindel was coming to know and love. ‘Much better things...’


	393. Blue Flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which another message arrives from Imladris, and Nestoril receives a parcel...

Nestoril was on duty at the main desk one morning when Lord Arveldir presented himself and bowed to her politely.

‘Healer Nestoril, you are settled in once more, I trust?

She smiled and nodded.

‘Indeed, home ten days already, who would have thought it? Is this an official visit, Arveldir, are you quite well, or...?’

‘I have an invitation for you to dine at the top table this evening.’

‘Oh... Arveldir, I do not think...’

‘The invitation comes from Prince Legolas, in his capacity of Argallor to the Dragon Companies. Today sees the expansion of the Dragons to double their numbers, and as your former escort Erthor and Calithilon will be honoured – in fact, they have been given promotions to Captain under Commander Bregon and Captain Triwathon – and our prince thought you would like to be present. But if you are busy, if you are not able...’

‘No, no, that will be fine, Arveldir, I... yes, I think I can leave my halls for one night, for Erthor and Calithilon.’ She smiled warmly, remembering. ‘They were most solicitous for my well-being on our journey home, especially before the spiders attacked. After that, it was a little busy. Please tell our prince I will be there.'

‘Thank you, Nestoril. You have been missed in the Feasting Hall...’

Before he could continue she glanced towards the windows where, outside, the gardens were made rounded and unfamiliar by snow.

‘Indeed, but the weather being so severe, suddenly, there have been several incidents with ice and so I have had had real, actual work... it is strange, is it not, how I measure my success for how little work I have to do? There have been one or two training injuries, too...’

‘Presumably from those hoping to impress and secure promotions to the Dragon Companies?’

‘Yes, nothing too serious, fortunately. I scold those who have slipped on ice, of course; we are elves, graceful and strong, not prone to balance issues... oddly enough, it cheers them. Please, Arveldir – I would very much appreciate it if you do not... if it is possible, I would like to be seated with Merenor and Hanben, we have wedding plans to discuss... I assume they will be at the top table?’

Arveldir smiled and mentally rearranged the seating in his head. Having been told to try to get Ness to the meal at all costs, the inclusion of the Officers of Innovation was really a minor matter.

‘They have been most active in making sure the Dragon Warriors have every comfort in their new quarters; it is quite appropriate for them to be present. Very well, Healer, I will look for you at the usual hour. Good day to you.’

Leaving the Healers’ Hall, he made his way next back to the King’s Office, where he knew the courier from Imladris had been awaiting him for at least an hour.

‘My lord,’ the messenger began as soon as Arveldir walked through the door, ‘I sent word last evening I would seek you this morning and I have been waiting with only this...’ He paused to glare at Merenor, ‘this individual to assist me...’

‘Indeed, I would be surprised if Master Merenor could help, other than to inform you that my first duty of the day is to attend the king and his orders, and I am not usually free until later in the morning...’

‘It is later now,’ the courier said through clenched teeth.

‘In fact, you are fortunate to find me here, I have business with our prince presently, too. You had better come into my office, then.’

Arveldir led the way, feeling vaguely sorry for the Rivendell elf but holding strictly to his orders; make the courier wait, do not make Erestor speak with him.

‘And how can the King’s Office help you today?’ Arveldir asked. 

‘My lord will be anxious,’ the elf said. ‘I was supposed to escort Lord Glorfindel and Master Erestor back and instead I have been kicking my heels here...’

‘A messenger hawk was despatched the day after your arrival.’ Arveldir said placidly. ‘But in this weather, mischance, or delay is to be expected. You could have returned with the message yourself, had you wished, but you wanted to wait for Glorfindel and Erestor... but had you left at once, you would still be in the forest, even without the snowfall; it is bad weather for travelling. Leave it to the hawks, it is best. Once your lord and my king have made arrangements, they will be shared with me and I will inform you in due course.’

‘This is not acceptable!’

Arveldir shrugged.

‘You are sheltered, there is food, there is warmth, and you do not have any work to bother yourself with. Enjoy the peace. Your days will be busy soon enough. Now, let me walk you out for I must head to my next appointment...’

The meeting with Legolas was brief, for the prince was overseeing archery practice for the united Dragon Heart Warriors, original members and new recruits together, in spite of the snow.

‘Did Ness agree, Arveldir?’

‘She did indeed, my prince. Might one enquire if it really was at your instigation that I passed on the invitation...?’

‘Of course it was, Arveldir. My father asked me to make sure it came from me, or Ness would never agree...’

Arveldir sighed.

‘Perhaps it is best for my peace of mind if I know no more...’

Legolas laughed.

‘Possibly. How’s Erestor bearing up?’

‘Let us say neither of us wants a thaw.’

From there, Arveldir made his way back to the king’s study, whence Erestor and Glorfindel had been summoned to an audience with his majesty. The fact of the matter was that a messenger hawk had arrived back from Imladris the day before, and the king had wanted time to digest the contents before sharing them forwards. That Arveldir had not seen fit to share news of the hawk’s arrival with the courier was, he would claim, an oversight, were he to be asked.

Arveldir already knew its contents, of course; the hawk-borne missive had been far more conciliatory than the initial letter, begging pardon if Elrond had sounded demanding previously, in fact. Requesting his courier return forthwith, perhaps with letters from his loyal friends Erestor and Glorfindel, so that he could understand their reluctance to return (although he thought he might have an inkling on Erestor’s part). There was room for no more, but it was enough to both anger and amuse the king.

‘So, Arveldir, we are, if you please, to throw the messenger out into the cold of the forest and let him flounder around in the snow, I suppose?’

‘We could provide an escort part way, perhaps? Our next delivery of mail to the southern villages will take place as soon as conditions improve; the courier from Imladris could ride down to the Old Road with our messenger, and then find his own way from there; I expect there will be someone on the road, or, if not, it is at least marked out clearly.’

‘And as for letters...?’

‘I have nothing to say to Elrond,’ Glorfindel said. ‘Not that is fit for polite company, at least.’

‘Then start by telling him that,’ Arveldir suggested.

Glorfindel threw back his head and laughed, trying to make the best of it.

‘You know, I might just do that...’

‘I can only reiterate,’ Thranduil began in measured tones, ‘that you are both more than welcome to consider the Greenwood your home.’

‘Sire – my king, if I may,’ Erestor began. ‘I have, indeed, felt more at home here than ever I did at Rivendell... and my thanks are long overdue...’  
Thranduil lifted a hand, impatient with Erestor’s gratitude.

‘Any responses to Elrond’s message should be at the King’s Office by morning; we will despatch the courier with them as soon as it is fit for our own messenger to depart. Very well; I am sure you both wish to consider well your positions. Do not let me take any more of your time. I trust you will all be at the High Table tonight, yourself included, Arveldir; Parvon will never learn unless you allow him the opportunity to make more mistakes...’

*

Nestoril returned to her rooms after taking tea with her healers to find a small package on the floor outside the door of her sitting room.

Surprised, for most deliveries of mail and suchlike went to her study, where there was a table outside for if the room was locked, she carried it inside and sat herself down before the fire to open it.

The wrappings parted to reveal a little wooden box, small enough to sit on her palm, beautifully polished and within...

She gasped, she could not help it; within was the most beautiful artificial flower she had ever seen.

It was made from a mixture of precious and semi-precious gemstones and formed into the shape of a seven-petalled bloom. The centre was made from tiny sapphires, clustered together to catch the light, to glitter and sparkle, set onto a ring of turquoise, polished smooth and making the perfect foil for the gems. From this ring the petals extended, the rich blue of lapis lazuli, smoothed and polished to shine with warmth. Framing the flower at the top of the stem, oval leaves made from pale, blue-green aquamarines finished the piece perfectly. Each stone was set in silver – she knew mithril when she saw it, and this did not have its brightness – and the long pin which formed the stem of the flower was silver also.

It was perfectly beautiful, created with exquisite craftsmanship, presented charmingly and she could not help but smile, stroke the lapis petals, and wonder whence it came.

Oh, she had her suspicions – this was not the first flower she had received in recent days. The last had been revealed only the day before when she uncovered her plate for the day meal, a rose created from very finely wound strips of carrot – and it had made her laugh – and she rather suspected Thranduil might be behind all these little floral tributes; he had brought her flowers once before, after all.

But this pretty little jewel?

Surely, if the king had commissioned it, he would have ordered sapphires throughout, and emerald leaves, and mithril for the stem? He was not one to do things by halves...

Of course, had it been so extravagant, she would not have liked it half so much, would never have worn it...

Had Thranduil realised that, too? Had he deliberately requested something modest, unassuming, and utterly lovely? Something she could wear every day to pin her head-rail, or fasten her cloak, something in healers’ colours?

Yes, it must have been from him, of course – it had been delivered just in time for her to wear it when she made her appearance at the High Table tonight, even though her invitation came from Legolas...

For a moment, she debated simply putting the jewel back in its lovely, perfect box and not wearing it, but it was far too beautiful for that.

And if it hadn’t been a gift from Thranduil, no doubt whoever was responsible would say something, surely?


	394. Spaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil looks at spaces empty and spaces filled at the High Table

The dark days of the year were meant to be quiet, contemplative, a time for reflection. They were not meant to be quite so care-filled, Thranduil mused, settling his formal robe into a neater line across his shoulders. The fabric of the sleeves hung down, covering the backs of his hands, hiding the rings on his fingers, but he didn’t notice the brush of the fabric, busy considering all the matters on hand.

Most annoying was the snow which had fallen on the Greenwood and insulated the forest floor with a thick layer of white. It was impossible to find anything blooming in these conditions; the tender plants that had survived the mild start of the season would now be frosted and shattered by the cold, and any winter plants that had survived were now buried under a thick layer of crystal cold.

This being so, he had had to be rather inventive with his presentations to Ness recently. Intense experiments with vegetables pared so thin as to be translucent, then wound around made surrogate roses had kept him busy, and his fourth attempt, with a hapless carrot, no less, was successful enough for him to sneak it onto her meal tray. Now, just when he had thought the only choices left were to fold a napkin into the shape of a water lily, or to go to the trunk and disinter the imperfect, dried specimen of hawkbit from its tomb, to his joy, this morning Hanben had brought him the finished jewelled flower. It was not big, and grand, but it was delicate, and subtle, and far more to Nestoril’s taste than to Thranduil’s idea of what she deserved. Still, he had been delighted, had shown his pleasure in a warm appreciation of Hanben’s skill that had left the formal and proper elf blushing and stammering.

Delivering it had been a little more tricky; waiting until the precise moment when all the healers went for tea, and sliding in and out of their halls as silently as a ghost of shadow... but it was done, the box delivered, and now all he had to do was see whether Legolas’ invitation had been persuasive enough; Nestoril’s presence at the High Table was something he had greatly missed and there was no other chance to see her, not unless he injured himself...

Almost, it might be worth it. But there was no guarantee Nestoril would attend him in person; perhaps (perish the thought) he would end up with Healer Maereth helping...

No, accidental injury needed to be kept for a very last resort...

Ah, well, time to leave for the Feasting Hall. Thranduil shut the door after himself and set off along the passages.

Personal matters aside – well, they were, perhaps, some other person’s personal matters – there were other demands on his attention, one of which was Elrond’s determined attempt at getting his seneschal and chief advisor back. There were many reasons why Thranduil found he would rather the two stayed in the forest; Erestor had proven an excellent advisor to Legolas, and had got him into the habit of proper meetings to consider the day’s duties. Glorfindel’s presence had not been so much felt, or missed, at least not by the king – but he made Thranduil feel not quite as old as he was... true, Glorfindel’s friend Captain Triwathon was happier with the Balrog-slayer around, but that could not be allowed to weigh with any decision... the fact that Arveldir would probably be quietly, genteelly distraught if Erestor left was of more concern; the palace could not do with a Chief Advisor who was not on top form.

And tonight, tonight saw the formal acknowledgement of the doubling of the ranks of the Dragon Companies. Still only a dozen warriors in each, however, not quite yet the formidable and flexible fighting force he was hoping for, but give them time...

He arrived outside the hall and found Parvon waiting to escort him in. The top table was interesting to the eye to say the least; Arveldir and Erestor were eclipsed by the warriors. Legolas and Govon, Bregon and Pedir all in semi-dress uniform – kilts and tunics and warrior paints – Canadion and Thiriston, too, as well as Erthor and Calithilon, Triwathon with Glorfindel (himself kilted and bedaubed to honour the warriors), Merenor and Hanben and on their far side – as far away from the king as it was possible to be and still be on the top table – Healer Nestoril, a new blue jewel glinting and glowing at her collar.

He barely noticed the opening of festivities, he made the speech about Dragon Heart Warriors, about courage and honour and the gratitude of the kingdom by rote, but none would know, none would notice; the rest of the guests might just as well have not been there, leaving just him and Ness, and what did it matter if she was out of reach? She was here, was she not, filling a space at the table, at least.

He raised his wine cup to salute the new warriors, drank, set it down, and did not notice how Ness was staring at the way the sleeve fell over the back of his hand, as if it were several sizes too long for him...

*

‘You have a new trinket, I see,’ Merenor said with a smile at the healer.

‘Yes, indeed – I seem to have a secret admirer!’ She said it lightly, jokingly, for there was a remote possibility it was a gift from these two, for her promise to be their witness; it was the kind of token that would not have surprised her. ‘It is very lovely, and I am sure whoever chose it knows me well, for it is exactly the sort of thing I like.’

This was their chance, their opportunity to confess, but although dear Master Hanben looked as if he was going to choke with the effort, neither of them spoke, and Ness took pity on them and turned the subject.

‘Were you able to get your wedding invitations out before the weather turned?’ she asked.

‘Yes, indeed!’ Merenor said. ‘Although mostly is it my fault the messenger has so many letters to bear – my Hanben has not invited many people at all!’

‘Well, most of my friends are in the palace,’ Hanben said. ‘Or they are persons we have in common; it is hardly surprising.’

‘And we invited Cullasbes – not the donkey, that is, the actual Cullasbes,’ Merenor said. ‘And I took a chance and invited her special friend, as well.’

‘That is very... if I did not know you have an eye for mischief, I would say that is very noble of you, Master Merenor. As it is, it might just be a little bit naughty, and I am not sure which...’

Merenor grinned and shrugged. ‘Perhaps it is both. Anyway, once they see me married to my beloved, they can make their own arrangements without feeling odd about it. And, did you know, my second son Baudh is moving up? There was a letter, before the snows, saying he would try to get everything sorted out so that he is here, and settled, in time for the wedding! I am certain of having three sons about me, I can but hope Caraphindir will be with us, too... sometimes, he cannot leave his work.’

‘I am sure he will be here, if he can. And how lovely, you will have so many of your family around you.’

‘Yes, I am most fortunate in my family – and in my fëa-mate...’ 

Hanben really did blush delightfully, Ness noticed, and turned the subject. By leaning forward, she could address Canadion, seated next to his father.

‘Captain, may I say how beautifully decorated you are tonight? Your paintwork is spectacular!’

‘Ai, thank you, Healer Ness, but it is Thiriston you should be complimenting; it is all his work...’

Canadion did, indeed, look beautiful, for Thiriston had covered his arms and chest with flowers, each design distinct, but the colours flowing and melding, making a garden of the captain’s muscles. Of all the many painted warriors present, he was by far the most decorative.

‘To honour the newcomers to the guard,’ Thiriston said. ‘Going to be some busy days ahead, getting used to working together, new neighbours in the corridors. Good quarters, though, Hanben. Everyone’s saying.’

‘I’m glad to hear it; your honour-ada and I have been working very hard to make sure all is up to standard.’

‘And it’s not as if we haven’t had other things to be busy with. Tell me, Canadion, do you really think Donkey Cullasbes will enjoy being bedecked with bunting...?’

Nestoril smiled as Canadion made a very good case for all three donkeys being part of the ceremony, each decorated with bunting in appropriate colours... she had missed this, the random conversations sprinkled amidst the formal dinner talk.

She glanced up, laughing at something Canadion had said about it taking almost as long to remove his warrior paint as to apply it, and found her eyes locked with the gaze of the king, just then turned in her direction. Sobering at once, she made herself smile politely and incline her head, and if her hand went to her collar, to touch the stem of the floral jewel, what of it? And if Thranduil was all eyes as he acknowledged her, well, it was just his way, that was all. Nothing had come of things as she had thought, at first, they might, and probably now they never would.

That being so, there was no reason for her to decline a seat at the High Table ever again, was there?

Somehow, the thought saddened her, rather than freeing her, and she turned to Hanben with a new question about his current duties.  
Further along the table, Thranduil saw Nestoril’s face change as she turned away. For a moment the healer looked unbearably sad, and he was forced to glance down, to focus on something, anything else. His eye came to rest on the second table, where the rank and file and new recruits to the Dragon Companies were arrayed. 

There were gaps, he noticed – not just spaces, but places deliberately set and empty, as if being held for latecomers.

‘Arveldir, would you know why the empty seats amongst the guard? Two in the Grey Dragon seats, one in the Red...?’

‘Ah, yes. Training exercises, nothing serious, but falls and potential concussions; the Healers’ Hall is leaving nothing to chance, and so we honour them in their absences.’

‘I see...’ An idea occurred. ‘How unfortunate that they should have missed the celebration; it is no recompense, I know, Arveldir, but I will visit them in the Healers’ Hall to let them know they were thought of.’

‘As you wish, sire... I understand they may well be released tomorrow...’

‘Then make it early in the day, Arveldir. Perhaps following on from the breakfast meeting, may I trust you to arrange with... Aeglosdes, is it not?’

‘Of course, my king, I will see what can be arranged. Of course, once they are back in training, a visit to the practice ground might cheer them...’

‘Perhaps I will do that, too,’ Thranduil said.


	395. Fading Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril reflects on the brief life of flowers, and Thranduil suggests Arveldir takes a holiday...

Nestoril looked out of her window at the little plant in the blue pot.

It had appeared without warning, without fanfare one day when she returned to her rooms, about to draw the curtains against the cold, and saw the bright yellow of a courageous winter aconite shining at her for all its worth. That it had been in a bright blue bowl had made her realise, of course, that it had been placed there deliberately.

For the last six days it had shone out, that flower, but now it was fading. Although sheltered from the worst of the snow by its position, still, the blooms could not last forever and before it utterly withered, she opened the window to bring in the plant so that she might carefully remove the flower head and its little green ruff. 

There would be other buds, perhaps not until after the thaw, now, but in time it would shine again, she assured herself as she placed the pot back outside the window. And for the moment, she had a miniature sun to press between fine linen and the pages of a book, a reminder against the chill of winter.

The thought made her smile. Everyone could do with a little sunshine on a cold, snow-bright day.

There was little doubt in her mind, now, that all these flowers were from Thranduil. Even the blue jewel flower which must obviously have been ordered by the king, showed more of the ellon she thought she had come to know.

A sigh drifted from her. He was so infuriating (and considerate) and high-handed (and vulnerable) and demanding, and... and alone, and she did not know what to do about him...

Especially as she was now very much afraid she had missed all her chances and there was nothing left to her except to be professional and courteous and hope time would help rebuild some of their friendship, at least.

Yet... yet if she had truly ruined all, why was Thranduil sending her flowers?

Not sending, her heart said. Bringing. With the exception of the flower from Canadion’s wedding, all had arrived unheralded, in unexpected places.

Nestoril’s face creased in thought. That meant no-one else knew what was going on – oh, the jewel must have been commissioned, but as for the rest, no. Thranduil had not involved anyone else in the delivery, was not doing this for the notice of others, but just for her pleasure. Or for the sake of his conscience...

She shook her head. The thought was unworthy of both of them.

Tidying her head-rail, she fastened the blue flower in place amongst its folds and left her private rooms to sit for a few minutes with the night notes and day’s timetable at her desk in the study.

*

A gentle tapping on the door just as Nestoril was preparing to leave and commence her morning presented Aeglosdes to her attention.

‘Healer Nestoril, his majesty is here to speak with the three training injuries... Lord Arveldir sent word he would be coming...’

‘And he is here already, how very prompt! Is Arveldir with him?’

‘Yes, and waiting in the outer area.’

‘Thank you; I will take the desk duty, then, send word to Gaelbes that she is to attend the injured warriors today; they may all go home, but Taethor needs a support for his shoulder before he leaves. No training for two days, Taethor to report for further assessment then.’

‘As you wish, Healer. If you should prefer it, I can take the desk while you deal with matters here...?’ Aeglosdes paused for a heartbeat too long. ‘It will be no trouble...’

‘My dear young friend, I am not worried about spending time with our king,’ Nestoril said, gently smiling. ‘But Gaelbes is more than able to bring the good news to our warriors. There, I will be in place in but a moment. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.’

She straightened her skirts and left her study, taking a moment to smile a greeting at Arveldir before installing herself behind the desk. He came over to properly talk to her.

‘Good morning, Healer. You were a welcome returnee to the High Table last night.’

‘My thanks; I am assured there is always a seat there for me, when I can get away...’

‘Yes, I understand, of course, but it is fair to say that you have been missed.’

Nestoril shook her head, making sure she kept a smile in place.

‘Well, never mind that now; is all well, Arveldir? You look a little... I thought last night, too... not quite as content as you have of late...’

‘Ai, you have not heard...?’

‘No, I have been catching up on my work here, the records and such... talking of which, I noticed the report on the Children of the Forest, the northern families... and I know my own healers were not able to go, but the document is in... in Thranduil’s hand?’

‘You were not aware? He went to see for himself how matters stood in the north. Apparently, he had a delightful time; you really ought to get Legolas and Govon to tell you of it, most entertaining... apparently, our king was giving elk-rides to the elflings...’

‘Save us! Really?’

‘Well, you have seen how fond he is of younglings. The trip seemed to do him good. You know how he loves to be amongst the trees.’

Nestoril nodded. ‘But you said there was news I might not know...?’

‘Ah. Lord Elrond has let it be known he wants both his advisor and his seneschal back.’

‘I see. Oh. Oh, Arveldir, just when you have found companionship...’

’Our king has said both Erestor and Glorfindel may stay here.’ The advisor shook his head. ‘But I saw Erestor’s reply. He has expressed a need to confront Elrond in person before he decides whether to return to his former post or not.’

‘I see. His sense of integrity, I suppose?’

‘And all he had, all he has known for so long is in Imladris.’

‘Before he met you, of course.’

‘Well, I... thank you, Healer; it will be hard, to see him go.’

‘And it will be hard for him, also. It is very difficult, to walk away from one you love.’

So intent on Arveldir’s sad news had Nestoril been that it was only now that she noticed Thranduil had approached from the side corridor that led to the rooms of the injured warriors; she gathered herself to incline her head, to drop into a polite curtsey as if she had been saying nothing out of the ordinary, and, indeed, what had she said, except something to try to offer comfort to her friend?

‘My king, good morning,’ she said with a smile that was a little friendlier than formal. ‘And my thanks for the attention you have given our damaged warriors; they will be released today and returned to duty within a few days.’

‘Their service honours us. As does all service; but I would argue, Healer, that it is harder to remain, and see those you love sail away from you.’ Thranduil’s smile was enigmatic; he must be referring to his sons, of course, to Iauron and Tharmeduil... ‘And so, Arveldir, I must ensure you have plenty of work to keep you busy and prevent you from moping. Now, come; there is another audience with that wretched courier from Imladris pending, I believe?’

‘Indeed so, sire, and how very kind of you to make sure I will not have the opportunity to pine... Healer Nestoril, good morning.’ 

‘Good morning, Lord Arveldir, my king.’

Arveldir hurried after Thranduil, gathering his courage. 

‘In fact, sire,’ he began, ‘I was hoping to ask you for a little time away from my duties...’

‘No, I do not see how that will be possible, Arveldir; there is something very particular I wish you to do in the near future...’

‘Sire, I... if Erestor is leaving, then I...’

‘You may take six days, as soon as you wish. Consider who will act in your stead; you may need to expand the King’s Office, perhaps that third son of Merenor would be useful? Or encourage Hanben to consider administration as a useful addition to his innovating. Then you may take Erestor off into the forest, somewhere or other, show him how Silvans really live...’

‘My king, thank you, but it was not what I had in mind...’

‘I am sure it was not, but he will like it, you will see. Just let me know whom will be leading the breakfast meetings. And do not expect to replace yourself or Erestor with Merenor in any advisory capacity; a pleasant fellow, but the notion of him advising Legolas on matters of diplomacy...’

‘Sire? I am not quite sure I see where you are leading...?’

‘You do not need to, at present. Take the afternoon to make a list of what is urgent and then bring it to me, then tell Erestor that you are whisking him off for a woodland idyll. Starting tomorrow.’

‘As you wish, sire.’

Arveldir was left mystified and vaguely dissatisfied; although six days with Erestor and no interruptions sounded delightful, he had been attempting to suggest he take long enough from his duties to accompany Erestor back to Imladris, should he be unable to persuade him to stay.

‘And we are sending that courier off tomorrow, are we not?’

‘Yes, my king.’

‘Good. Did you notice, Arveldir? Nestoril was wearing a blue jewel in her head-rail this morning...’

‘And at her collar last night, sire, I did observe it,’ Arveldir replied, managing not to raise an eyebrow at the sudden change of subject. ‘A very modest and suitable thing for a healer of her station.’

‘I would say perhaps she likes it, do you think?’

‘Possibly, but I fail to see the relevance...’

‘That is the second time you have not quite followed my train of thought during this conversation,’ Thranduil said. ‘You really do need a few days away from duty. Now, come; we must hurry if we are to avoid being accidentally late, rather than deliberately so.’


	396. A Thaw Coming?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arveldir and Erestor's absence is discussed, and the weather softens.

To say that Erestor and Arveldir’s sudden departure from the palace caused a stir would have been an understatement.

‘In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if we are still all discussing it when they get back,’ Merenor confided to Canadion at breakfast a couple of days after the two advisors had left. ‘Meanwhile, it’s left to Parvon to oversee the important meetings, and usher in our king at the High Table. And Hanben and I have been called on to help with all the filing and record-keeping... but one good thing is that we currently do not have to get permission for any building works we want to initiate... which is rather nice, as I think Hanben has some thought of enlarging his rooms to make a proper home for the two of us...’

‘Lord Arveldir and his friend will not be long gone, I do not think?’ Canadion asked. ‘Half the Red Dragons were sent to escort them, a mixture of the new and the original complement, and I doubt they would send out a shakedown troop for a long journey...’

‘A few days, so Parvon tells me.’ Merenor smiled and slid along the form for Hanben to join him while Thiriston took the seat next to Canadion. ‘Although where they are going, in the snow...’

‘Weather’s not so hard now,’ Thiriston said. ‘Up towards the northern villages, I think, show Erestor a proper talain settlement before he leaves.’

‘Before he leaves?’ Merenor said. ‘Is Erestor leaving, then? What about Glorfindel, will he go too? Where? Back to Imladris?’

‘If the King’s Office doesn’t know,’ Canadion said, looking down with a grin, ‘far be it from me to resort to gossip...’

‘Oh, no, you must never resort to gossip, ion-nin!’ Merenor said, laughing. ‘But it will be a shame to lose them, they are both so very decorative, in their own different ways...’

Hanben sniffed. ‘And now you will argue that an eye for the decorative is important in an innovator, I suppose?’

‘In a designer, certainly. But, come, neither of them would stand a chance with me, you know this. I have you, my love, why would I look twice at either of them?’

Hanben tutted, but it was obvious his heart wasn’t in it and with Merenor smiling at him and fluttering his lashes, and reaching to stroke his knee beneath the table, it wasn’t long before he was struggling against a smile himself.

‘But they will be here for another few weeks, in any event,’ Merenor went on. ‘We invited them to our avowal ceremony, and they have accepted.’

‘Oh, that is interesting,’ Canadion said. ‘We had no idea what was happening, did we, Thiriston? Except for Triwathon looking a little glum when he thought himself unobserved...’

‘You scamp, Canadion!’ Merenor laughed. ‘And there was me thinking you knew all about it...’

‘I doubt anyone knows all about it,’ Hanben said. ‘Not even Lord Arveldir and Master Erestor. And all I know is that we have far more work than we expected to have, and of a different sort than we are used to.’

‘Still, the office work is similar enough to some of what I used to do for the business,’ Merenor said. ‘And Parvon is doing a fine job.’

‘Early days yet,’ Hanben said. ‘It is to be hoped that Parvon manages to avoid taxing the king’s patience.’

But although Parvon dashed around the King’s Office as if his feet were on fire, he had only good things to say about the king’s mood.

‘No, he is very patient with me,’ he said. ‘There are no public audiences while Lord Arveldir is away, which is perhaps a good thing, but the king himself is perfectly equable. Apart from underestimating how much food would be required for the breakfast meeting, everything went smoothly... and while I knew Commander Govon would be a part of the gathering, I had no idea he would eat so much... still, I know for next time. And our king is surprisingly even tempered, early in the day.’

Early in the day, through the afternoon’s scheduled meetings, at the High Table, Thranduil remained in apparent good temper. Perhaps he was not joyous, and laughing, as he presided over the board that night, but there was a word of appreciation to Parvon, and a nod and smile towards Healer Nestoril, taking her place besides Hanben and Merenor as if she were their self-appointed sister.

‘I am not quite sure why Hanben and I have the honour of regular places at the top table now,’ Merenor said to the healer, ‘but it is perhaps fortunate; Canadion will not hear of us sitting anywhere except with him and Thiriston otherwise, and while I love my son dearly, I am not so doting that I cannot see Thiriston would like to have his husband to himself at dinner sometimes. Our new elevation suits us all, I think.’

‘Well, it certainly suits me,’ Nestoril said. ‘To have friends to sit with, to talk about other matters than my day’s work, and to not be in the full notice of our king...’

She broke off, worried she had said too much, and indeed, Merenor picked up on her remark.

‘True, my dear Ness, this way you can be close without being too close... it is a pity, in a way, because it means you can see each other without having to speak... which in turn means it is not uncomfortable, but then, it also means things may not change, not without a push.’

‘And who says things need to change?’ Ness said, lifting her chin in challenge. 

Hanben coughed.

‘That is what I was thinking several months ago,’ he said quietly, staring down at his plate and flushing to the tips of his ears. ‘It seems I was wrong.’

‘Oh, Hanben...! Not you, too...! I can quite see how in your case you might have been taken by surprise, but it is entirely different for my situation, I am much, much older than you and, anyway, I... well, it is just not the same at all!’

‘As long as you’re happy, Ness,’ Merenor said. ‘I like to see people happy. It makes me feel as warm and as fuzzy as Donkey Cullasbes’ ears...’

Ness burst out laughing, the sound ringing along the table as she patted Merenor’s arm and drawing attention to herself of which she was happily unaware.

‘Oh, the things you come out with! Well, can we agree, I am home, I am amongst my friends, I am content?’

‘Content.’ Merenor tilted his head. ‘I suppose it’s a start.’

*

Thranduil watched the exchange with something akin to envy. There had been a time when Ness had been that easy and relaxed with him, when she had laughed with him... a brief time, true, lasting hours only... but the best hours, he acknowledged sadly, the best he had known for a very long time...

He glanced across at her, saw the glint of shine of her blue flower gleaming from amongst the folds of her head rail as she turned to smile at Merenor. 

Accidentally catching her eye, Thranduil made himself smile gently, lower his eyes in acknowledgment, and was rewarded by a small lift of her lips in return.

He found himself pondering, ruminating on how glad he was that the weather had improved, and that tomorrow he had most of the afternoon free; he would ride out on Nelleron into the forest and see what could be found amongst its dripping branches and cool, wet corners.

Yes. Perhaps there was a thaw coming, after all.


	397. Snuggled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor wakes up in a Happy Place...

Merenor blinked the nictitating membranes away and closed his eyes with a sigh, enjoying the safe, comfortable feeling of being snuggled against the sleeping form of his beloved. Hanben’s arm was under his head, supporting his neck, and from somewhere came the soft, rhythmic sound of relaxed, resonant breathing.

Merenor smiled. One of the things – the very many things he loved about Hanben was how utterly relaxed he was in sleep, so sweet, so trusting…

Why, an ellon could do anything…

Merenor smiled again, wriggling his buttocks back against his darling’s groin. Hanben felt delightfully warm and squishy against him, but that could change…

It did, it began to change quite quickly, in fact, as some of the softer regions began to grow firm and interested against him…

Oh, that was lovely! Now, if only Hanben would wake, and realise, and just…

No.

Merenor sighed once more, not quite as contentedly. No, Hanben wasn’t likely to take the initiative, make any moves… 

Still, he had come so far in so short a time, had really been very brave, in his own way, and what they did was lovely, Hanben really did have clever, beautiful hands, and he had certainly got the kissing down to a fine art, used his tongue in other, magical ways, too…

No, it was just that Hanben just wasn’t ready for more; every time Merenor lightly enquired if there might possibly be anything else Hanben would like, he had been met with a gentle, firm insistence that everything was perfectly lovely, thank you.

Well, perhaps he just wanted to save himself for the wedding night. It was a sweet, old fashioned thought, entirely in keeping with Hanben’s reserved and shy nature. As long as he wasn’t worried; Merenor would hate for Hanben to be worried.

Merenor wriggled again, the firmness behind him becoming really, urgently hard, and he felt an answering quickening in his own groin causing him to shudder in anticipation and hunger.

‘Oh, Hanben, I do love you,’ he said, as an exploratory hand slid down his belly to caress him with long, lovely fingers. ‘Good morning, beloved.’

‘I cannot kiss you whilst you are facing away from me, you know. Were you considering turning over at any point during this game of yours?’

‘Oh, is there going to be kissing? How lovely! Of course I will turn over, in that case.’

There was indeed kissing, and it was, indeed, lovely, Hanben’s delicious morning mouth, tasting sweet and warm, leading to other things, caresses and hands and stroking and soft, breathed words, culminating in Hanben sliding from the bed, tugging Merenor after him, and kissing him all the way through the bedroom to the washing cascade and under its warm rain where the sound of the splashing water mingled with the sounds of muffled joy as hands found new purpose, and mouths kept on kissing...

Finally, they broke apart, Hanben smiling down at his rascal.

‘Why, my dear Master Merenor, you are all wet!’

Merenor laughed.

‘As are you, my very dear Master Hanben! I am also a little sticky, still... the washing mixture?’

‘Permit me. My, I do believe we have unfinished business...’

‘You will, if you are not more cautious... no, don’t, my love, don’t be cautious... ah, you are delightful, and clever, and sweet, and... and...!’

Merenor grew incoherent again under Hanben’s soapy caresses, singing out in a cry that echoed through the rain of the cascade and made his lover’s breath quicken at that thought that he, Hanben, he had caused such delighted sounds...

‘I think I need a sit down after that,’ Merenor said, and slid down the wall of the washing cascade to bring his mouth level with Hanben’s hips. ‘No, sitting won’t do for what I want... I’ll have to kneel... unless you feel like inventing a special seat for the washing cascade, just the right height for when I want to nuzzle you...’

‘N... nuzzle me?’ Hanben said, his voice becoming a gasp as he tried to keep up a serious tone. ‘That sounds rather... oh, so that is what you mean... but we are due in at breakfast in the Feasting Hall and... although I rather think this will not take you long...’

Merenor did not reply; he had been brought up to believe it was rude to talk when your mouth was full.

*

An hour or so later, arriving at the King’s Office after a hasty breakfast, the pre-breakfast encounter had already faded to a warm, happy memory to carry Merenor through the hours away from his spouse-to-be; Hanben had taken the pick of the work crews off to examine the empty chamber adjoining his – their – living quarters with a view to annexing it for their new bedroom.

Merenor, meanwhile, was stationed at the desk in the outer office, being as useful and helpful as possible, but other than filing reports and taking charge of the messages, there wasn’t much for him to do until Mornith and Sarmen stood shyly before him around the middle of the morning.

‘Good morning, my dears, you are looking well,’ he said, smiling and offering seats. ‘I do hope our little chat was useful the other day?’

Sarmen nodded as he and Mornith sat down.

‘Very helpful, thank you. We’ve had time, now, to talk about it between ourselves and... and even with our families. They do not like it...’

‘But we did not expect them to,’ Mornith added. ‘And to be able to say, an annulment would be a legal thing, freeing us with no blame to any parties, releasing us to find our own way, that was helpful. Although they – my parents especially – do not see why we cannot just stay as we are, acknowledging to ourselves that we are not really a couple but living together still.’

‘Parents will always try to find ways for their children to keep on doing what the parents want, and not what the children want,’ Merenor said with an understanding smile. ‘Did someone send you a draft of the formal annulment documents?’

‘Yes, indeed, and so we are here.’

‘And so you are here. Well, at present, because so few annulments have been formalised, our king is seeking to take a moment with each couple, just to make sure everyone understands, and that it really is what they want... that is all right, isn’t it?’

‘Oh... our king...’ Mornith said, her eyes filling. ‘I am not sure... he is so...’

‘Well, now, that’s pretty much how Cullasbes and I felt. Although, you know, we didn’t seek an end to our vows, the chance to escape them was offered to us and, well, it would have been rude not to... I think we would still have been trapped, had not our king had such foresight and compassion... of course, he has to be a strong and resolute leader to keep us safe, but that doesn’t mean he can’t see where a little kindness won’t help. He was very good to us, when we stood before him, understanding and compassionate. I’ll come in with you, if you like, and tell him my opinion, if he needs it. Did you bring your papers back?’

Sarmen nodded and passed them across the desk for Merenor to look them over.

‘Yes, everything seems fine. You read the passage that says the Valar meant for us to be happy, and to each seek out our fëa-mate, and that it was every elf’s right to do so?’

‘We did.’

‘Good, that’s good. So, I will enquire when the king might be free to see us and send you word, yes? I don’t think it will be today, though, but you can tell your families that the King’s Office is pleased to support your application, and they had better get used to the idea...’ He rose from behind the desk to walk to the door with them, a kindly hand on each shoulder. ‘And while I think on, would you like to come to my wedding? It might be just what you need to cheer you up.’

*

The day passed slowly, except for lunch taken with Hanben, which flew by as Merenor heard all about the potential of the new room, about how there was space and potential for a bathing pool to be added on, and windows and a light well so they could look up at night at the stars. It all sounded very romantic, and charming, and practical, too, but Hanben was trying hard to focus on the charming and only mentioned in passing how that meant the current living-working-sleeping room would now have room for Merenor to have a space for work alongside Hanben’s own.

‘Not that we will be working all the time,’ Hanben said. ‘But should you wish to...’

‘Married to you, my love, why would I ever want to work...?’

Hanben flushed and clucked and smiled, and the image kept Merenor entertained for hours.

*

That evening after supper they sat by the fire loosely cuddled together and talked more about their plans for the avowal.

‘Should we invite our king, do you think?’ Hanben asked.

‘Well, there are no restrictions, anyone may arrive to watch and lift a lamp... the invitation only stresses that we want a person there, and that they are invited to party with us afterwards; it is not as if the king will want to let his hair down with us... but if you don’t think it’s odd, and you do not think he will think it presumptuous...’

‘That is what I thought,’ Hanben said. ‘But, you see, I rather think he wants to be asked... although I might be wrong... but Thiriston asked me at supper if we’d sent out all the invitations, you remember?’

‘I do, and I did wonder what he meant by it...’

‘Well, we were too near other interested parties to speak out, but after, in the corridor, while you were talking to Ness, he drew me aside and said... said Commander Govon had asked him to find out if we’d sent an invitation to the king... and that he thought Legolas had asked Govon to ask him and why would the prince be interested if his father had not wanted to know if he was being asked or not...? It seemed very odd, until I realised that, of course, Nestoril will perforce be there after as befits our Witness and as you know, the king does seem to have something he wishes he dared say to her...’

Merenor burst out laughing.

‘So our beloved king is actually angling for an invitation in the hopes that a good wedding feast will set the perfect romantic mood for him? Oh, in that case, we have to...’

‘But a written invitation seems, as you say, presumptuous... and yet a personal invitation would sound odd...’

‘But he’s the one wants to be asked; he won’t care, trust me!’

‘Well, if a suitable opportunity should arise...’

‘I think I know exactly how we can engineer one,’ Merenor said. ‘Tomorrow, probably, if I can persuade Parvon he’s working too hard, that is...’

*

Next day, to his surprise, the king found his late morning meetings were to be facilitated by none other than Master Hanben.

‘It is a delicate matter next, sire,’ Hanben had said. ‘The persons coming before you are seeking annulment to their short vows. Master Merenor has been helping them, explaining all that is involved, encouraging them to wait and be sure, and now, since I have been a party to his own annulment, it might be some consolation to them; they are already most anxious about seeing you; Master Merenor is waiting outside with them now...’

‘Very well. Parvon has no experience of such matters at all, one supposes... let them enter.’

Merenor ushered in the two nervous elves, his bright smile for once tempered with sympathy, settling them with a kind word and bowing to his king.

‘Sire, my friends here are seeking release from their short vows. They are good friends, best of friends, but there are reasons why their union has not worked and now their friendship is at risk... as you can see, their vows were not of their own choosing but were made mostly for the sake of elflings who have not come along...’

‘I am sorry to hear you have been encouraged to do something which has not brought joy to your fëar,’ Thranduil said. ‘Having reviewed the information given me, I can see that releasing you from your vows will be a kindness. You are certain, of course?’

‘Yes, my king,’ Sarmen said. ‘I want my friend back, and this is the only way to achieve that. We are both most grateful for the chance to be released.’

‘Then all that remains to be done is for you to sign the document... Merenor to witness it... and Hanben also... and my signature, there, ends it.’ Thranduil looked up. ‘You are free once more. Try not to regret the lost years, and do not let other people chide you for knowing when it is best to acknowledge defeat. Go and live happy lives, in whatever way seems best to you.’

‘Sire, we are grateful.’

Merenor escorted them out, and the king was left with Hanben who approached and spoke.

‘It may seem an odd moment, sire, to say this, but, since you were the one who freed Merenor from his vows, it seems also appropriate... we would like, very much, my king, if you would attend our avowing ceremony... we know there are many calls on your time, and that it may not be possible, and we would not embarrass you with a written invitation which might seem presumptuous when really, sire, this invitation comes from our gratitude and with the greatest of respect and so...’

Thranduil lifted a hand.

‘Thank you, Hanben. Both you and Merenor have worked hard to help Parvon in Arveldir’s absence, you are part of the King’s Office now and Merenor is related, distantly, on my son’s mother’s side and so I will be pleased to accept. Pass on my thanks to your fëa-mate. And now, if that is all, I would be glad to have my study to myself once more.’

‘Sire, you are most gracious,’ Hanben said, bowing himself out.

Thranduil found himself staring at the closed door with an odd mixture of emotions welling up. For the last several evenings Nestoril had been in place at the high table, but had barely spoken to him save for the briefest of acknowledgments, and for several days the forest had resolutely refused to present him with any blooms to offer... and he had just told the annulled couple that it was wise to sometimes acknowledge defeat.

But sometimes one had to ignore the very notion of defeat. Now, when all had seemed hopeless, now he had the opportunity to see Ness in a setting outside of the formality of the Feasting Hall; she would have to be at the wedding, and he would have to speak to her...

He reached for his cloak. Today he would have a flower for her, too. The forest would provide.


	398. Snowdrop, eventually

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arveldir and Erestor discuss their options, and Thranduil goes into the forest...

Erestor was looking out into the canopy again, holding back the curtain across the opening to their talan and staring into the pre-dawn dregs of the night.

Arveldir smiled. His love had spent a lot of time there, just resting his eyes on the dark while he thought Arveldir still sleeping, breathing the smooth, cold air of the forest.

...So beautiful, that midnight hair darker than the night, sleeker and brighter than deep water...

‘I know you are awake,’ Erestor said, not turning.

‘As are you. I can sleep later.’

‘As can I.’ Now Erestor took a half-step back, angling his body and beckoning Arveldir to join him. ‘The forest is so lovely at night. I remember the time you took me into the canopy and explained your world to me; almost, I was jealous, there was such love in your voice... but I understand now, of course. So beautiful, the trees!’

Arveldir laid his hand on Erestor’s bare shoulder, and his lover turn in to his body, holding close.

‘This has been a wonderful interlude, but I know it must end...’

‘We can make the journey back to the palace in one day, Erestor, if you are prepared to start early and arrive late; I would not generally recommend it at this time of year...’

‘Beloved friend, I meant... I meant our time together, not our stay in the Village of the Crystal Cascades.’

Arveldir stroked a strand of glossy hair behind Erestor’s beautiful ear.

‘I have seen you in snow, with the flakes lying on your head like the stars glittering in the heavens. I have held you beneath the trees with the sound of the waterfalls glistening in the air while we made perfect love together. Our time will never end, I promise you. Perhaps our time will be interrupted; who can say? But I am bound to you, Erestor, as surely as if we were married by the words we spoke of intention and love when first we discovered our hearts. I know, I know we cannot yet marry; there is too much getting in our way, at present...’

He fell silent as Erestor shuddered and clung and spoke the words both of them dreaded but neither wanted to hear.

‘I have to return to Imladris, Arveldir, beloved, I cannot keep away, I... I owe it to myself to hear what Elrond has to say for himself. For almost a thousand years Imladris sheltered me, and others who escaped the ruin of Eregion, gave me a home, duties, purpose... you and I both, we are creatures of duty, Arveldir; we have lived our lives by it and however much I long to stay with you...’

‘I know.’ Arveldir pressed his lips to Erestor’s hair, stroked his back. ‘My dear, I do understand. We will leave later today, break our journey overnight , and arrive back at the palace the next day. Then we will see whether any more messages have been received while we were away.’

‘I wonder – I am grateful, do not mistake – I wonder why Thranduil gave you this time to spend with me? Do you not think it was to give us a chance to say a proper goodbye?’

‘Truly? No, I think our king is cleverer than that. I think he was giving me the opportunity to flee with you, should you wish to go somewhere that was neither Imladris nor the Woodland Realm. I think he was intending that we should have six days head-start on any anxious pursuit...’ Arveldir sighed. ‘I am a little hurt, I thought Thranduil would have realised I could not just abandon him to Parvon quite yet...! As you say, creatures of duty, Erestor. Perhaps, as much as anything, it was to give me time to see where my heart truly lies. And it is with you, my dear.’

‘But you cannot abandon all you have built...’

‘That sounds as if you have already decided that you will hear Elrond out and return to your old duties...’

‘I did not mean it to, of course! Habit, perhaps... and I assure you, that if I do not like what Elrond has to say for himself, I will more than happily ride straight back to you... please, forgive me?’

‘Nothing to forgive, my love. Besides, we are neither of us going anywhere for the next few weeks; the weather is too harsh for me to allow you to risk the mountain passes, and do not forget, we have been invited to the wedding of Masters Merenor and Hanben; they are expecting us to be there.’

Erestor nestled close against Arveldir’s hard muscles and soft skin.

‘Of course, in that case, it would be rude not to,’ he said. ‘But... shall we stay here one more day, and ride for home tomorrow?’

*

Parvon had lost the king again.

It was the last day of Arveldir and Erestor’s trip into the forest; indeed, they were expected to be home at some time between the daymeal and supper... Parvon devoutly hoped it would be the latter, for Thranduil had disappeared from his study that morning after the last of the meetings, and so, too, Parvon discovered later, had Nelleron disappeared from his stable...

Commander Govon had laughed at him.

‘Parvon, Adar-in-Honour is always running off these days! He’s communing with the forest again, that is all!’

‘But it’s been every day for the last three days!’ the advisor protested. ‘And he will never say where he has been, or confirm that he is going again... it is most annoying, and distressing, and...’

‘You’re going about this the wrong way,’ Legolas said, coming up and joining in with a wink at Govon behind Parvon’s back. ‘Arveldir always makes discreet enquiries... he doesn’t get the whole palace in a flap about it...’

‘Oh, dear...! Is the whole palace flapping...?’

‘No – but only because I have been reassuring them that it’s just you being new to the responsibility and claiming I know exactly where Adar is!’

‘The other thing is, of course, sometimes the Honour-Ada is engaged on private business and to have people looking for him doesn’t go down well...’

‘Oh, dear... I really have not been doing very well in Arveldir’s absence, have I...?’

‘No, really, you’ve been pretty much up with it all,’ Govon said. ‘Especially once you started ordering double breakfasts...’

‘Look, don’t worry about Adar,’ Legolas said reassuringly. ‘If he isn’t back for his dinner, then I’ll go looking for him. But he’ll turn up outside the Feasting Hall asking why you kept him waiting in just the same way he has done the last three nights...’

‘Thank you, ernilen, I just hope you’re right...’

‘Of course I am. Now, you go back to the King’s Office or wherever you’re meant to be and stop worrying about Ada.’

Once Parvon had gone, Govon grinned at his husband.

‘...and you’re sure Honour-Ada will turn up for his supper because...?’

‘Because since Ness started wearing that blue pin, she’s been at the High Table every night, sitting with Hanben and Merenor and pretending she’s fine about everything, and Ada’s been going just so he can look at her and try to make us believe he’s only there for his dinner...’ 

*

It was dark when Thranduil dismounted Nelleron’s back and led him to his stable for a rub-down and a feed. The forest, far from providing, had resolutely refused to offer any flowers for the last four days and only this afternoon, almost when he had turned for home, had he felt the trees telling him to turn his head and look in the undergrowth. There, nestled amongst the remains of the thawing snow, the small, white-and-green head of a snow drop nodded heavily.

At last! And with heartfelt thanks to the Valar and Lady Yavanna he found the small trowel and pot he had taken to carrying around with him, and gently dug out the plant, rehousing it with care. The ride home had felt like a triumph and he wasted no time, after seeing Nelleron settled, in wiping the pot and making his way stealthily round through the gardens of the Healers’ Hall to place the snowdrop on the outside of Nestoril’s windowsill, next to the now-bloom-free winter aconite.

He was in such a hurry, and so urgent a mood was on him, that he focussed entirely on the task in hand and did not notice that the curtains were still open in the room, that a lamp was lit in there, and that a pair of startled grey eyes were watching with surprise as a small blue pot appeared outside...


	399. 'Not Unhappy, Where I Am...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril considers the implications of a single snowdrop, and Arveldir and Erestor return home.

Ness stared, backing away from the window and instinctively holding the dressing robe closer to her body. An incident with one of the elflings the healers watched over on occasion had led to the necessity of a wash and change of clothes for her before dinner in the Feasting Hall, and she had not bothered to close the curtains – for who would be in the gardens at this hour, and why might they be near her window in any case? But then had come the a sudden movement outside, a small blue pot placed down, and she’d had a clear glimpse of the hand that set it there, long, elegant fingers, a large moonstone and mithril ring gleaming for a moment in the light of the lamp.

Before she could do more than gasp and clutch at the robe, and step back, the hand was gone, and but for the blue gleam from the pot, it might never have happened...

Retiring into the bathing room to dress, just in case, she hastened to ready herself before returning to see what had actually been left outside her window...

A snowdrop, in a pot of the same blue as that of an earlier floral tribute, nodding its head as if in agreement; yes, it had been set there on purpose, yes, by a beringed hand, yes, by the king himself...

So. No longer could she pretend she didn’t know where these gifts were coming from; there was proof, unequivocal, unarguable proof that Thranduil was bringing her flowers, one at a time.

Of course, on one level, she had always known... but it had been easy to decide there was no proof, that she might be mistaken, that she was too busy settling in again to take the time to find out for certain... but here it was. And she really didn’t know whether she liked it, or if she would rather he didn’t...

With a sigh she sat down on the chair under the window, looking out at the little nodding flower which gleamed like a sliver of moonlight in the darkness.

Why was it so difficult to make up her mind about... about all this? Oh, not about Thranduil, she already knew where her mind, and her heart, would lead her where he was concerned if she let them, no, it was everything that went along with Thranduil, that was what was getting in the way... the kingdom, duty, responsibility, the necessity for him to sometimes stop being Thranduil and just be the king... but then, had there not been times when she, too, had hidden behind her head-rail, behaved simply as the Healer-in-Charge and allowed the elleth she really was to languish un-nurtured for the sake of duty?

And... and might it not be, perhaps, that Thranduil did not always enjoy taking up his kingly persona? Might there be moments for him, too, where he was the king only because he had to be?

She remembered the day she had broken the news to him about Tharmeduil’s illness, how he had closed down, stopped being the father and withdrawn behind the face of the king... it had been self-defence, a way to cope with the heartbreak of it all...

Much as she sat each night now in the Feasting Hall with Merenor and Hanben, and talked about their wedding arrangements, and listening to the latest tales of Canadion and Melion, and the expansion of the to-be-wed’s quarters? To them she was Ness, their friend, their Witness, but as soon as she looked up from the little bubble of themselves, she found herself becoming grave, and sombre, and silently polite whenever Thranduil caught her eye...

Were they both trapped behind the masks of themselves? Was this the only way Thranduil had, now, of communicating with Ness? Had they both been complicit in this awful, stilted, stifling politeness?

She ought to have said something, done something before now, perhaps. But she had been sure that rebuilding their working relationship had to come before trying to salvage their friendship, and while she had considered seeking him out, privately, on the first two occasions when she had knocked tentatively on his study door at the time when she had been accustomed to visit, there had been no answer, the king not in his rooms at the expected time, and so she had assumed he did not want to see her.

In short, her courage had failed her and she had given up too easily. If he had just sent some word with one of these flowers, something, some indication of whether he wanted only to rebuild their formal working relationship, or if he was offering more of an apology than that, perhaps she would have been braver.

Well. It was late, almost time for dinner, but that little elfling might need special attention this evening. Perhaps she should send a note to Hanben excusing herself from joining him and Merenor tonight, just to be on the safe side...

Perhaps, if she did that, Thranduil would notice her absence and try to find out why she hadn’t been there.

Or perhaps he would notice, but not do anything about it, might not care.

And that would be worse than anything.

Well, tonight would not be the best of nights to absent herself anyway; Arveldir and Erestor were due back, and it would only be fitting to be at the table to welcome them.

*

The night had long fallen by the time Arveldir and Erestor’s escort hailed the gate guards. Leaving their horses in the care of their escort, they went straight to Arveldir’s rooms to wash and decide on where and how to spend what remained of the evening.

‘We will be looked for in the Feasting Hall,’ Arveldir said. ‘Although I would prefer not to turn up late to the table...’

‘It is my fault; had we set off yesterday, as you advised...’

‘...then we would not have explored the cavern behind the Crystal Cascades. It was a wonderful way to spend our last afternoon alone. The sounds of the water, the immensity of its peace...’

‘Yes... I feel as if we are storing up experiences and memories against the future...’

‘Perhaps we are. But we have time to make more memories, beloved. Ah, and the way your hair shimmered so in the glinting refractions of the light...! So, shall we risk the ire of the king, and send word we are back but dining in our rooms?’

‘No, perhaps it would be best to send word we are back but do not wish to present ourselves in the mud of the forest, and so will be there once we are refreshed. That way, we have shown our willingness to be present but there is always the hope we will be told not to bother.’

‘An excellent idea.’ Arveldir looked out to summon the corridor attendant, despatched him with the message and returned to his friend. ‘How long, my love, do you think we can justifiably claim it has taken us, to wash away the stains of the road?’

‘Perhaps not quite as long as we hope... Ai! We have had eight days without work, five days of privacy when we wanted it... so why, now, do I want more, why have I never had my fill of you?’

‘I have no idea. All I can say is that I am delighted to hear it – and, of course, the feeling is mutual. We had better go to the Feasting Hall, however, just to show willing.’

*

Nestoril arrived at the entrance to the Feasting Hall to find she was almost late; excepting for Arveldir and Erestor, everyone else was standing behind their seats waiting for the king to enter. What was more, Thranduil himself was there, Parvon anxiously trying to encourage him to take his place.

‘No, we will wait a moment or two longer; word came from that Arveldir and Erestor are here, but need to wash away the stains of the road. Besides, it is not only they who are tardy tonight.’ Thranduil turned and winged an eyebrow up at Nestoril, who had hoped to pass unnoticed to the other doors. ‘Healer Nestoril, good evening to you.’

‘My lord king, good day. And your pardon; I was detained by a queasy elfling and when I had finished cleaning up I found myself transfixed by the view from my window...’

‘Indeed? In the dark, it must have been quite special to keep your attention, Healer?’

‘Indeed so, sire; it was a snowdrop in bloom, and I cannot imagine how I did not notice, before, how lovely a thing is a single flower, unexpectedly. But if it has made me late, sire, I can only apologise.’

Had she said enough? Perhaps, for the smile Thranduil gave her was warmer, in the eyes, than she could remember for some time.

‘Consider yourself forgiven, Nestoril,’ he said. ‘As you can see, we are waiting for Arveldir and Erestor...perhaps tonight we should start without them, in which case, may I attend you to your seat? And are you certain being placed so far down the table suits you?’

‘Thank you, my king, I would be honoured,’ she said, her own smile too wide, perhaps, from relief as he took her arm to walk her into the Feasting Hall. ‘As for my seat, I am very fond of Merenor, and Hanben, and I do get to hear all the gossip, so I am not unhappy, where I am.’


	400. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arveldir and Erestor return, and Thranduil has an unexpected visit from Nestoril...

Dinner that night passed in a haze of hope and relief for Thranduil. Now when he glanced down the table towards Nestoril, and he happened to catch her eye, she flushed delightfully and her smile was, more often than not, as friendly as his memory told him it had used to be. But there seemed to be much to catch her attention tonight; Master Merenor appeared to have news of other of his sons, and was excitedly sharing it with Ness and Canadion, Thiriston and Hanben... indeed, with all the table in earshot.

Thranduil smiled to himself, very privately, of course. There was something about Merenor... granted, at first he had seemed, to all intents and purposes, to be a terrible flirt, a bad example, and Thranduil had feared all manner of disruptions in the wake of the ellon’s settling in the palace. And it was true, Merenor had set the King’s Office on its head with his pursuit of Hanben, but because of him the slightly tawdry situation with the bathing alcove had ended, and he had been inadvertently the catalyst for the new annulment arrangements. These things, really, had only benefitted the kingdom. Elves now had much more pleasant places to meet, he heard, in Mistresses Merlinith and Araspen’s Friendly Rooms – elves of all tastes and preferences, too, not simply those with modern leanings – and releasing unhappy persons from tired and unsuitable arrangements could not be a bad thing...

Yes, there was something about Merenor; one could not help but like him, for his devotion as a father if nothing else.

‘...Yes indeed, Caraphindir, he has written to say he will be here, and he will try to bring his friend, although he writes she is shy, and might not wish to come. But it will be wonderful, to have him here for the day... Afterwards? No, I think he will want to go back to the village, afterwards. But still, he is coming, it will be wonderful. And Baudh is trying to arrange matters so that he arrives for the wedding and does not have to leave afterwards. Which will be just delightful...’

Idly Thranduil wondered what it might be like, to be in a position where it was acceptable to show your love for your children in so fulsome a way. He did not doubt he loved his own sons as much as Merenor loved his, but he was not so free in showing it, somehow... but then, if Thranduil were to sit grinning at Legolas in the way Merenor was presently doing to Melion and Canadion, people would probably wonder about his emotional stability...

The thought really did make him smile, almost laugh, and this drew Legolas’ attention.

‘Adar? You seem in a better mood tonight?’

‘Really, ion-nin? Which implies I have been in a worse one, presumably?’

‘I didn’t mean... well, you have, though. It’s good to see you looking less serious tonight. Dare I ask what brought it on?’

The arrival of Arveldir and Erestor amongst apologies and bows prevented Thranduil for answering for a moment. It also gave him time to frame a suitably distracting answer.

‘Perhaps it is merely that our usual advisors are home, and I am light-hearted with relief that we may return to our usual patterns of breakfast meetings...’

‘Oh?’ Legolas cast a glance at Parvon, who must have heard. ‘I thought Master Parvon was doing an excellent job...’

‘Oh, it is not Parvon,’ Thranduil said swiftly. ‘He has been exemplary. It is the thought of breaking my fast without Govon that pleases me; he has a very loud way of eating toast which I find most disconcerting...’ 

While Legolas was laughing and Govon protesting that it was not his fault if the toast was too noisy, Thranduil continued his line of thought, turning his attention to the newly-arrived advisor.

‘In fact, Arveldir, Parvon has done so well that I hardly missed you. Which means, I suppose, that if Erestor decides to go and see what Elrond wants, you had better go with him. That way, if he needs advice, you will be on hand. We can call it a cultural exchange, if you like.’

Arveldir, who had barely had time to seat himself before finding his king addressing him, arranged his features to hide the delight his face really wished to express.

‘It is good to hear that Parvon has met expectations, sire, if chastening to hear myself so resolutely surplus to requirements...’

The king lifted a hand.

‘I would not quite say that, Arveldir; Nelleron has certainly missed your visits to his stable. We will discuss this more tomorrow, perhaps. Meanwhile, welcome home, both of you.’

Along the table, Ness smiled down at her plate. It seemed to her that it wasn’t just Arveldir and Erestor who had returned; Thranduil was back, too.

*

Thranduil’s optimistic mood continued as he prepared for his breakfast meeting with Arveldir, still feeling a renewal of hope after Nestoril’s reference to the snowdrop; a chance at last, an opportunity to begin to recover the ground he had lost... he must still tread carefully; perhaps another flower or two first, and then he would speak... there was always the wedding, if he did not find the right moment before... the event was only four weeks away; not even the flicker of a thought of a blink to an elf, but long enough for one or two other species of hardy wild plants to come into early bloom... 

‘Did you ever investigate further into species of early flowering plants in the woodlands, Arveldir?’ he asked almost as his first question.

‘Sire, there may be heliotropes shortly, if we return to the mild weather,’ the advisor replied, as if he had been expecting exactly this start to the morning meeting. ‘Hellebores, I expect. In Orchard Village, they were saying the celandines would be out early, as long as we do not have much more snow.’

‘Thank you. Whatever will I do without you for four months, Arveldir?’

‘Four months, sire? Are you going somewhere, or am I?’

‘You, of course. I refer to your visit to Imladris with Erestor. I will want you back for the midsummer festivals, since last year we were overwhelmed with dragons and had not heart for it. This year we must mark the occasion properly. If he wants to come back with you again, I will not object. Elrond might; feel free to speak with the full backing of the Greenwood, its king and its warriors if you must.’

‘Sire, that is most supportive of you; I am sure matters will not be quite so fraught as you postulate.’

‘One never knows with peredhel. Now, have you had time to look about you? Is all as you hoped to find it?’

‘Pretty much, my king; I am most pleased with the King’s Office in general; the filing has been kept up to date, and performed properly; it would seem that Master Merenor has quite an eye for general administration.’

‘A pity he does not have the manner for it. But Master Hanben makes up for Merenor’s lightness of tone quite adequately. By the way, those two seem to have commenced some rather clandestine building works in your absence...’

‘Yes? Nothing too inappropriate, I hope?’

‘They have annexed the large chamber next to Hanben’s quarters and appear to be turning it into their bedroom and bathing room; such matters are generally cleared by you first, are they not?’

‘Indeed they are... I cannot imagine it might be a problem, the room is not really used and Merenor has been ensconced in one of the better guest rooms which will be freed for other uses once they properly cohabit...’

‘Presumably for some of their wedding guests; I have had a very polite verbal invitation, did you know?’

‘A polite attention, sire, I am sure.’

‘I will go, I think. They are part of the King’s Office, after all. And I found it rather charming that they went to such lengths to commence the work quietly, but then Merenor is chattering over dinner to Canadion about the new bathing pool they are installing there... Moving on, I will need to speak with Legolas in his formal capacity as Argallor; we will have to find things for the new warriors to do... you and Erestor will need an armed escort to Imladris, I want to check that those merchant humans have not attempted, and do not attempt any clandestine work on our lands near the river crossing. That should take care of two of the companies.’

‘Of course, the Three Villages are hoping for more training for their young hunters; it might prove an interesting assignment for the third company.’

‘Yes, good idea, Arveldir.’

‘There is a missive for you from Einior Brambenos; it will be brought with the rest of the communications later in the morning...’

‘Excellent. Now, while you are here, shall we just go over the...?’

A knock at the door interrupted the king mid-question. Arveldir went to see who was there.

‘Healer Nestoril, Assistant Aeglosdes, good morning! His majesty is in a meeting at present; can your business wait?’

‘Your pardon, Arveldir,’ Nestoril said. ‘I am afraid it cannot. Aeglosdes, it is fine, please return to our halls, I will return forthwith, this will not take long...’

‘Arveldir?’ Thranduil’s languid voice reached them. ‘Please show Healer Nestoril into my private sitting room; I will be there directly and you may wait in the study.’

‘Healer Nestoril?’ Arveldir gestured to the door a little way along the corridor. ‘If you will? Nothing is wrong, I hope?’

‘So do I, Arveldir; I am sure all will be well, but...’

The communicating doors between Thranduil’s rooms meant that the king could move quickly from one to another, and he was already waiting to open the outer door when Arveldir knocked on Nestoril’s behalf. He tried to be calm, as befitted her king, but he was so delighted that she had sought him out that he did not notice her air of anxiety at first, or put it down simply to the strain between them.

‘Ness, do come in.’ Thranduil indicated a chair by the window. ‘It seems a long time since we had chance to speak privately. Sit down, please. Is there something I can do for you?’

Belatedly he noticed how she was tangling and twining her fingers together in a manner that must have been painful. It was all he could do not to reach out and stay them with his own.

‘Is something wrong?’ he asked.

‘Perhaps. Possibly. My king, I am here with some... to ask permission to leave the palace...’

‘How long for?’

She looked up now and shook her head.

‘Not for long, sire, it is just... the barge came down the river today and brought a message to the Healers’ Hall from Flora; her baby appears to be ill, Flora’s female relatives are at a loss and she appeals to us to send someone, if we might...’ 

Untangling her hands, Nestoril fetched a folded piece of paper from inside her habit and passed it to the king. 

‘As you can see, Flora has been meticulous in listing symptoms, and I must say that everyone has offered their services; even Maereth wants to go,’ she said with a tremor of a laugh. ‘And I am sure it is nothing serious; there are certain events in the development of elven children which present very differently than in human babies, but just to reassure Flora, I would like to go myself. And, of course, sire, it is only right you be informed, this is your grandson...’

‘Yes... yes, of course... it sounds like teething to me, but I am only a father not a healer...’

‘I am tempted to agree, my king, that it is nothing more than that.’

‘You have my permission, of course. And you must have an escort; I suggest Canadion and Thiriston, since Flora is fond of them. I will have Arveldir send word to Legolas, also.’

‘Thank you, sire. The barge leaves in a few hours; I should be with Flora by tonight, but I have arrangements to make and...’

‘Of course, Ness. Thank you.’ Thranduil rose to his feet to see her to the door. ‘Thank you for brining me the news in person; I hope you find nothing seriously amiss.’

She nodded and impulsively reached out to rest her hand on his arm for a fragment of a second.

‘I am sure all will be well. As soon as I have news, I will send.’

‘Be well, Ness.’

*

Through the demands of the day – talking to Legolas, securing leave for Canadion and Thiriston to ride out – Thranduil kept coming back to that touch in his arm. Sympathy and compassion for an anxious Daerada? Or a need to connect, to make contact? Whatever it was, the imprint of Nestoril’s fingers burned into his arm even as he sat astride Nelleron in the shelter of the forest and watched the barge leave the hythe several hours later. From where he was positioned, out of sight of the river, he could see Nestoril on the deck, pacing, Canadion gesturing as he spoke, the solid shape of Thiriston holding the horses...

He had not formally seen them off, of course; it would have been too difficult, drawn too much attention. Instead, he had allowed Arveldir to see that everything was done, and done properly and, in fact, the only person there at the hythe had been Merenor , waving to his son and exhorting him, and Ness, to be back in time for the wedding...

‘I’m sure she will be, Adar.’

‘Legolas? You, here?’

‘Yes, Ada. I thought the ride would do me good. And we can talk about the Dragon Guard on the way home, if you like.’

‘Oh, no. I would much rather talk about you, Legolas. I missed your presence at breakfast. And Govon’s; it was so much quieter...’


	401. Friends Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which letters arrive...

The first update on the gwinig’s condition came about a week after Nestoril and her escort had left, and Arveldir brought it to the king immediately with a bow and a hope that all would be found to be well with the child.

‘You may stay and hear, then,’ Thranduil said, breaking the seal on the letter. ‘Ah, yes; simply, the child is teething. Apparently, human children tend to begin the process a little later than this, and get only one or two teeth through at a time so Mistress Flora was not expecting such a severe response... Nestoril adds that human children often run a fever at this time, and it seems young Belegornor’s elven blood has not protected him from this additional discomfort. There is no cause for alarm.’

‘That is good news, my king.’

‘Yes, indeed.’ Thranduil laid the rest of the letter down unread so that he would not betray the tremor of his fingers. ‘But it seems we will not get our healer back just yet; she wishes to stay until at least the next barge, to ensure all continues well. Have someone come to me in an hour; I will have a reply written then to be taken up the river on the return trip.’

‘Yes, my king. If that is all?’

‘For the moment, Arveldir, my thanks.’

The advisor bowed and left about his other business; there had been letters for the Healers Hall in Nestoril’s hand, and one for Merenor, presumably from Canadion, and he wished to deliver the latter in person. Especially as he had reason to believe both Merenor and Hanben were inspecting the work on the new, unofficial addition to their rooms that morning...

*

‘The light well is finished!’ Merenor exclaimed, standing in the pool of brightness and lifting his face up towards the circle of sky. 

He turned slowly round, arms lifted from his sides, and Hanben found the breath catching in his throat as the light played on the angles of Merenor’s exquisite features, turned the brown and amber of his eyes to glittering, molten gold, shimmered off his chestnut hair in waves of radiance.

‘Will we have the bed beneath, so that we can look up at the stars as we reverie?’ he continued.

‘We might,’ Hanben conceded. ‘I ordered the skylight to be placed so that we might see Menelmacar travelling over our heads. But at present I cannot think of anything I would rather see, as I went into reverie, than you.’

‘How very sweet you are!’ Merenor said, smiling as he came over to kiss Hanben gently on the cheek and hug him. ‘Thank you! And for the care you are putting into our future home.’

‘Well, if I find I have to share my non-working hours with a scoundrel, then I will need a room into which I can escape from time to time...’

Merenor laughed, releasing Hanben from the hug; they were, after all, meant to be working, even if it was on their own quarters.

‘I can always visit Canadion, or Melion, or Baudh, if you need a bit of peace in the evenings,’ Merenor said.

‘I did not mean... I was not serious! I find I am quite happy in your company, at all times...’

‘Except when you’re trying to concentrate, I know. You lived so long alone, though – it would not surprise me, if you did need a little time to yourself. And I would not be offended. Besides, the alternative would be to invite my sons here and there is a difference between being with the one person you love, and having lots of others present as well.’

‘I really was not expecting this conversation, Merenor! You have been so long from your sons... and it is good that you have family, I...’

‘You have no-one, and I am sorry for that. You must be sure to tell me when you want company, and when you do not, and when you want an hour to yourself. I do not want to swamp you with my boys...’

‘We will have plenty of time to spend together, alone, and as a family,’ Hanben said. ‘Your sons, your grandchildren, your honour-daughter and honour-son, they are welcome. You are missing Canadion very much, are you not?’

Merenor nodded and shrugged.

‘It is silly, I had a century of not seeing him. A week or two should make no odds; I know where he is, that he is safe, he is with his Thiriston so he is content, too... but... Ah, well. Come, distract me, show me your plans for the bathing room again.’

*

The door to the contentious chamber was open, and so Arveldir knocked out of politeness before entering. 

The space was much as he had supposed it would be; one of those awkward rooms too irregularly-shaped for easy use, too small as an entire dwelling and with a very high roof; there was plenty of space in the palace, so it had lain unclaimed, unneccessary. Now he could see the start of improvements; a lightwell cast a pool of illumination, the floor had been levelled and faced with new slabs. An irregular corner had been partially walled-off, and from here now came Masters Hanben and Merenor, the former trying to look unconcerned at discovery, Merenor wearing his usual smile.

‘Lord Arveldir, good day to you,’ Hanben began. ‘I do not know whether you were aware that... that...’

‘Than you had stolen this chamber for your own use?’ Arveldir raised his brows. ‘Yes, I had an inkling. Were it an issue, you would already have been told... but I am not here for that.’

‘Oh, good,’ Merenor said. ‘Hanben was fretting a little...’

‘Not at all, I was quite sure of the propriety of starting work before Lord Arveldir returned, and...’

‘In fact, I have a letter for you, Merenor.’

‘For me?’

‘From Captain Canadion; the barge arrived this morning.’ 

‘Thank you, that’s very kind of you.’ Without waiting, Merenor opened the letter, his eyes tracking the script, his mouth open in smiling anticipation. ‘He is well, all is well, the gwinig is just teething, that is all, and he has made a teething ring for the little one, that is my son, always thoughtful!’

Arveldir begged leave to doubt that, but held his peace.

‘Oh, and they want to ask Flora to our wedding, but that might mean they have to stay until she is ready to travel and the day might almost be on us when they get back...’

‘If you have a reply, you have two hours to get it to the King’s Office for the return trip. I have other work this morning,’ Arveldir said. ‘As I am sure you do, also.’

‘Yes, indeed, I am but waiting for my master to tell me what to do next... thank you, thank you, Arveldir...’

‘Tell you what to do?’ Hanben queried when Arveldir had left. ‘Your master?’

‘Only in terms of employment, my dear.’ Merenor fluttered his eyelashes. ‘Although, anything else, as long as you ask nicely...’

*

Only once Thrandiul was alone again did he turn his attention back to Nestoril’s letter.

_‘...and so you see, sire, there is really no cause for concern. But since this is likely to go on for a little while, I beg your permission to stay until at least the next barge, both to reassure Flora and her mother and to see Belegornor through the worst of the breaking through of the teeth. Should you wish for me to return, I will ride back, which will take me three days, but would be sooner than the next barge. It might amuse you to learn that Canadion has been industrious during his time here; he has made a teething ring for the gwinig from a piece of arachnid chitin, left over, he tells me, from that harvested to make Thiriston’s arm band... we have agreed not to tell her whence comes the material from which the teething ring was made...’_

Thranduil found himself smiling, his fingers drifting across the elegant script. Ah, that was Ness, his Ness, thinking of things he would find entertaining, which would appeal to his sense of humour. More, she wasn’t simply keeping him informed, she was sharing, communicating...

_‘...Thiriston has some thought of inviting Flora to Merenor and Hanben’s wedding; she remembers Hanben fondly, for he, of course, made waterproofings for the gwinig. But if she were to be asked, it might mean a further delay in my return, for I would feel I ought to offer to stay and help her with the journey. But nothing is decided yet; Canadion was going to ask his adar if he thought it would be a good idea to ask her, and so they await his response, since he had some thought of helping his father with the wedding preparations and Flora would not want to be at the palace for more than a few days, I believe. I am sure Legolas would like to see the little one again and I know you are very fond of your grandson...’_

Chatting to him, like a friend, that was it; they were friends again.

_‘...Flora sends her greetings, and her thanks that you would spare me to her. Apart from that he is teething, and cross, and uncomfortable at present, Belegornor is delightful, he is well-grown and bright and alert. He has your eyes already and I am sure will grow to be the most beautiful peredhel ever._

_With all best wishes,_

_Nestoril.’_

Thranduil read the letter through again. The closing salutation, not addressed with respectful formality, felt friendly, and warm, and in the same heart he wrote his reply.

_‘Dear Ness,_

_Thank you for the reassurances contained in your letter; I am pleased to learn there is nothing seriously wrong with my grandson.  
You must stay as long as you feel you ought to; I leave it to you to decide whether to send your escort home that they might rejoin you later, or keep them at your side; I rather think Master Merenor has managed his life quite well without Canadion’s assistance to date, he and Hanben and the King’s Office are quite capable of organising their wedding without crocheted bunting getting in the way..._

_Of course you will be missed, but rest assured all that means is that your welcome home will be fulsome._

_Thranduil, Elvenking.’_

He took a spare sheet of paper and folded it into the shape of a waterlily. It was far too fragile a thing to send with the letter, but he would make sure it got to her roomsfor when she did get back. Another week was not so long, not really.

The important thing was that he and Ness felt as if they were finally friends again.


	402. Gains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which more letters arrive and Thranduil considers the Dragon Companies...

The next barge to come downriver brought letters only, not Nestoril, nor Flora and the gwinig, nor Canadion and Thiriston. Merenor sighed when he read the note Canadion had sent him, but tried to put a brave face on it for Hanben’s sake.

‘Flora has agreed to come to our wedding, Hanben!’ he said brightly, perching on Hanben’s desk in the Innovation Office and waving the pages about. ‘Of course, it means Canadion will not be back for a little while...’

Hanben looked up from his work, glancing through the open door where he could see Parvon in conversation with one of the scribes. He got up and closed the door, giving them privacy, for he was not sure Merenor’s smile would last for long.

‘...because Healer Nestoril does not think the gwinig will be through his teething by the next boat, and Flora doesn’t want to make the journey too soon beforehand anyway... so they will only be back three days before the ceremony. But he writes that he and Thiriston have lodgings quite private from the family, so they can please themselves, as long as they stay close and make sure all is well...‘

‘I am sorry, Merenor; I know you miss him. But will you forgive me if I admit I am a little glad? He was talking of floral and heart-shaped bunting and I do not feel it would really suit my workshop...’

Merenor found he could laugh at this.

‘Yes, my boy, he knows what he likes and he doesn’t care if it doesn’t go... but I will have Baudh here soon, and I can spend time settling him in... did you mean it, you will give Baudh work with us?’

‘If it would not displease you, yes. From what I have seen and heard, he is skilled, in his own way. And I am sure he was only teasing when he admired me...’

‘No, no, he has very good taste, my second son. It would not displease me to work alongside him; it would delight me. And so, I will write back and tell Canadion not to worry about the bunting, and to tell Flora we are honoured that she has accepted.’

‘If you are free this afternoon, we could perhaps see how the work is progressing on the bathing pool,’ Hanben said, trying to think of something to cheer up his beloved. ‘And, I thought it might be helpful if we were to compare the new facilities with those you currently have access to in the guest quarters...’

Merenor smiled.

‘You know, that is a very good idea.’

*

Thranduil, too, received a communication from the barge. He thanked Arveldir for bringing the missive so swiftly, enquired by what hour he should have his reply prepared, and only opened the letter once he was alone.

It was both a mixture of good news and bad. That his grandson was progressing well – the teeth were still troublesome, but the fevers controlled – must, of course, be the most important fact, and the prospect of seeing the gwinig again was wonderful.

But it would be more wonderful were it happening sooner, for Nestoril was, of course, staying to bring Flora and Belegornor back on the barge.

 _‘...Canadion is a little saddened that he is so long away, and so comparatively near home, especially at this interesting time for his father, whom he misses greatly. He has my sympathy, for I know what it is to be away from those one loves... small consolation to say to him that, once we leave, he will be back inside a day... it is frustrating, to say the least...’_

What was this? Did Nestoril mean she missed Thranduil, felt for him? Or was she referring in general terms to when she had been away before?

_‘As for me, I have my duties of care to your grandson, whose teething is progressing as it will, swiftly, but not swiftly enough. Flora and her mother seek to make me comfortable in any way they can, and it is only that this is not how I am used to spending my days, I think, that makes the time lay heavily... Canadion and Thiriston and I engage in target practice, which has Flora’s mother most alarmed that a female person should participate in such things... but it passes an hour or so...’_

 

It sounded as if she was missing home, if not him, at least...

He replied with such news as he had, very little, really, that he thought would be of interest. For he could not tell her of her own healers, they would be writing to her themselves.

_‘You are generous to devote so much of your time to my grandson’s welfare,’ he wrote. ‘Should Belegornor pass through his discomfort swiftly, should you find you are no longer needed, you have my permission to request Canadion and Thiriston to escort you home by the quickest way; this would give you time amongst your friends in the Healers’ Hall here; my understanding is that one might travel to Flora’s and back on the same barge, if one were swift, and surely she could be ready to meet you?’_

Was that too much like admitting he wanted her home? He decided perhaps he had better add more to the suggestion.

_‘I leave it entirely up to you, of course. But if you should feel Canadion is becoming very concerned about his father’s wedding plans, your return would give him an excuse to come home early.’_

There, that should do it, offering her the opportunity without making it a command.

_‘I hope the recent return to cold weather is not making matters difficult for you. We are all well here, except that I have not been out riding for several days now and I fear the celandine will not be in bloom for weeks._

_Be well,_

_Thranduil.’_

The reply written, Thranduil had it carried to the King’s Office and pondered how he was going to pass the time until the next barge came down the river.

*

But he had a routine, and he kept to it. He had morning meetings with Arveldir. He dined in the Feasting Hall, keeping a weather eye on the guests at the table. Merenor’s mood seemed as bright as ever, full of attention for Hanben at his side. Arveldir and Erestor, unconsciously mirroring each other with quiet dignity, showed him the depth of their bond. Glorfindel drew all eyes to him with his ready laugh, his exuberant personality and kept Triwathon smiling and entertained at his side...

Interesting. Triwathon was, according to Over-captain Rawon’s latest written report, one to watch. Making the transition from uncertain warrior to captain and Second in the Black Dragons in a very short space of time, an accomplished archer, calm under provocation, and obviously besotted with the Balrog-slayer, he was at an interesting point in his career...

Thranduil leaned to his right, curling his fingers around his chin as he rested his head lightly on his hand.

‘Legolas, ion-nin?’

‘Yes, Adar?’

‘I’m going to be spending time on the practice grounds over the next week or so, I want to look over the new Dragon warriors... I’ll wish to speak with you, as Argallor, after muster in your barracks office.’

‘Of course.’

‘Just the Argallor. If the Commander of the Grey Hearts is present, he will be summarily dismissed...’

Govon leaned forward.

‘And what about if your honour-son is there?’

‘He will have to make himself scarce, also.’

‘Legolas will tell me what it’s about.’

‘True, because it will be part of his not-exactly onerous duties as Argallor to do so. Patience, Govon! You will not have to wait long!’

*

Nor would he.

Next morning, Thranduil presented himself at the muster point in time to watch the Dragon Companies stand to attention, smart in their regulation uniforms. He nodded to himself. Well turned out, the new recruits fitting in with the original members nicely.

Then Pedir caught sight of him and barked at his command, who all dropped into an obeisance as one. A half step behind, Triwathon looked to Bregon for permission to follow suit, and had the Black Dragons also honouring their king. Celeguel, seconding for Thiriston, gave the order to salute their king.

‘Rise, all of you,’ he said, coming forward and Legolas bowing to stand beside him. ‘I intend watching your practices over the next few days, so there will be moments when you cannot safely honour me; I will not consider it treasonous if you do not bow.’

This caused a few nervous smiles so Thranduil beckoned to his son. 

‘Argallor, lead on.’

‘Sire, this way.’

Legolas held wide the door to the office and turned back to his father with a question already framed. He hesitated when he saw the king had seated himself with regal poise in Legolas’ chair.

‘The Dragon Companies will each be split into two, half for special duties, half to stay here,’ Thranduil began. ‘Three founding members, three new recruits in each division. Beginning with an escort for Arveldir and Erestor and Glorfindel when they leave for Imladris...’

‘Might I suggest the Black Dragons for that? Captain Triwathon...’

‘Captain Triwathon will not be going to Imladris,’ Thranduil said. ‘He has made so many gains of late, it would be a pity were he to lose his confidence as he risks falling into the shadow of the Balrog-slayer; neither of them would want that, if they knew.’ 

‘That’s true.’

‘I propose the Black Dragon Company should patrol along the river towards the ferry crossing. There was talk of a bridge being built by the merchants of Lake Town; I declined permission, of course, but there is always the chance they might try to build such a thing without my agreement. It will do Triwathon good to lead a command, and if his company leaves shortly after our guests from Imladris depart, it will give him something else to think about. Pedir’s Reds should provide Erestor and Glorfindel’s honour guard. Thus leaving the Grey Hearts to pay another visit to the Three Villages... I will leave it up to you to decide whether Commander Govon should lead the greys, or if you would give the task to Thiriston...’

‘In my opinion, Captain Thiriston would be an ideal choice to lead, sire. Of course, it would be sensible for me to give the choice of company members to the commanders where possible .’

‘Very good.’ Thranduil shifted position and suddenly Legolas saw his father there again. ‘Are the commanders happy with their new guards?’

‘Yes, Rawon provided an excellent list of possible names for the second round of recruitment... I left it to the commanders to squabble who went in which company. It seems to be working.’

‘Excellent. You had better lead the way to the practice grounds, then. And I want to see you take part yourself.’

‘I will if you will, Adar.’

‘Spar with me, then. My swords against your knives?’

‘Shall we just watch the target practice instead?’


	403. Anxious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hanben has a confession to make...

Merenor woke in his usual happy place. Today was the day the barge would come back down the river, bringing Canadion – and Thiriston, and others too, of course, with it. The afternoon tide would see them docked at the hythe, and this evening his son would be back home again.

The whole day stretched out before him, waiting to be filled. It was early still, early enough that they didn’t need to get up for ages yet, and Merenor shifted his buttocks comfortably back so that he was warmed and protected in Hanben’s snuggly embrace. He wriggled gently and smiled to himself.

From the lack of snoring behind him, he guessed Hanben was awake, but perhaps not all of him, as the soft, delicious flesh behind him was resolutely soft, still.

Ah well. Perhaps Hanben was anxious. Certainly, he had been in an oddly quiet mood for the last few days as the preparations for their avowal progressed…

It was only natural, really, to be anxious, but Merenor found he was more excited than worried. And all had been well, had been wonderful, he had thought. They had made rings for each other in careful privacy, neither wanting to keep secret from each other what they were doing, but both wanting the finished items to be a surprise.

People were arriving, too; Baudh, three days ago, bringing happy smiles and bulging saddlebags and the news that Cullasbes was behind him on the road, and that Caraphindir was only waiting to hear Cullasbes had set off before he, too, took to the trails... the workshop had been tidied up, the area outside, too... Mistresses Merlinith and Araspen had decided to decorate their Friendly Common Room for them for afterwards and to host the party, two days with no work had been negotiated, and everything was becoming very, very real...

Could that be it? As the time drew nearer, was his beloved, darling Hanben scared? Even... even perhaps... perhaps having second thoughts…?

No, please, Eru, no, anything but that, it would break his heart…

Suddenly Merenor had to do something, say something into the silence of Hanben’s quiescent body...

‘Good morning, my dearest one. Not many days from now, it will be, hello, husband, and I am so looking forward to…’

As Hanben listened to Merenor’s loving greeting, guilt threw its coils around him so that he couldn’t bear to listen to any more sweet and happy words... Moving so suddenly it startled even himself, he swung his legs out of bed, to sit on the side of the mattress with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He was terrible, an awful person, he had kept secret something he ought to have mentioned weeks ago, and now it was almost too late, and the uttermost misery washed over him as he realised the fullness of his predicament. He was doomed if he spoke, and damned if he said nothing…

‘Merenor, I… Oh, this is so… I have been such a fool...’

‘My love? What’s the matter? You’re worrying me, what’s wrong?’

‘I… I do love you, you know that I love you?’

‘Well, I hoped so, for I love you with all my being.’

‘But you might not, when you know. Or you might think it means I do not, but I do, really, only…’

‘So tell me, then, if you love me, how may I help you?’

‘I… Oh, my darling…’ Hanben turned tragic eyes on his to-be spouse. ‘You see, I am afraid you might change your mind, I will not be enough, or you will say it matters not when later it will…’

‘Hanben, how could you be not enough? You are everything, all that I ever wanted and needed...’

‘You say that now, but...’

‘And I will say it in a hundred years’ time, in a thousand... Come, my lovely, dearest Hanben, please tell me? You might find it isn’t nearly as bad as you think...’

‘I am sure it is, it must be, it is bound to be... I could not expect you to bind yourself to me...’

‘Are you...? You’re not saying you want to call the wedding off?’

Hanben sighed and shook his head, but still would not explain.

‘That is such a relief!’ Merenor said. ‘For while I would live scandalously unbound with you for as long as it takes, not that you are ever scandalous, my dear one, and not that it is a scandal to love you...’

Behind Hanben’s back, Merenor compressed his mouth, and a determination came to his eyes as he went on.

‘We will do whatever you please, of course. But I rather think, if you wished to defer our avowing – our forever vows – I will let you explain to Canadion...’

‘Oh, hush, Merenor, you do not understand!’

‘I know, and that is why I am trying to find out what is the matter.’

‘I cannot... that is, there are certain... when first we came to an understanding, you said... you said you would not do anything I would not like...’

‘Yes, I did, and I meant it, and... Hanben? Have I been too forward with you?’ 

‘No, oh, no, you have been... I have tried to speak, but... and then I even considered saying nothing until we were married because I love you so much, but then I thought, how unfair of me it would be, for I knew if I said what, you would not make me, but then it could breed such bitterness between us...’

Merenor got out of bed and came to kneel on the floor next to his beloved, resting his hands on Hanben’s sleek thighs.

‘Has anything I have done made you feel uncomfortable, in any way, Hanben, my dearest? Because if so, I can only apologise and... beg forgiveness,’ Merenor went on. ‘And assure you I never would, never will...’

‘You have done nothing that was not delightful and loving and sweet,’ Hanben said firmly. ‘Always you have been patient and considerate. When explanations have been necessary, you have made matters clear in so loving and joyous a way that I was never left feeling foolish for my lack of knowledge, no there is nothing in our past relations... it is... of future things... I...’

‘I see. Well, no, I don’t,’ Merenor said. He leaned in to push Hanben’s hair back so he could look into his beloved’s face. ‘Are you crying?’

‘No. Why would I?’

‘Because I nearly am, at the thought I might lose you.’ Merenor sighed and shifted to sit on the bed next to Hanben. ‘Must I guess, beloved, what future things alarm you so? Would it help if I assure you that what we have now – gentle touches and kisses, dimples...’ He paused to gently nudge Hanben with his shoulder. ‘Especially dimples, my darling... would it help if you knew how much it means to me? It’s enough, I promise you, to be held and to hold. To find sweet release through your generous touch. More might be nice if you wanted it, but all I need, Hanben, is you...’

‘I... I do not even know why I am shy of such intimacy, but it seems so central to marriage...’

‘The last time anyone touched me with love, my dearest, was before you were born, and so I cherish and delight in all we have and if this is all, ever, if any had said to me, in the dark days of my regret, a thousand years hence you will love and be loved by the most wonderful ellon you could imagine, and it will be perfect and delightful, except that you will not behave as would a traditional married couple I would have said, good!’ 

Hanben looked up, finally, looked into Merenor’s eyes and saw patience there and – surprisingly – a certain shyness.

‘You are not the only one to have qualms, the only one to worry, my dear,’ Merenor went on. ‘If we are speaking out, then I ought to tell you of my own concerns... which I did not think would need voicing, I thought if we progressed slowly and with love, all would be as it should be. By which I mean, as it should be for us, for what we want our lives together to be. Would you hold my hand, beloved? It would be a comfort to me...’

He exhaled slowly as he felt Hanben’s fingers entwine with his, warm and comforting.

‘You see, love, when I took vows with Cullasbes, it was for elflings. But... it was not her fault, I am sure, but I did not find it easy. I didn’t hurt her, but it went wrong in as many other ways as it could as many times as we tried... and do you know, she didn’t tell me until after Baudh was born, that it only took one time of asking? She could see how difficult it was for me, but it was, we need to ask properly, try again, do you not want our child...? I was furious, both with her for keeping it from me, and myself, for not knowing...’

‘But how could you know? It was not a natural act for you.’

‘It certainly did not feel natural! So you see, every time I think of us... I have to put Cullasbes and all those awful times aside first. I would not wish you to feel unloved, unfulfilled, but I really would rather not have to start with such bad memories so near us...’

Hanben drew Merenor into his arms and held him close to his body. 

‘Ah, with time, perhaps all will come to us, my dearest, best rascal, but I had thought you would want or need to...to claim me in such fashion before you felt we were truly married, and to know I need not fear it...’

Merenor closed his eyes and smiled as he squeezed Hanben in an answering hug.

‘In all my imaginings, wild or otherwise, my dearest Hanben, I had always thought – hoped – you would be the one doing the loving, with me the one loved. For to be yours so entirely would make me feel complete. But that, too, can wait, of course.’

‘I? Do the... do the loving...? You mean...?’ 

Hanben pulled out of the hug to look at Merenor with wide and wondering eyes. He was blushing, Merenor noted, blushing delightfully and there was something in that beautiful, flushed face, in the way his eyes scanned Merenor as if with new intent that made him feel perhaps there was something more here, that perhaps...

‘Yes,’ Merenor said softly. ‘I am sure you would be wonderful, loving and gentle as you are with all things...’

‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly!’

Merenor smiled to himself; Hanben had replied far too quickly, just as he did when he always refused the honey cakes the second time they were passed around after supper. And he knew from past experience that it only took a little encouragement before Hanben would allow himself to accept another from the proffered plate...

‘Only if it was something you thought you might like,’ Merenor said, allowing a faintly wistful note to creep into his voice. ‘But there, we have days before the wedding, there is plenty of time for you to think about it. And after that, our whole lives together, if you still needed time to think about it.’

He brought his mouth close to Hanben’s ear so that his words breathed soft against his skin.

‘I shall be thinking of it myself now, you know...’

‘Merenor!’

Merenor kissed Hanben’s pink-flushed ear tip with delicate delight.

‘Yes, my darling? Did you want something?’

‘I...’

‘Because I want something... well, I would like something, I should say... if you were to slide back into bed with me, and hold me, and let me hold you, so that we can be comforted and consoled after what was obviously a difficult conversation for us both... would you mind?’

‘I... no, I do not think I would mind. But we might be late for breakfast...’

‘Oh, Baudh and Melion know not to wait for us. We can eat later, if we’re hungry for food... Would you like to kiss me? Your mouth is always on the verge of the most beautiful pout, you know, and I never know if you want to kiss me or scold me...’

Hanben folded back the covers and got into bed, putting his arms around Merenor and drawing him after him.

‘Kiss you, of course. If once I started scolding you, I doubt I would ever be done; with kissing, sooner or later one of us has to breathe...’


	404. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril sets off for home with Flora and the gwinig...

Nestoril could not remember so confused an undertaking in all her days; it was but one small elfling, and one human, two warriors, a Healer and their three horses, but somehow it took two days of packing and a further three hours of last-minute preparations before Flora’s mother was convinced they had got everything they needed.

Herself, she had Flora’s baggage tied to her horse in various packages and bundles, Canadion was on foot so that the girl and her gwinig could ride with him leading them. Thiriston, also walking and leading his mount, had the gwinig’s things in his saddlebags and strapped to the saddle.

Privately Ness thought it was perhaps a good idea they had misled Flora to the exact hour the barge would depart; it meant they had a slightly better chance of getting there before it left.

Young Belegornor was through the first phase of his teething, now; although peredhel often demonstrated the better qualities of both races, recently the poor gwinig had been experiencing the worst; human fevers and elven teething – elf babies cut more at once than human children, but faster – and there was currently a welcome respite for everyone.

Flora’s mother waved them off, and Flora waved back and grew just a little tearful, until Canadion started singing the storm song in cheerful tones, Nestoril joined in to give him support, and Flora brightened up a little.

‘Not that we will have a storm,’ Canadion said. ‘The skies are lovely and clear! And no snow left, to speak of! Just a little frost to make the ground good and firm for the horses.’

Nestoril took a moment to consider whether or not the cold weather would have delayed the celandines; more to the point, she did rather wonder why the king – no, not the king, why Thranduil had seen fit to share with her, in a letter, his concern that the yellow heralds of spring might not be early in bloom...

It made her smile all the way to the barge and she resolved, when she got home, to check the plants growing outside her bedroom window at the earliest opportunity, just in case.

They reached the dock to find the barge still loading; fabrics and finery in exchange for timber and smoked venison, and were able to embark with comparatively little fuss. An awning provided the only shelter on the deck, and Nestoril saw Flora and the gwinig comfortable there. Well wrapped in blankets over cloaks and hoods, they were protected from the cold wind that skipped across the wide, bright river.  
It was a refreshing day for a voyage, Nestoril thought, standing close to her Silvan escort and watching the last minute preparations. Suddenly, she found her arm taken and squeezed excitedly.

‘Canadion?’ she queried as he hugged in against her shoulder.

‘Oh, I am going home to see my Adar get married! Is not it wonderful? Thiriston said I had better not hug him, in public, there are Men on the bank, watching, and it might cause ill-feeling; it is very silly, but, of course, I do not want to shock anyone... you do not mind, do you, Ness?’

‘Of course I do not mind! As long as Thiriston is not offended...’

‘If my husband is going to cuddle anyone except his kin or me, I’d prefer it to be you, Healer,’ the big elf said with a wry grin. ‘And, may the Valar protect us, you do make a lovely couple!’

‘Well, you won’t be upset, Canadion, if I say that you are a little young for me...?’

‘And probably not light enough of hair, either,’ he said, leaving her staring at him, open-mouthed for a second. ‘Oh, Ness! It’s obvious, you like blonds; I’ve seen you laughing with Glorfindel!’

‘Yes, and he’s spoken for, too!’ she said, reclaiming her arm. ‘All right, yes, I agree, it is wonderful about your adar, I am very fond of him and all his little ways, and Hanben... I have long wished to see him happy.’

‘But there will be so much to organise! There is bunting, and...’

Canadion fell silent as Thiriston and Nestoril both shook their heads at him.

‘Canadion, most people are quite capable of organising their own weddings, you know! And it is very rare that their sons help them with it!’

‘But I am so excited!’

‘Well, it will not be long, now. I shall bear Flora company, I think; she always looks a little wan when we chatter for too long in our own tongue.’

Making sure Flora and her baby were still snugly wrapped against the crosswind that swept over the boat and ensuring the young mother had all she thought she needed was a task that occupied only part of Nestoril’s mind, and her thoughts soon wandered, running ahead of the boat to thoughts of home and all that awaited her there.

This had been but a short time away, of course, and although longer than anticipated, still, she had always known it would be a brief absence from her halls and her friends.

And her king.

She had been busy, of course, some of the time, caring for the baby and soothing not only Belegornor, but his mother and grandmother too. Even so, there had been plenty of time to think, too many empty hours when all the house was sleeping except for herself. Perhaps that had been no bad thing; in her own halls she was too close to everything, everyone that mattered to her. A little distance, a little time, could only have been helpful.

She had come to the conclusion that perhaps she had been a little harsh, a little shy, a little nervous after all the misunderstandings with Thranduil. 

Granted, he had been rather overbearing, and presumptuous, and on the Night of Names, he had been unguardedly, embarrassingly plainly-spoken – but it had been the Dorwinion, or the knock to the head talking. Since then, though, the flowers, always arriving unexpectedly, at irregular intervals, suggested a determination to persevere on Thranduil’s part that could not but touch her...

Such a pity she had had to come away at such an important juncture in the renewal of their friendship! And yet he had been so kind in letting her go, his letters had been friendly and thoughtful; even though they still had to be formal communications, there had always been a word, a phrase that had chimed with her heart and she found, all things considered, she was looking forward to seeing him again, and, perhaps with different, warmer eyes.

The banks flowed past them, the forest reached out to greet them, and after what Flora complained of as a very long voyage, but which had alternately dragged and flown for the rest, the barge pulled in at the familiar hythe and the bustle of disembarking began.

‘Look!’ Canadion shouted, grabbing at Thiriston and bouncing with excitement. ‘Look who is here! It is Ada, my ada has come to meet us!’

‘What is our friend so happy for?’ Flora asked, looking about but unable, with her human eyesight, to pierce the gloom and see where Merenor was waiting in the shadows, standing by the head of a donkey and cart.

‘You know enough Sindar now to hear the word ‘Ada’, do you not?’ Ness said, smiling. ‘His father, Master Merenor, has come to meet us. What is more, he has brought his donkey and cart with him. Shall we go and meet him?’

*

Disembarking seemed to happen faster than boarding, but perhaps that was because, for Ness and Canadion and Thiriston, this was home.

‘Thiriston, as Canadion’s captain, why don’t you permit him an official break from his duties to go and greet his father?’ Nestoril suggested. ‘We’ll get no sense or help from him until he does!’

‘Thank you kindly, Healer Ness, that’s an excellent idea. You heard the Healer, Canadion; go and investigate that donkey cart! In your break of course!’

The laughter and exuberance of the father and son reunited was a delightful background to getting Flora, Belegornor, and all their bits and pieces onto the shore. Thiriston did most of the hard work, leading off the horses, and by the time Ness had her human charges sorted out, Canadion came dancing towards them.

‘My Ada has brought the cart so Flora can ride in comfort home, if she likes,’ he said in the common tongue. ‘You know Adar, I think? Well, come and meet Cullasbes, who has the softest ears of any donkey anywhere! And see if you would like to ride home with Ada, because it might be easier than being on the horse with the baby has been.’

Ness took charge of the baby while Canadion introduced Flora to the donkey. Merenor came over with a smile.

‘Well, he is a fine child, is he not? How are you, my dear Healer? You have been sorely missed!’

‘Oh, have my ladies been gossiping again, Master Merenor?’

‘No, I did not mean your healers; I meant, well, Hanben and I, and... dare I mention the king?’

‘I hope you were not worried I’d not be back in time to Witness for you,’ she said, finding a way to sidestep his reference to Thranduil. ‘How is your betrothed?’

‘Lovelier and sweeter every hour. But he is a little worried and I am trying to soothe him.’

‘And where is he this day?’

‘Ah, he has a secret fitting for his wedding clothes. In fact, even the fact that there are secret wedding clothes is meant to be a secret... I think I shall have to turn up in my old travel leggings and tunic, just so he thinks I haven’t guessed...’

‘No, you will not!’ Ness said, laughing. ‘You will be in your finest, just for him.’

‘Do you know, Ness, I rather think I will... shall we load up and head for home, then? Flora and her gwinig are eagerly awaited.’ He gave her a friendly shoulder-bump. ‘And so, my dear, are you.’


	405. Wyrmlings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Triwathon puts the new intake through their paces...

It was towards the end of a long and challenging day on the practice grounds. Triwathon, as Second of the Black Dragons, had the task of putting the new intake through its paces, and while some of the warriors were already settling in nicely, others were proving a little more troublesome.

Erthor and Calithilon, delighted to be in the Black Dragons, had been enthusiastic volunteers for anything he’d wanted to work on, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that one or two of the newcomers, while holding the Dragon Guard in high respect, did not extend the same courtesy to its Second-in-Command.

He reached into the rack for his twin swords. Double Blades usually got even the most bored soldier interested, and having picked up a few tips from his commander, Triwathon considered himself reasonably adept.

‘Very well, let’s have someone else up. Twin blades, our king asked particularly that we all train in the discipline... Ellavorn, let’s have you.’

He’d chosen that particular ellon because he knew once Ellavorn’s interest was engaged, he didn’t know when to stop, and it would make for a dramatic display. The problem was getting him engaged in the first place...

Ellavorn cast a glance around to see who might be watching and listening, and gave a sigh. His younger brother, also newly appointed, muttered something.

‘No, don’t, Gelluidor,’ Ellavorn said. 

‘Why shouldn’t I, though?’ the younger ellon said. ‘Why should you – any of us – have to take orders from him?’

Oh, so there it was; Triwathon’s past as a rank-and-filer coming back to bite him in a direct challenge to his authority. He swung his twin blades in neat circles and followed them across the practice circle in a blur of swirling steel to come to a halt with the crossed blades framing Gelluidor’s throat nicely.

‘Because I am the one with the swords, wyrmling, and if you want to earn your place as a grown-up Black Dragon, you will mind your manners and learn your lessons.’ Triwathon’s voice was soft and calmly dangerous. ‘Now, get yourself a pair of swords and let’s see if you can at least defend yourself.’

‘I can’t, I never used twin... I...’ 

Gelluidor had lost his bluster, at least. Triwathon nodded, prepared to make a small concession in the interests of establishing himself as fair as well as demanding. 

‘Ellavorn, shall we show your sibling how it’s done?’

‘Yes, Captain.’ The ellon glared at Gelluidor. ‘Display or fight?’

‘Oh, I think the traditional display moves can wait for another day.’

Ellavorn selected his blades and was already swinging them as he returned to the practice arena. Triwathon took the measure of his speed and reach and worked his own blades in counterpoint before closing to clash and crash blade on blade with blade on blade, twisting around and under and away in sharp, fast dance, Ellavorn a worthy partner, Triwathon just as fast, as strong, but calmer and cooler, no forward little brother to apologise for after, no embarrassment to distract him.

Unaware that the song of their swords had attracted attention from the other practice groups, all three Dragon commanders, Triwathon fought on, reading his opponent and allowing him no chance to settle into a rhythm, changing the direction of his attack, the height of the blades.

‘I knew I should have fought you for Ellavorn,’ Commander Govon muttered to Bregon at his side.

‘Ah, but you didn’t have room for Gelluidor as well, and they do better together.’

‘Do they? They seem to be giving Triwathon a hard time...’

‘And how is Triwathon going to prove himself without a bit of a challenge?’ Bregon grinned and slapped Govon on the back. ‘What was it my captain called Gelluidor, did you hear?’

‘Only just; I was pretending not to. A wyrmling.’

Bregon snorted. ‘Oh, what a wonderful word! I think Captain Triwathon has just sealed the fate of every new intake to the Dragon Companies, for they will now forever be wyrmlings to me! Shall we adopt it as a formal term and get Pedir in on it?’

Govon laughed, applauding with Bregon as the bout ended with Triwathon disarming Ellavorn. The combatants looked around, startled to find they had an audience. Triwathon bowed.

‘Commanders, you’re too kind. Would you and Commander Govon like to show us how it’s done?’

‘Another time, Captain,’ Govon said. ‘I’ve my own wyrmlings to sort out. But well done.’

Triwathon nodded and turned his attention back to his company.

‘Thank you, Ellavorn. Gelluidor, get yourself a pair of blades, I’ll take you through the basic form and then we’ll break for the day, agreed?’

*

Bregon kept a weather-eye on the wyrmlings, and when he saw them break for the end of the session, he wandered over in time to hear Triwathon, a friendly hand on Gelluidor’s shoulder, in the middle of a concise version of his career in the guard.

‘...a friend who didn’t really want to be here, so I tended to take my tone from him... rank-and-file, I was indeed, doing just what I needed to pass muster, but not striving to be my best... then things happened, by chance we ended up escorting our king... and then came the dragons. I was lucky, I escaped. My friend died. And I have wondered, ever since, if he had worked harder, if I had worked harder, would he still be alive? After that, I decided I would push myself. My commander noticed the change in my attitude, and rewarded me with a chance of captaincy training. That’s why I’m giving the orders today, to warriors with more experience than I, because my commander believes in me.’ He grinned. ‘It’s really nothing to do with my affair with Glorfindel of Gondolin, for he carries no weight with our king, or our Argallor, I promise you.’

‘Captain, I never...’

‘No, but I’ve heard it said. People like stories, Gelluidor, especially the ones that suggest you don’t need to work hard to get ahead. Commander Bregon, sir! How may I serve?’

‘Special duty coming up for our warriors, I wanted to discuss it with you. Barracks office, soon as you like.’

Bregon didn’t expect to be kept waiting long, nor was he. Barely had he seated himself when his captain was knocking respectfully at the door.

‘Come along in, Triwathon, sit down.

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘The wyrmlings gave you a bit of trouble today. Well, tried to.’

‘Calithilon and Erthor are fine, sir. Ellavorn takes a little motivating, but Gelluidor... I think he’s listened to too much barracks gossip. The ellith are fine, seem slightly amused by it all... Excuse me, sir, wyrmlings?’

‘That’s what you called Gelluidor... and Commander Govon and I liked it well enough to suggest to Pedir that we adopt it.’

‘Makes it sound less like an insult, at least... you mentioned special duty?’

‘Yes, indeed, shakedowns for all three companies. Three of our current warriors and three...’ he grinned, ‘wyrmlings. You get the command, of course.’

‘Thank you, Commander. What does it involve?’

‘Patrolling along the Forest River. A visible presence, to make sure nobody gets any notions about encroaching on the king’s land; the merchants of Dale want to put a toll bridge up, our king has declined...’

‘I see. Will you select the detail, or do you want my input?’

‘We can go over it together in a day or so. You’ll leave in about ten days.’

Triwathon thought for a moment, and then nodded. 

‘Thank you, sir. I’m grateful for the opportunity to try another command.’

Bregon eyed Triwathon thoughtfully.

‘Yes, you really are, are you not? Even though you must realise the timing...’

‘It means we can all participate in the festivities for Masters Merenor and Hanben’s avowing; Merenor is a very popular figure in the King’s Office, very friendly, and it’s kind of you to arrange it so we have hangover time, too...’ That wasn’t what Bregon had meant, and Triwathon knew it. ‘If I may speak freely, sir?’

‘Please do, Triwathon.’

‘I recognise, too, that we will leave after the Imladris contingent has departed. I assume they will have an escort drawn from elsewhere?’

‘Pedir’s Reds will ride with them to the eyot on the Langflood, if not further.’

‘Excellent; Pedir’s company know the forest so well. And they always seem to get left out of the interesting tasks. Might I ask, what will the Greys be doing?’

‘Travelling up to the Three Villages to train their young hunters in some of our techniques.’

Triwathon laughed. 

‘Ai, then really, thank you Commander; you have given us the easy job!’


	406. No Flower for Nestoril

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil debates the adequacy of a flower folded from paper as a fitting acknowledgement of Ness' return...

Thranduil watched from a copse above the river as the barge came down towards the hythe. Even from here, he could see the figures on deck, Thiriston and Canadion readying the horses, the barge-elves preparing for the docking half a mile downstream. And there was Nestoril, too, emerging from an awning, her hair bright and glimmering, uncovered as Thranduil liked to see it, so different in her travelling gear from her modest head-rail and healer’s habit... it suited her, she looked more Silvan, more accessible...

His heart hammered, suddenly, banging inside his body for release, and he turned away to where his elk was rubbing the new stubs of this seasons’ antlers against a tree, eager to move on, to simply be doing something as a distraction from the unaccountable delight and fear that filled him.

‘Come, Nelleron, we should head home. I know, we shall be there in half the time that our travellers will, especially as I understand the donkey was being pressed into service... but it will give me time to see you settled in your stable, my friend.’

Thranduil mounted his steed and they set off towards home at a deceptively swift amble, the elk’s long legs making short work of the terrain as a hissing, sleety rain began to fall. It was hard not to hasten, harder not to descend to the hythe to greet his grandson, but meeting Flora from the barge was not something he had done before, not something he could do now without setting a future precedent.

Still, Ness was here, at last, she was back, and her letters had been friendly.

Disappointingly, despite an exhaustive search, Thranduil had not been able to find any hardy, early celandines. The heliotropes, too, shivered in the ground beneath the frosted undergrowth, and the hellebores too, had hidden from him.

There were no new flowers anywhere, at least not that he had been able to find.

It was a pity, a real shame; Thranduil had endured some of his more tedious meetings consoled by thoughts of finding the one, perfect bloom to have set in a blue pot on Ness’ window for when she returned. In his mind’s eye, he had seen himself placing there a delicate yellow celandine, shining with promise. Or a flat-petalled hellebore in its odd mixture of green and purple, a more robust flower, as strong and long-lasting as the love he felt for Nestoril. 

Instead, what did he have?

Nothing.

Only a flower folded from paper, something that almost looked like a waterlily, but didn’t, not quite, not when he had examined it a second time.

It was not going to be good enough, but it was all he had.

Home, seeing Nelleron stabled and settled, back in his study in time for a late meeting with Arveldir concerning the delegation of King’s Office duties while he was away with Erestor. Normally, Thranduil had patience enough for his chief advisor, even when it was something as mundane and comparatively immaterial as who was going to do the filing, but this day he had other things on his mind, he needed time to himself, time to get to Nestoril’s rooms and plant the inadequate waterlily and hope it would suffice, at least, to provide an excuse for him to talk to her about the unhelpfulness of the forest flowers...

‘You should marry him,’ Thranduil said abruptly, in the midst of Arveldir’s explanation of Master Merenor’s suitability for dealing with all matters pertaining to annulments and vows between modern couples. ‘Now, at once, today.’

Arveldir raised an eyebrow but answered as if this were a perfectly valid point.

‘An interesting observation, sire, but I rather feel Master Hanben has other plans for Master Merenor and I do not think Erestor would approve, either.’

‘I meant Erestor, of course. Marry him, make vows to him, do it now. Then, when you reach Imladris you can present Elrond with it as an established fact. It will give you much more bargaining power and make it easier for you to bring Erestor back with you. Should you wait, you may find yourselves waiting too long.’

‘I thank you for your kind interest in my affairs, sire,’ Arveldir began. ‘But I do not think Erestor would wish to be summarily vowed simply as leverage. Besides, it would seem rushed to him. He is not Silvan, after all. He is unused to our wild ways.’

‘True, he is Noldo and has been around Noldor for long enough to know all the political power plays by heart... but he might still not see them coming, from Elrond. You are both loyal at heart, Arveldir, and his loyalties may be tested before yours are, that is all. I would have things made easy for you, if I could.’

‘Thank you, sire; I will take your suggestion under advisement. Now, concerning the overseeing of the improvements to quartering our warriors...’

Eventually, Arveldir ran out of items on his list and took a moment to pause, weighing up his king, it seemed.

‘We expect Mistress Flora and her gwinig and escort here shortly before the dinner hour, sire,’ he said. ‘It is to be expected that she will not want to appear in the Feasting Hall tonight, but I will have word sent when she has arrived.’

‘Thank you, Arveldir. If that will be all, I shall be pleased to have my rooms to myself for a little while...’

‘My king has been most generous with his time. And with his kind suggestion for Erestor and my future plans. Good day, sire.’

*

Of course, it was always easier to make plans for other people than for oneself. Thranduil left his study to seek the folded paper flower from the chest in his sitting room where he had stored it. Lifting the fragile paper thing out, he turned it in his hands, trying to be objective about his handiwork... perhaps it was an acceptable offering, given the dearth of other blooms, and that he had made it himself. Tomorrow, perhaps in the Feasting Hall, he would seek a moment with Nestoril and reference it, speak of the unkindliness of the weather. Perhaps he might ask her what her favoured blooms were, and keep the answer for future reference. Perhaps he might simply say that she had been missed.

But first he must get the paper waterlily to Ness’ rooms, and that was another matter entirely. 

Having decided, weeks ago now, that it would be best to wait until her return before placing his offering, lest an overzealous servant tidied it away, or accident befell, it was now left to Thranduil to find a way to present the flower where Ness would see and recognise it for what it was; a tribute from him.

The sleet was still falling outside, and so placing the flower on Nestoril’s window ledge where he’d set the snowdrop and winter aconite in their blue pots would risk it getting soaked and ruined. Thus it would have to be taken directly into her rooms...

Not particularly challenging, not for a king with access to all the keys, but, of course, he had no wish to intrude where he needed first to be invited...

However, he still had several options available. That being the case, he pocketed the paper waterlily with care and set off through the back corridors towards the Healers’ Halls.

His knowledge of the small, lesser used ways stood him in good stead and brought him to the very edge of Nestoril’s domain, coming out near the quarters of the servants who looked after the healers. All was quiet at this time of the day, and he slid through the shadows towards Ness’ private rooms undiscovered, undisturbed.

The door to her study was unlocked, and it being a place where he knew Ness often invited people to join her, decided entering would not be an invasion of her privacy. He inserted himself into the room and pushed the door closed again after him.

The study was dark, and cool, the lamps as yet unlit against the darkness outside, the fireplace empty. Well, with Nestoril away, there was no need for light and flame, not yet. Of course, once word reached the Healers’ Hall, no doubt a servant would be along to make the place more welcoming.

Where, then, to place the paper waterlily? On the inside of the windowsill, where it would be plainly seen as Nestoril closed the curtains?

No; what if Ness didn’t draw the curtains herself, what if the servant did so for her, and knocked it off? The mantelpiece was a tempting place, but then the servant might think it out of place and tidy it away...

On the desk, perhaps, in place of the paperweight, then? Yes, no servant in the palace would move anything from the surface of a desk. He could write a note, too, just his initial, that would be enough, and...

Outside, voices, talking about lamps in the corridor and the study...

There was no time to hide, nowhere to secrete himself from a servant with a lantern; the only exit he could see in his haste was the window and not for the first time in his illustrious career, Thranduil found himself leaving Nestoril’s rooms in clandestine fashion, swiftly lifting the frame and sliding through, closing it down again after and making off around the outside of the Healers’ Hall until he found the next entrance to the palace complex.

He paused and rested his hand over his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart and laughing at himself; how long had it been since he had done anything so rash?

One thing, though; it was obvious Nestoril was expected now, nearly here, and he hurried back to his rooms to pretend he had never left them and prepare for a dinner he doubted he would enjoy, since he didn’t expect Ness there, but which he had to attend nevertheless.

He drew himself off a small glass of Dorwinion to sip at as he went through to change. Yes, the paper flower on the edge of Nestoril’s desk, no time to write a note, but not to worry, she would see it, and...

...and then he realised that in his urgency, yes, he had set the waterlily down, but on the corner, and he had turned in haste and his robe had brushed against an object... out of the corner of his eye, now, he remembered seeing something fall, tumble, but he had not realised, not connected that glimpse with his offering...

He could not be certain, of course, but he was almost sure that the paper flower had been knocked off the desk by the corner of his robe and had fallen into the darkness of the shadow of the desk, not to be seen, not to be noticed unless by a servant, lost. 

There would be no flower for Nestoril, not today, and he did not know what was worse, thinking that she would notice, and wonder why, and feel he was not steadfast in his pursuit, or that she wouldn’t even realise there was anything missing.


	407. Trying Not To Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril returns, and Triwathon has some news for Glorfindel...

Master Merenor’s Donkey Cullasbes did not progress homewards as quickly as could riders on horseback, fuzzy ears notwithstanding, and most of the journey therefore took place in the dark. But a lantern attached to a cantilevered shelter covering where Flora sat with Belegornor in her lap hid the night from her, and she chattered happily to the back of Merenor’s head, which was no problem for him, and his genial nature worked its charm over all the group, so that nobody minded the slow progress.

Canadion, indeed, was delighted to be able to ride alongside his father on the trail, leaving Thiriston to shrug good-naturedly and bear Nestoril company behind the wagon.

‘I think he is glad to be home.’

‘I think we all are,’ Nestoril answered with a smile. ‘And I am sure our king and prince will be grateful for your honour-ada’s persuasive invitation to the wedding.’

‘We’d have been home a week ago if she’d decided not to come, of course. Canadion would have been able to help his ada’s preparations so much more...’

‘Between ourselves, I rather think Master Hanben wanted to spare your husband as much trouble as possible...’

Thiriston laughed.

‘Enthusiastic, that’s my penneth. Doesn’t know when to stop being helpful. Well, not much further now, Healer, you should be in sight of your halls very shortly.’

*

It was but lacking an hour to the formal dining hour when Merenor halted outside the gates to the gardens and helped Flora down from the donkey cart.

‘There you are, my dear, and your baby... he is pretty, isn’t he? How lovely he is, the loveliest peredhel baby I have ever seen... now, I will take my Cullasbes round to her stables and see you later, perhaps. Canadion, Thiriston, depending on what business might have come up for Hanben while I have been busy this afternoon...’

‘We will see you at breakfast, Honour-Ada, if you have left the stables before we get there,’ Thiriston said. ‘Our greetings to Master Hanben. Healer, let me take your horse for you?’

‘That’s very kind, Captain.’ Nestoril smiled as she dismounted and handed over her reins to the big elf. ‘Come, Flora, let us get inside. Canadion, my dear, can you help with Flora’s bags?’

‘Of course, Healer Nestoril.’

‘Oh, I do not feel at all like Healer Nestoril at the moment, not without my proper dress!’ She dusted off her leggings. ‘Still, I will change just as soon as I have got Flora settled.’

Light flooded out as the door to the halls opened and a little knot of healers came out bringing lanterns. Maereth led the way, to greet Flora and hug Nestoril, as if she had expected not to see her again, and then they were inside, Gaelbes cooing over the baby, Gyril coming forward with the news that Flora’s old room had been made nice for her, and the bustle of arrival took over almost completely so that it was another half hour before Nestoril had a moment.

Finally breaking away, she went to the desk and sat down to hastily scribble a note which she sealed, and a second note, which she folded around the first, sealed that up too, and went to disturb Aeglosdes from her admiration of the baby.

‘My dear friend, would you be so good as to take this note to Lord Arveldir in the King’s Office immediately? It is for his eyes only, please make sure you deliver it in person to him.’

‘Of course, Healer Nestoril. And if I have not said – it is wonderful to have you back, I think Healer Maereth was worried you would not return!’

‘Oh, life amongst the humans would not do for me, I am afraid! They are altogether too fussy about clothing... speaking of which, I had better get rid of my travelling garb and properly attire myself once more. Should Flora ask, I will be with her presently.’

Thus saying, Ness smiled and whisked herself off down the corridor to the private chambers, trying not to hurry too much, but eager for a sight of her own fireside and, perhaps, a new flower to look at through her window.

*

In the room allotted him, Glorfindel was playing with an old bottle that once had held honey beer. He had decisions, choices to make, and spinning the bottle was his way of making the process slightly easier. 

Having decided that if the neck of the bottle ended pointing towards the window, the answer to his decision was _yes_ , and if it was towards the door, _no_ , he asked himself the question, should he go back to Imladris with Erestor, and found he didn’t especially mind when the bottle pointed, three times in a row, towards the window. But when he asked of himself whether he should invite Triwathon to go with him, and the bottle pointed to the door, _no_ , he grew unreasonably distressed at the thought, which told him much about his own state of mind.

All right. He changed his mental rules, the question. Towards the fire was stay with Triwathon, wherever Triwathon wanted to be, and towards Glorfindel himself was encourage his beautiful captain to be independent of him.

He didn’t like the answers he kept getting to that one.

It was, though, just a bottle, just a silly game, and he didn’t have to listen to it, after all, he told himself, trying not to mind.

A lively tap at the door, and Triwathon bounded in, his eyes bright and gleaming, his face shining with joy and pride. Not seeing the bottle on the floor, his foot connected with it, spinning it round so it ended facing towards the window...

‘Laurefindil! Guess what? I have wonderful news!’ 

‘You do, I can tell! Well? How wonderful?’

‘Oh, are you playing spin the bottle? Who is winning?’ Triwathon gave the bottle a twist, laughing up at the Balrog-slayer and not paying any attention to how it finished – pointing towards Glorfindel. ‘I have managed to sweet-talk a couple of full bottles from the cellarer, we can use them later, if you like, I am celebrating.’

Glorfindel ignored the message of the empty bottle and got up to gather Triwathon into a friendly hug.

‘You are buzzing with news! Well, then? Tell me?’

‘I have been given my own command! Yes, it is true, and not just on a flet with two lieutenants! I am to lead half the Black Dragons up the river on a fact-finding mission, some of the new intake, the rest our original warriors... Commander Bregon said he’d got me in mind for it, but had to clear it with the Argallor and so now it is official...’

And so Glorfindel laughed, Triwathon’s delight was so palpable, so joyous.

‘You see, you are become a great warrior, a much valued captain, a leader of a company; I knew all you needed was a little confidence! Well done, my beloved Honey-Beer!’

‘Thank you, oh, thank you, hir-nin, iphant-nin! I... it means I will not be able to ride with you, when you go, as my company will depart a few days after and I must get them all in training. But you will be accompanied by Pedir’s Red Dragons, they are wonderful in the trees. You will like them...’

‘Oh, am I going somewhere?’

Triwathon laughed.

‘Yes, you are going to Imladris, with Erestor and Arveldir, I know you must.’ For the first time, Triwathon’s joy dimmed a little. ‘But we will see each other again, my beloved iphant, and we have time, yet, before either of us leave. So. I must wash, and change, for we have been invited to the top table tonight.’

He kissed Glorfindel soundly and released him.

‘You can come and wash my back for me, if you like?’

Glorfindel put his sadness away from him and grinned at his young, proud lover.

‘Triwathon, my darling, you do have the best ideas...!’ he said.

*

Nestoril found herself moving with almost undignified haste towards her rooms. Pausing outside, she made sure that nothing had been left on the little table in the corridor, but it was empty. Her saddle bags had been brought, however, and left at the door for her so she absently carried them in and dropped them down while she went to the window, holding back the drawn curtains and looking out into the night.

But there was nothing new, no blue pot with a little flowering plant, and she found the breath leaving her lungs in an almost disappointed way...

Well, never mind. Had not Thranduil commented in one of his letters on the lack of flowers in the forest?

Ness remembered, though, a fabric wedding flower, a jewelled bloom, even a carrot rose; her king was not limited in his imagination, or his scope... 

She turned back to her mantelpiece, to the side tables, to anywhere that might hold a model or representation of a flower, but sadly, there was nothing... the window outside her bedchamber, though, where the first two blue pots had appeared, she had still to check there, it would be just like him to add to her little garden and eagerly she hurried through to check...

No. The forest, it seemed, had withheld its bounty from the king.

It was odd, she thought absently, that there was no flower, no welcome home from Thranduil; she had almost expected it, and while she did not blame him, she was aware of a sense of disappointment out of all proportion to the matter...

Well, there was no time to fret about it now. She needed to bathe and change and then put on her healer’s garb once more before seeing how Flora had settled in.

But it was strange Thranduil had not done something to mark her return.

And even stranger how much she minded that he hadn’t.


	408. Imperfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil learns of Nestoril's return...

‘My lord king, Mistress Flora and her escort have arrived. I have had a note informing me that Flora wishes to settle in tonight, and therefore Healer Nestoril will be busy with the visitors and unable to attend the High Table this evening. And this was included with the note,’ Arveldir said, bowing as he handed over the sealed missive. 

‘Ah, they are returned, then! Very good, Arveldir.’

‘I feel it my duty to point out that as I left, sire, Master Parvon was already on his way to the Feasting Hall...’

‘A hint I might be late for dinner? They may delay the serving a few minutes, go on ahead and tell Parvon not to worry.’ 

It was all Thranduil could do not to open the letter there and then, but he waited for Arveldir to bow himself out of the room before breaking the seal and unfolding the paper with his long, elegant fingers.

_‘My lord king,’_ Nestoril began.

_‘You will excuse me, I hope, from dining in company tonight. It has been a long journey for Flora and for her gwinig and while all my healers are, of course, quite competent, Flora has been used to my being on hand. There are some matters, too, which I need attend to, although not so many as after my previous journey and subsequent return home._

_This being so, sire, please forgive me for not attending the High Table, and be assured that if there are any matters on which you need to consult me, I am entirely at your disposal whenever it pleases you to seek me out._

_Respectfully,_

_Nestoril.’_

Thranduil read the letter through twice, thrice, his eyes hungry for more than was on the page. It was written in haste, he could tell from the curves of the script, but still she had found time to reference her previous absence, she had found time to say that she was available if he needed her... 

She had not mentioned the flowers, or lack thereof, so, taking into consideration the swiftness of the creation of the note, it was a reasonable assumption that she had not had time to visit her rooms...

Either that, or she had not noticed there had been no flower.

Or, worse, that she had noticed, and didn’t care. Perhaps the time away, the exchange of messages had only served to soothe her to accepting his friendship once more.

And yet... at the end of the note, was that an invitation...?

She had, after all, said she was entirely at his disposal...

Thranduil folded up the note and slid it inside his shirt, next to his heart, and with an unwillingness he was surprised to feel, strode along the corridors towards the Feasting Hall.

*

Reunited in Hanben’s – their rooms, Merenor put his face up for a kiss and wound his arms around Hanben’s waist.

‘Ah, that is better!’ he said, smiling into his beloved’s face. ‘And so, Cullasbes is happy in her stable again, snug and warm. Flora and her baby are also snug and warm, safe in the Healers’ Hall, and our Witness is back where she belongs. And I am snug and safe in your arms, which is wonderful. How was your afternoon, my love?’

‘Busy, my dear, but not busy enough,’ Hanben said, looking down into the gold-rimmed glory of Merenor’s eyes and feeling his heart soften and his body harden. ‘There were one or two small matters I needed to attend to pertaining to our avowing...’

‘Ah... is it secret?’

‘Most assuredly not! That is... well...’ Hanben turned the subject. ‘Was Canadion pleased to see you?’

‘He was, he was almost as glad as I was to see him... we will meet at breakfast, I hope you do not object? I have an idea Canadion was hoping to make plans for this evening, but I rather think Thiriston has other matters in mind...’

Hanben smiled.

‘To judge from how closely you are holding yourself against me, my rascal, I think it might be unwise of us to share the evening with any. Unless you are desperately eager to dine in the Feasting Hall?’

‘No, all I am desperately eager for is right here, in my arms,’ Merenor said with a grin. ‘We can always bespeak something from the kitchens, later.’

‘An excellent idea. Particularly as I have news...’

‘Oh? Is it interesting?’

‘It concerns Cullasbes – and I do not mean the owner of the delightfully fuzzy ears...’

‘Not interesting, then,’ Merenor said. ‘At least, not as interesting as the thought of lying down beside you is... come, you can tell me all about Cullasbes afterwards. If you remember, that is.’

*

The High Table was in danger of looking rather empty tonight, Thranduil noted, glancing out to see who had assembled before sweeping in and taking his place. Glorfindel and Captain Triwathon were present, Legolas and Govon, Arveldir and Erestor... it all looked rather uneven.

‘Parvon, in the interests of aesthetic balance, see if you can persuade Mistresses Merlinith and Araspen to join us at the table; since all these present are couples, we cannot separate them.’

‘Yes, my king. May I suggest an alternative, however? Mistress Cullasbes and her... and Master Ravomen are here, they arrived from the south this afternoon... they may have some interesting stories...’

‘No, Mistress Cullasbes can tell her stories to her sons, if any of them will deign to sit with her. In fact, Mistress Cullasbes is not in favour, however much she might try to tell you she is. I would far rather Merlinith, she chides her brother at every opportunity and it is most entertaining.’

And Thranduil felt in need of entertaining company. Or, at least, for someone to take the burden of being noticed from him, to allow him to get through the feast without having too many demands on his attention.

Very soon, though, Parvon had found Merlinith and her friend and persuaded them to join the top table, and Thranduil was able to take his place and try to get through the evening.

It was not so very bad, really. Mistress Merlinith was, indeed, on form, so that when Govon asked his sister with a cheeky grin how long it would be before she herself was taking vows, she told him in no uncertain terms to mind his own business, that she and Araspen had no wish to take any attention away from dear Master Merenor, who was a sweetheart, and Master Hanben, and the midsummer festival might be a good time. Which, of course, drew Govon more deeply into the conversation, Araspen joined her soft voice to Merlinith’s, and suddenly there was Legolas agreeing to be their Witness, and the talk around the table took an entirely different tack.

Which meant Thranduil could listen and nod and allow the ellith to carry on the conversation themselves, which Merlinith certainly seemed pleased to do, adding in the rider that she would not be talking so were dear Master Merenor and Hanben present, or even Canadion and his Thiriston, lest it seem disrespectfullto their forthcoming wedding.

‘Talking of whom,’ Legolas said, ‘will you have bunting, too?’ which caused general amusement although it did give Merlinith the opportunity to deliver another lecture on not squashing Canadion’s enthusiasm because, after all, he just wanted everyone’s avowing ceremonies to be as lovely as his own had been to him... and Araspen added her opinion it should become part of the tradition of such ceremonies, that everyone should have bunting.

There seemed no answer to that, and talk moved on. During a lull, Thranduil realised it was his turn to speak and so addressed his son.

‘Legolas, I do not know whether you have had the full details, but Mistress Flora and her gwinig have arrived safely.’

‘Arveldir told me they’d got here, Adar, but thank you; I understand they’re settling in tonight, but that a visit would be welcome tomorrow; I was going to go along in the morning, after I oversee archery practice.’

‘And I have some free time in the afternoon. I could go earlier, I suppose, but I have meetings most of the morning and Flora might not wish to be faced with both of us at once.’ 

‘Yes, she might feel a little overwhelmed with everyone there; you will come with me, Govon?’

‘Of course.’

Under cover of his son and honour-son’s conversation, Thranduil sat back and signalled for a refill of Dorwinion. It struck him as odd that, while he was glad his grandson was here, while he was looking forward to seeing how the gwinig had grown, really, he was more eager to see Nestoril again.

Which really was the reason he had not rearranged his morning, since he knew Nestoril tended to have more free time in the afternoons, too, and by then, perhaps, he would have found her a proper flower...

Except, he realised, as he was finally free to leave, he did not think he could wait until tomorrow.

After all, Ness had said she was at his disposal whenever it pleased him to seek her out...

He knew her well enough to be certain she wouldn’t have said it if she hadn’t meant it...

Freed, released from the Feasting Hall Thranduil returned to his rooms and began searching in one of the chests which lined the wall opposite his bed. 

There was a small box in there, one he had found but a few weeks previously, and had dismissed its contents as unworthy for his thought. But now, now it could well be different; the item would not have changed but his objectivity towards it may have done...

A small box, soft paper folded inside to provide a support for an imperfect flower with a bent stem, once a vibrant yellow and orange, hotter than the sun... but the stem was still bent, the colours still dusty and dark and muted, it was still not beautiful, not vibrant and vital; it was, in fact, everything he did not want Nestoril to think of when she looked at him...

*

He sat for an hour or two with a book open on his lap, not seeing it, seeing instead only the imperfect dried flower. He undressed and went to bed and lay there, not sleeping, not finding the drift into reverie as his thoughts refused to settle, to move past the flower he needed to find for Nestoril. But he could not be presenting her with something so flawed, so imperfect; she deserved better.

Perhaps he would find something more fitting tomorrow.

Or perhaps he wouldn’t; perhaps there would be nothing in the forest for days, for weeks... the thought of reprising the paper waterlily occurred only to be dismissed, it had been inadequate, more so even than the dry and dusty flower which did, at least, have a memory of sunlight in its faded glory.

No; tomorrow was too far away, too long to wait....

Finally decided, Thranduil sought a dressing robe and folded it around his body before reaching for the box which held the flower.

Imperfect would have to do.


	409. 'Perhaps, Enough...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After settling a fractions Belegornor for the night, Nestoril has an unexpected visitor...

Flora was convinced that Belegornor would not settle in strange surroundings. She was positive that, after the bustle of the journey and all the new sights and sounds and smells, he would be fretful and anxious. In fact, because Flora was anxious and fretful, she passed her mood on to the gwinig, as much as such a happy child could be fretful.

It was, of course, Nestoril who was summoned at the end of the evening to help settle the gwinig, and its mother, for the night.

She sighed privately and smiled publicly, donned her blue head-rail to go with her healer’s habit, and told Flora exactly what Maereth and Gyril had already told her, except rather more gently.

‘He is fine, my dear. Perhaps a little excited, and he senses your concern. He is too little, however, to know that all is well. But this is the first room he knew, and I am sure he will soon be calm. Have you drunk your milk?’

Flora reached for the cup and Nestoril smiled. In addition to the sweetened spice there was a little lavender oil which would have a soothing effect.

‘Let me take the little one for a moment,’ she said, taking the fractious gwinig and walking him over towards the window. ‘There! That’s better... see? He’s calmer already.’

Calmer, yes. But nowhere near as sleepy as was Flora. With a sigh, Ness settled herself in a chair near the window, the infant in her arms, and prepared for a quiet hour or so of gentle humming and soft storytelling.

In the finish, it was after midnight before Ness was able to settle the baby in his sleeping basket and leave Flora’s room to head back to her own chambers. 

She smiled at Gaelbes as she passed the desk, and took off her head rail as she turned the last corner before she was in her own corridor, carrying it loosely in her hand.

She faltered. There had been someone outside her door, she was certain of it. But even as she blinked, and looked again, only shadows remained, and almost she doubted her eyes, for she had been certain there had been a swish of silver gold hair.

Wishful thinking, perhaps?

But as she got closer, she was sure... there was something in the air, a warmth of another breath, perhaps the ghost of the fragrance of Dorwinion and she bent her head towards the handle of the door, her chestnut hair falling forward to conceal her smile.

‘You know, there is a healer on the desk if you are here for our professional expertise,’ she told the wooden surface in front of her. ‘I have removed my head-rail and am strictly off duty.’

‘I am pleased to hear it,’ a languorous voice said from behind her, slow and silken. ‘I have something for you, Nestoril, if you will accept it.’

Before answering, she twisted the handle to the door and clicked it open. When she turned, Thranduil was there, closer than she had expected, the black and silver of his dressing robe, the pale milk of his throat and the starkness of his hair reminding her of the winter forest under moonlight.

He extended his hand towards her in a swift thrust that should have been alarming but instead only made her aware he was trembling. There was a box, held tightly in fingers whose knuckles where white with pressure.

‘This is the last one,’ he said. ‘I’ve run out of ideas, Nestoril, and if this doesn’t work, I don’t know what I’ll do next…’

Forever he stood there before she reached to cover his hand, and the box, to back into her rooms drawing him after her. Only when they were both inside, the door closed, did she alter her grip and gesture for him to open the box and show her its contents.

He glanced around, trying not to look for evidence of his previous attempts to restore their friendship, but there were no signs of any of the flowers. Perhaps they were kept safe somewhere… or perhaps... perhaps she had discarded them…?

She was staring at him, waiting for him to speak or do something and suddenly he felt foolish. He should have tried harder to think of something else, something better... if it was rejected… but he could not continue in this manner, it had been but a few weeks, it should have been so brief a time as to have passed unnoticed, but instead it had dragged.

Finally he realised she was waiting for him to show her the contents of the box and he removed the lid and parted the protective paper impatiently, placing his paltry, imperfect offering in her hands.

‘Don’t send me away again, Ness,’ he said into the excruciating silence. ‘I haven’t got the courage to come back again.’

The rough plea in his voice startled her, and she glanced up swiftly to look into his eyes before lowering her gaze, her eyes tracing the outline of the flower.

...a dried flower, a hawkbit bloom, dry and dusty and its stem all but broken, tired and old and damaged and flawed, terribly, terribly disfigured, but still beautiful, still so precious, still needing care and nurture...

...it was exactly, perfectly right.

She swallowed, handed the box back to him.

‘This should go with the others,’ she said, walking away to lift a lamp and leave the sitting room. ‘Please bring it.’

Expecting to halt further into the sitting room, to see the flowers in a shaded alcove somewhere, Thranduil looked around but still saw no evidence of them. 

Nestoril said no more, simply opening the door that led to her sleeping chamber. Disregarding her guest for the moment, she lit a second lamp from her first and set it on a table near the window, where it threw its glow onto her collection of flowers. The curtains were drawn back, showing the blue pots outside that had held winter aconite and snowdrop, glittered on the semi-precious stones in the jewelled pin. From close to her shoulder came Thranduil’s agonised voice.

‘Don’t you love me at least a little bit, Healer?’

A huge, choking lump came to her throat. She focussed on the flowers; the sapphire pin glinting, the soft fabric of the wedding flower, the tired and dry carrot rose. Thranduil’s eyes, as she looked into his gaze, were more anxious than she had ever seen them. The skin of his face deformed, shimmered, became a brief ruin as the emotions he was struggling to hide manifested, were mastered, faded.

Dignity. Through it all, Thranduil had kept his dignity, and Ness owed it to him to remember it, to remember her own.

But he had asked the wrong question or, rather, had asked it of the wrong person and she had to make him see, understand. If there was any hope at all, he had to see...

‘Of course I do,’ she said, hearing the soft intake of breath indicating Thranduil’s surprise at her admission. ‘I’m a Silvan traditionalist healer, it is how I work, I love all my patients and my former patients just a little; it hastens the recovery process…’

‘Nestoril!’

Expecting annoyance in his tone, she was startled to hear anguish instead.

‘Ness, send me away if you must, but do not prolong this… this torment! I... I was a fool, an overbearing, insensitive idiot and I had hoped I had paid enough, that you have seen my repentance... I hoped we might be friends again, at least...’

She took the flower in its casket from him and stroked her fingers down its damaged stem.

‘This flower... I remember the day of sunshine, of the gift of several blooms that cheered me above all else and gave me strength. I have the others, here... but this...’

‘It is the best I can do,’ he said.

‘But it is perfect, Thranduil; when you are overbearing, when you have to be the king, it will remind me that you, too, have been damaged. It will take me back to that day when I found a friend to support me. This flower is everything I need to know about you, my dear friend.’ She handed the box back to it. ‘Now set it down on the window sill and go through.’

‘Thank the Valar for that!’ Thranduil said. ‘For a moment I thought you were going to make me sit outside amongst your garden...’

‘Now, there is a thought!’ she said, smiling. ‘We should talk, before all else. There is winter wine in a decanter on the table, pour yourself a glass and go and sit by the fire. I am still half on-duty, allow me a moment to change from my healer’s garb.’

‘Ness...’

‘Go.’ She hoped her smile was reassuring, but she feared, from Thranduil’s expression, that instead it had been sad. ‘I will not keep you long.’

*

Nor did she. Thranduil poured two glasses and stood leaning against the mantelpiece as he waited, staring into the flames until he heard the soft hushing of fabric as she approached. He swallowed as he looked towards her, chestnut hair unbound like all of autumn’s beauty about her shoulders, clad in a simple dressing robe of soft shining, greens, folded and tied demurely around her perfect form.

Her feet were bare, somehow that seemed important to him, his heart a thundering cacophony as he watched her sit at elegant ease on the sofa, stroking the seat beside her with her small and slender hand.

‘Sit with me,’ she said, and he nodded, bringing her the glass of amber spirits he’d poured for her, watching as she sipped, watching her lips, remembered the softness of her mouth against his skin. The thought made him shiver and sigh as he sat beside her, unable to look away.

‘I love you, Ness,’ he began, the words stumbling and tumbling through him in their rush to break out and set him free. ‘I want to give you everything, to lay all that I have and all that I am at your feet, at your mercy, but... you would not want that.’

A small shake of her head. ‘No, I would not want that. I can’t be your... your queen, Thranduil, your wife, if that’s what you imagine...or do I overstep my worth in your eyes...?’

‘You could not, Ness.’

‘But I do love you.’ 

‘Yes, you said.’ His tone was dry. ‘You love me a little, just as you love all your charges...’

‘You called me Healer when you asked, and it was as Healer Nestoril I replied to the Elvenking. Me, Ness, I love you, Thranduil. I do not remember when I didn’t, although perhaps it lay unrecognised for too long. I missed you so much when I was away, both times, and to return last time to find so anxious, to feel so needed and wanted and loved... nothing has changed, my feelings for you have only intensified in spite of what passed...’ 

She lifted a hand to forestall him as he started to move towards her. 

‘No, wait. Hear me through. It is not so simple. You are the Elvenking, and I am Healer-in-Chief. We are both professional people and if my domain is smaller than yours, well, still, I have people in my care as you do in yours. Sometimes you need to make decisions with which I disagree, and... if I may... sometimes, you need to be challenged...’

‘Yes. It is something, my dear Ness, you manage to do particularly well. And I hate it, that we are ever at odds...’

‘But you need it. You need there to be someone to make you think, someone to help you see where conscience and king can meet, where they must divide. If I were your queen, I couldn’t do that, I would need to be seen to support you in all things. What is more, I would need to give up my duties; I could not both be in charge of my Healers’ Hall and be your queen...’

‘I have seen what happens, Ness, when you are not in charge of the Healers’ Hall; it is not a success.’

‘No, indeed. Well, neither of us can abandon our roles, my dear. Besides, if the mother of your sons would not marry you, as much as she was, as beloved, as wise, how dare I look to supersede her? No, that is not my main reason. But it is another consideration, how would your subjects feel?’

‘My subjects...? Ness, can you not see me as Thranduil, and not the Elvenking?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I have always seen you, Thranduil the loving consort, Thranduil the anxious father... Thranduil who declares he loves me and who tries too hard to show it and in so doing almost ruins all... I have seen the mask of the king come down to hide the pain, to let you be what you need to be, and I have seen the pain of the ellon within. But your subjects only see the king; you would not wish it otherwise, it would be... unsafe. To me, you are Thranduil first and the Elvenking second. But it was only while I was away, missing you, thinking about you, that I had time to think and to realise that you would always be the Elvenking to everyone outside your own hearth, that I saw how lonely it must be, that I could begin to see a way, to believe there is hope for us.'

‘What hope?’ Thranduil asked, and there was a bitterness in his voice like the dregs of bad wine. ‘You say you will not be my wife...’

She took the now-empty glass from his grip and set it down, taking his hands in her own, stroking her thumbs gently over his fingers as he clutched at her.

‘I will be your friend, and your lover, if you want me. I will be all to you except your vowed one, your queen. I will be as true to you, though, as if I were bound to you in every way possible. It will leave me free to argue with you, to disagree with your policies when you are wrong, to laugh at you when you are silly as all elves need to be, at times. And it leaves you free to know that when I agree with you, I do so because you are right, you are wise. And you will know that you will never be alone again, because I am always your friend.’

Thranduil drew his breath sharply in as a memory coursed through him.

‘Tharmeduil said... I was on the far side of the river with him and he was taken ill... that I need never be alone... I did not think, could not understand...’

‘Tharmeduil saw many things, including some I still blush to see,’ Ness said, rising to her feet and pulling him with her. ‘Come now. It is very late, far too late for you to be wandering the corridors, Thranduil.’

She slid her arms around him inside his robe, her hands cool against his warm skin, and brought herself close to hold him, lean against him.

‘Thranduil...?’ she began as he returned her embrace, pulled her ever closer. ‘You have not said yet what you think of my idea...?’

‘It is like the flower I brought you,’ he said, pressing his lips to her fragrant hair. ‘Flawed, imperfect... but enduring and... perhaps, enough.’


	410. Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ness accuses Thranduil of neglecting himself...

_‘Perhaps, enough...’_

Nestoril pressed her cheek against the smooth skin of Thranduil’s chest and tried not to cling. He could not begin to know how relieved she was to hear him say that, how very much it mattered, he mattered to her.

It had been a gamble, offering what seemed so little and yet was, to her, so much. He was, after all, the Elvenking, one refused him at one’s peril... and yet that was exactly why they were able to be here, on the edge of this dance of love, because she dared be independent of him.

His lips pressed against her hair and his hands spread across her shoulders in a warm and gentle caress. Beneath her fingers inside his robe, every indentation of his spine was sharp under her touch, undulating in a stark suggestion of self-neglect all the way from beneath his hairline down to the waistband of his loose sleeping garment.

She sighed, trying to relegate her healer-self’s concern to its proper place.

‘What, dear Ness?’ he said into her hair, making her smile even as she began to chide him.

‘You have not been looking after yourself!’ she said. ‘When did you last eat?’

‘The Feasting Hall, this evening, of course...’

‘Ha! Fasting Hall, more like, as bony as you are...’

‘Bony...? I am as I always have been, surely...’

She pulled away to look into his eyes.

‘No, you were not this scrawny when last I held you in my arms...’

‘Scrawny...’ Thranduil’s mouth dropped open in surprise... and then he saw the humour dancing in her eyes and he sighed and tipped back his head, holding her close against him. He made his tone innocent, teasing. ‘But do you see now how much I need you in my life, Ness? For who was there to reprimand me if I neglected myself? Who to watch and ensure I eat properly?’

Nestoril laid her hands on Thranduil’s chest, the folds of his dressing robe under her fingers.

‘You breakfast with Arveldir, your Chief Advisor...’

‘And the talk is all about business, it quite takes the appetite from one...’

‘The Feasting Hall; you have friends on every side...’

‘Ah. Flanked by my son who has eyes only for his husband, and Arveldir and Erestor who, although more circumspect, still do not pay that much attention to my dietary habits... no, it is small wonder when one considers the matter...’

‘Indeed. Perhaps I should send out for some bread and butter and honey? We can make toast by the fire, and recall the last time we did so...’

‘A tempting thought indeed, dear Ness, but consider the consternation should you do so at this late hour... besides...’ He brushed her cheek and looked down under half-closed eyes, his mouth curving up at the edges. ‘Besides, my fëa is in far greater need of nurture than my hröa...’

He said it lightly, laughingly, almost, because had he allowed himself to speak as he felt, he thought his heart might break with the ache of need from his soul.

‘I know,’ Nestoril said. ‘I can see that, my dearest friend.’

She moved away from him towards the sleeping chamber, pausing to look over her shoulder.

‘I would make a sanctuary for us, and so there will be no place in my bed for his majesty the Elvenking, nor for the Healer-in-Chief. We will leave our roles at the door, and simply be ourselves together.’

‘That actually sounds quite wonderful, Ness.’

She nodded, her face solemn, and went ahead, leaving him there to stay or follow as he chose.

*

Of course, he followed. He waited, giving Nestoril a little time, both to permit her a private moment, and to gather his thoughts, to deliberate over her words and make a conscious decision to leave his kingly self discarded in the sitting room along with his dressing robe.

When finally he had gathered his courage and entered (after tapping lightly, needlessly on the half-open door) he saw Nestoril was already in bed, sitting up and decorously arranged under the damask counterpane. The lamp had been moved to a small side-table and cast a mellow light which burnished her lush chestnut hair.

‘Ness...’

Her smile was all he needed to draw him over towards her brightness. She folded back the covers and saw him moisten his lips, glance away. It was not like last time, he was not swept up in a frenzy of anguished need, and the distance between them was a leagues-wide void, even as she reached and took his hand with her small, strong fingers.

‘I know, my dear, I know,’ she said, and drew him towards her. ‘This is not a wild and unthinking night of passion, not like last time.’

‘Last time...’

‘Yet even then, you paused, you asked, was it what I wanted. And yes, it was, it is, you are, Thranduil, you are all I want and need. The love between us needs to be acknowledged, nurtured, fed...’

Her hand reached around to cup the back of his neck, pulling his face down, and she lifted her own to bring their lips together in a tenuous kiss which she broke almost as swiftly as she started it in order to slide over, making room for him, pushing him onto his back and riding her hand up his body to rest on his sternum while, bewildered and delighted, he allowed himself to exhale, to relax and focus on the wisps of sensation from her circling fingertips.

Her body pressed against him and her hand moved down to investigate the waistband of his sleepwear, causing him to gasp and jump.

She stilled, and her storm-cloud eyes smiled down into his.

‘These are somewhat in the way,’ she said, her voice dancing and skipping over the words. ‘Will you remove them, or will you make me fumble for the ties?’

Was she... playing...?

‘Feel free,’ he said, accepting the challenge with a lazy smile. ‘But when you find them, what then?’

‘Why, loosen them, of course.’ She brought her mouth close to his ear, the ghosts of her breath alone erotic, tying knots of desire in his belly. ‘With my teeth...’

‘Ness...’

He pre-empted her, finding the laces, removing his sleepwear while her eyes laughed at his haste, but her arms were welcoming as he lay naked beside her at last, his blood pounding with urgent longing as his hands were drawn to her body, to sweep and silk and swirl across her contours, learning her, delighting in soft skin and perfect curves as he kissed her, as the fragrance of her hair and the sweetness of her mouth heightened his desire, and his hands were not enough, did not inform him enough, his lips following his fingers, her body heated and her heartbeat loud beneath him as his lips busied themselves on the task of tasting and testing each and every dip and curve, hollow and mound, her gasps and sighs and her hands clutching at his shoulders encouraging him... onward, down, his hand sliding between her thighs, his fingers soft in gentle exploration, and again, not enough, his touch didn’t tell him enough and lower yet, his hands on her hips and inhaling the woodsy, wild fragrance of her, the warmth from the centre of her body, her secret, private depths as he dipped into her, tasting and nuzzling and lapping softly at her hidden flesh, trying to disregard the hardness of his erection, the demands of his own desires and subsume himself to Ness’ needs.

One of her hands covered his, the tightening of her grip informing him of the eagerness of her body, and her hips jolted and flinched under his ministrations until she became rigid, everything about her stiff and frozen except for the melting heart of her, and with a rush and a cry she released, clutching at his hand, shuddering and shivering and Thranduil lifted away, moving up to hold her as she shook and sighed, covering his face with her hand and pushing him away when he would have kissed her, laughing.

‘Ai, you will have to rinse your mouth first...’

‘As you wish, Ness.’

And though he would almost rather have simply taken her without kissing, her mouth was so beautiful, so appealing that he left the bed to hasten to the bathing room and swill his mouth with water, hurrying back to her.

‘I am grateful,’ she said, her voice small, serious. ‘For I dearly want a kiss after that, and before you.’

‘My beloved Ness,’ he said, gathering her into his arms and allowing his mouth to fall onto hers. Her hands were tender in his hair, down his back, over his thighs as she shifted her hips to welcome him into her body, and it was bliss to house himself in her soft, warm centre, to move within her and feel the rightness of it, to ride the waves of love and lust, to feed the focus of his desire and her hands grew wild on his skin, grasping and pulling him in deeper, until he thought he would be lost in her, and she was everywhere around him, her tongue eager in his mouth, her hands clutching at his buttocks, her hips rising to each thrust until his breath caught in his throat and his body bucked and expanded and he spilled into her heat with love and despair and hope all mingling as the pain of his scarred fëa manifested, twisting his face for a fragmentary second, heightening the pleasure with its poignancy and he rested his forehead on her breast, gasping as her fingers stroked back his hair with gentle affection.

‘I love you, Nestoril,’ he said, when he could. ‘Please, don’t let me spoil things again.’

‘I’ll try to keep you in bounds, I promise,’ she said, her voice rich with joy. ‘For I am lost in love for you. Will you hold me, while we sleep?’

‘Indeed, I do not think I will ever let you go.’


	411. Rearranged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril rearranges Thranduil's breakfast meeting...

Nestoril had slid from the bed, from Thranduil’s encompassing warmth with reluctance, but there were things to organise, matters to attend to, and everything would be much simpler if they were in train before her lover woke...

Her lover.

Well, of course he was.

And all she wanted was to help his life run smoothly, and gently, for there to be kindness in his days and love in his nights, if she could.

A dressing robe, just because sitting at a desk in her skin to write messages felt wrong, and she slipped through into her study to sit at her desk and write a swift, but carefully-thought out note for Lord Arveldir, which she sealed with wax and took for the early-duty servant to carry off to the King’s Office.

Done, she returned quietly to her rooms.

He was still sleeping, Thranduil-her-lover, his eyes wide and wondering in reverie, his hair barely disarrayed from the night. For a moment she contemplated returning to bed and finding a delightful way to wake him, but the demands of the day were beckoning, and there would still be time later...

The bathing pool was warm, the water vaguely cloudy from the dissolved minerals salts which made it so refreshing to body and mind, and she welcomed its touch on her skin and hair, soothing and reassuring. For she needed reassurance, now more than ever, somehow... the message she had sent off, one could consider it as overstepping the mark, perhaps, taking too much on herself.

Or... as smoothing the day and eradicating several potential difficulties, depending on one’s perspective.

Well, it was time Thranduil was stirring, if they wanted to do more just exchange pleasant greetings.

Wrapping herself up in a towel and planning several distraction techniques, she prepared to leave the bathing chamber, deliberately clattering one or two objects in order to make a noise that might disturb her lover’s rest.

*

...Thranduil blinked his himself awake, registering that he was alone with a sudden and extreme sorrow for which he could not immediately account; he had been waking alone for hundreds of years, with but one or two exceptions, and...

Ah.

Nestoril. 

His breath was almost a heartbreak as he stirred, sat up and pulled at the pillows in the narrower-than-he-was-used-to bed.

Before he could properly register why he had woken so sadly, a voice, slightly muffled, came from the direction of the bathing chamber and Nestoril, clad only in a towel and drying her hair with one edge of it, emerged.

‘I hope I did not disturb you, my dear, you seemed so much at rest... I hope you slept well?’

Perfectly well, wondrously well.

‘Have you considered a new bed?’ he said, however.

‘No.’ 

Nestoril paused, the edge of the towel revealing far more than it concealed. He lifted his eyes to her face.

‘You might do so now,’ Thranduil said. ‘This one is rather narrow for two persons.’

‘But not too narrow,’ she said, sitting next to him on the edge of the bed. ‘Consider; this way, when we share, we must needs be close. There is no extra space to come between us.’

He lifted an eyebrow towards her, and her answering smile woke the thought in him that anything that brought them closer could only be a good thing.

‘I suppose that is so...’ He glanced towards the window, attempting to guess the hour from the darkness outside. ‘My dear Ness, unless you wish me to leave through the window again, perhaps I ought to be preparing for the day...’

‘You most certainly will not use the window, Thranduil, I have the start of a beautiful garden out there and you would damage my little plants! In fact, I have already taken the liberty of sending a message to the King’s Office...’

‘What have you done?’ he asked, trying to keep the horror from his voice.

‘Nothing you need worry about, my dear. I am very discreet.’

But there was such an expression of dismay in his eyes that she hastened to reassure him.

‘I wrote, under seal, to Arveldir, to say that it might be expedient for there to be a spare set of garments brought here for you...’

‘Ness...’

‘...given that it was my understanding you wished to see your grandson today, and that little Belegornor has been rather leaky of late, and Hanben’s marvellous waterproofings only cover one point of egress for bodily fluids...’

‘I see.’ The look of dread faded a little from Thranduil’s face and he reached out to brush Ness’ face with the backs of his fingers. ‘Thank you, then.’

Of course, that was only a part of what she had done, and as she waited for the moment of realisation to dawn she pretended to dry her hair with the towel in such a way as to move more of the fabric up to her head and away from her body.

‘But Arveldir will still be expecting me at the breakfast meeting, and I must therefore go through the palace clad as I was when I arrived last night,’ Thranduil began, trying not to fall prey to the allure of Nestoril’s lovely contours. ‘Now, there are less frequented ways I can use, but...’

‘Your breakfast meeting is to be held in my study this morning.’

‘What?’

Yes, this was the key, the point where it all turned...

‘My dear, we ought not, could not keep our relationship secret; it would be wrong in so many ways, but wrong to our fëar especially. Private, yes, that is different; we do not need to make a public spectacle of ourselves...’

‘Like my son. Although perhaps that is unfair; there are some warrior couples who are far more outwardly affectionate... And I am aware that I am prevaricating, although I do agree with you that we should not attempt to hide... but, Ness? The breakfast meeting?’

‘I suggested that there was talk of an early visit to Flora and her baby. But this could be considered the ideal place, and moment, to allow Arveldir to share our news...’

‘So soon?’

‘There is still time to write to him and rearrange the meeting should you wish. But if so, should I write? And then he will see my hand, again, and wonder why I am making changes on your behalf, and so will guess you are here... or you could write, and he would see the messenger from the Healers’ Hall, and the see your writing and realise... in any event...’

‘...in any event, Arveldir is expecting me to arrive in your study...’

‘I suppose, if you really wished to do so, you could change in here and simply not use the communicating door to go through into the study,’ Nestoril said.

He did not, could not like it; their rediscovered affection was too new, too fresh and delightful for him to wish to share it. And, to make no announcement, to simply reveal their closeness through delivered garments and rearranged breakfast meetings seemed almost more furtive than saying nothing...

But Ness was here, so perfect and lovely that it made him ache just to look at her...

‘You have it all arranged, sweet Ness, do you not?’

‘Let us say, I am trying to make all easy for you,’ she said. ‘And that because of my efforts, there is almost an hour before you need to be anywhere except here.’

‘In which case, I will try not to mind your machinations too much, my dear. Especially if you, also, have some time free.’

Nestoril smiled as Thranduil reached for the towel and pulled it out of her hands.

‘I think that can be arranged,’ she said.

*

Govon threw back his head, exposing his throat as he gasped, rocking backwards while beneath him, his fair elf reached for him, held and stroked him to bliss, finding his own completion in Govon’s releasing moan.

‘Ai, I do love it when you feel the need to be up early,’ his friend captain said, disengaging and taking Legolas in his arms for a post-loving cuddle. ‘But... you are not lingering with me, I think?’

Legolas kissed him, reluctant to leave the bed.

‘I wish to speak to Adar before our morning meetings... you know, I have the feeling Arveldir and Erestor collude together first and then play us off against each other...’

Govon smiled at Legolas’ rear view as the prince headed for the bathing room. Had his husband really only just noticed how the two advisors between them had both Thranduil and Legolas trained...? 

‘So... I thought, if I arrive there before Arveldir, then I can have Adar to myself before his day gets filled up...’

Legolas’ voice was distorted by the echo of the bathing pool and Govon decided, well, he might as well be in the pool with his fair elf, as in the bed without him...

‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, descending into the water. ‘Is it anything I could help with?’

‘No, everything’s fine. Flora, we need to visit Flora and I wanted to sort out when. I don’t mind being there when Adar is, but will he mind if I am interrupting his time with the baby? And word is that Flora didn’t enjoy the journey ,except for the last bit in the donkey cart... in spite of having an armed escort and the benefit of Healer Ness with her every step of the way. I’m just worried she’s not going to want to visit again, and what will Adar do when he realises it? He so looks forward to seeing the little one...’

‘He could go and visit her.’

‘What, Adar ride the barge up the river just to visit the gwinig? No, don’t be...’ Silly, Legolas stopped himself saying. ‘I suppose... it’s not that different, is it, from riding up to the Three Villages to see how things are...?’

‘Not really, no. It might take a bit of explaining to Flora’s mother, why he’s there. But if he really wants to spend time with the baby, really, why should it be Flora making the journey all the time?’

‘Fair point.’ Legolas left the pool, towelled himself off, pretending not to see Govon’s once-more hungry eyes on him. ‘Well, today, though, I just want to sort out when Ada wants to visit so I’m not in his way. If Erestor turns up for me while I’m gone, tell him, would you?’

‘Oh, so I have to get out of the pool, too, just because you have?’

‘...and don’t steal all the toast...’

*

Hair still damp, Legolas hurried to his father’s rooms, knocked on the door. That there was no answer didn’t alarm him too much at first, but getting no answer when he knocked again, he found himself growing worried. The door, when he tried it, was unlocked and so, calling out softly, he went in.

All was in order, which was good, but there was no sign of his father, which was not. The door to the sleeping chamber was open, the bed undisturbed, not simply empty but not slept in.

Alarm growing – after all, it wasn’t as if Thranduil didn’t have a past history of simply vanishing, Legolas headed for the King’s Office as swiftly as possible.

‘Your highness?’ Erestor’s voice was a distraction as he turned into the last corridor; the advisor was coming towards him, a servant with the breakfast trolley for their meeting in hand. ‘Might one ask – do you have such an appetite this morning, that you seek me out?’

‘Erestor, I... my father is not in his room...’

Erestor waved to the servant.

‘Go ahead with the meal; no doubt Commander Govon will receive it. My prince, if you would follow me...?’

‘But, Erestor...’

‘Yes, I know.’

Something about the advisor’s self-composed certainty gave Legolas pause.

‘What do you know?’

Erestor tipped his head and set off after the breakfast trolley towards Legolas’ rooms.

‘Perhaps we should discuss it over breakfast,’ he said. ‘But be assured, Arveldir is on his way to meet with your father now.’

*

Thranduil remained in Ness’ sitting room while she, from the other side of the closed study door, greeted Arveldir.

‘It is early in the day for our king to have suffered leakage from the gwinig,’ the advisor said, his voice muffled by the door, but still audible.

‘The garments you requested for our king,’ Arveldir said.

‘Thank you, I will just take them and...’

‘Oh, are they needed so soon? Has the gwinig been particularly leaky so early in the day?’

‘Gwinigs are not known for their timing,’ Ness said, her voice approaching the door. 

As previously arranged, Thranduil was behind it, so that were Arveldir to glance over, he would not see his king. Ness didn’t even look up as she set the clothing down on the table near the window, closing the door as she left. Thranduil sorted through the garments, began to dress.

‘Are we in imminent expectation of his majesty?’ Arveldir was asking now. ‘Is he presently with Flora and her child?’

Thranduil knew that tone, Arveldir suspicious, determined to uncover whatever was being hidden from him... normally, Thranduil found it a source of amusement, but not when Ness was the subject of the barbs of Arveldir’s questions...

‘I really could not say; I have not yet started my day’s work in the halls.’

‘I see. And yet you have already done so much...’

‘One is never quite off-duty in this line of work, not until one’s bedchamber door is firmly closed for the night...’

Ah, she was brave, Ness, countering with a smile in her voice. Daring, too, to mention her bed chamber... But enough. He would not let her suffer the indignity of making excuses for him, he would not run away again... 

Picking up the shirt, he wandered through into Ness’ study, wearing only his boots, his leggings and a frown.

‘Could you not have brought me a better shirt, Arveldir?’ he asked in aggrieved tones, beginning to shrug into the offending garment and fully aware that the advisor was gaping and Nestoril trying not to smirk. ‘I prefer the finer linen...’

‘I beg your pardon sire,’ Arveldir said, getting up to bow politely. ‘I had thought it was simply temporary, in case of vomiting elflings...’

Thranduil disregarded this with a wave of his hand and sat next to Nestoril.

‘Vomiting elflings are never temporary enough,’ he said. ‘But that aside, I hope you brought breakfast for three?’

He covered Nestoril’s hand with his own fleetingly, but it was enough for Arveldir to take notice.

‘In fact, my king, I did, although I must confess, I have quite lost my appetite...’

‘Well, good, for I am quite famished for once,’ Thranduil said.

‘Indeed, sire, I wonder why that might be?’


	412. Interesting...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril finds much to interest her through her day...

Nestoril’s heart swelled within her breast. Elation, and relief, and pride all combined to make it nigh on impossible for her to keep her face decorous...

But, oh, Thranduil!

Not only had he not hidden, not run away, but he had entered her study in such a manner as made it plain to Arveldir that their relationship was now more than professional... and to sit, and cover her hand with his, to behave as if it was all perfectly natural made her so proud of him, and in him.

‘There has been an alteration in our personal circumstances, Arveldir,’ Thranduil was saying as he busied himself with breakfast, gesturing for Nestoril to eat, smiling at her as he went on. ‘It is not a secret matter, but it is a private one. Ness and I have reached... a new level of understanding...’

‘May the Valar be thanked for that, if you will pardon my saying so,’ Arveldir said briskly. ‘We were wondering, Erestor and I, if all would be resolved before we leave...’

‘Are you leaving, Arveldir?’ Nestoril asked.

‘Of course, you have been away; you would not know. And I suspect there have been more urgent matters than the King’s Office for you to consider. Indeed, it is all settled, Erestor and Glorfindel are riding back to Imladris to consult with Elrond, and I am going along to ensure undue pressure is not exerted on my friend, so that he may choose to stay or go as he wishes, and not as Elrond leads him to believe he wishes. We will leave shortly after Masters Merenor and Hanben’s wedding. But this morning meeting is not about me... and, while I am delighted and wish to offer my congratulations, I am not quite certain...?’

‘Ness will not be my queen,’ Thranduil said, his mouth twitching in a near smile. ‘A fact she vouchsafed to me before it had even occurred to me to ask her... it is all quite informal. No vows.’

‘We understand it might cause a stir,’ Nestoril said, ‘but if Thranduil were to take a queen now, after having three sons, it would raise speculation as to why. And I do not want to get drawn into tedious gossip about the succession...’

‘Which introduces one area of concern I feel it my duty to mention...’ For a moment Arveldir looked uneasy. ‘Elflings.’

‘Indeed, what of them?’ Nestoril said. ‘We have not yet had time to discuss the matter between ourselves, and so how can we possibly have an answer for you? But without vows, any elfling between us would be of ambiguous status to say the least... it is, perhaps, something better left for future debate.’

‘What is more, we are trying, as much as possible, to keep our relationship distinct from our duties,’ Thranduil said. ‘There will be unavoidable overlaps, but the Elvenking and the Healer-in-Chief are professional persons, Ness and I are just two individuals who happen to care for each other.’

‘I see. ..’ Arveldir inclined his head. ‘Might I mention this new... arrangement to Parvon?’

‘Of course,’ Thranduil said. ‘Make sure he is not holding anything valuable at the time; I have noticed at High Table he has a tendency to drop or spill things when startled.’

‘We will not be hiding our... arrangement,’ Nestoril said. ‘We simply will not be making proclamations about it.’ She set down her cutlery and pressed her lips against Thranduil’s cheek as she rose from her seat, noting that even this formal kiss made Arveldir blush. ‘Now I must collect my head-rail and begin my formal day, my dear. I expect I will catch a glimpse of you when you come to visit Belegornor?’

‘I will look forward to it, Ness.’

*

Well, that had been an interesting start to the day! Poor Arveldir, faced with the pair of them and still managing to keep his formal manner and acidic humour... briefly, Ness wondered how much he had guessed from her note, for some of his questions had been a little pointed... but then Thranduil, coming to her rescue with his beautiful chest bare and perfect ease...

She set her head-rail in place and pinned her blue jewel to the collar of her habit. There. Healer Nestoril, ready for the day and nothing but the twinkle in her eye to suggest the monumental changes that had taken place for her overnight.

The usual tour of the halls, the duty-healer in tow. Today it was Maereth, and there was, really, nothing to report. Just Flora and Belegornor, in their rooms, and the elflings for their study session, Gyril overseeing with one of the junior healers...

Elflings.

Her first instinct had been to tell Arveldir no, of course there would be no elflings, she had enough work here... but then, she had not consulted with Thranduil and if, perhaps, a part of him was longing for a young life to nurture, it would have distressed him to hear an outright ‘no’. She hoped, though, that he would be content with the sons he had, with his grandchildren, acknowledged or otherwise.

Later, cooing at Belegornor while Flora got herself bathed, she wondered if perhaps it need not be a forever ‘no’; although most ellith had their gwinig when they were young, it was possible to be blessed with an elfling even when one was considered to be comparatively mature; there was plenty of time ahead. 

So a qualified ‘not yet’ was enough, perhaps, to suit both herself and Thranduil.

‘Have you plans for today, Flora?’ she asked when the girl came to take charge of her baby once more. ‘I understand the king wishes to visit?’

‘Yes, and Legolas... your Healer Aeglosdes said she would find out when they were free, but I do not think we are going anywhere...’

‘You have other friends in the palace, though? Canadion and Thiriston, and Merlinith, I think, you like her?’

‘Legolas’ husband’s sister? Yes, she is nice... but she will be busy.’

‘If you want to see her, you know, you could visit, I am sure she would enjoy that. I can have one of the servants send a message?’

‘I do not want to be a nuisance...’

‘Well, when Legolas comes to see you, ask his opinion. It will be nice for you to have company.’

An hour on the desk, Legolas arriving to see his nephew, Govon with him.

‘And there is a rumour you are to be our new honour-mother,’ Govon said with a grin.

‘Don’t be so cheeky,’ she countered. ‘I am far too young to be your honour-mother. And when I tell your Ada-in-Honour...’

‘So it’s true, then?’ Legolas said. ‘About time, Ness!’

‘I am on duty, your highness, and my title is Healer Ness, if you please! Now, go and see your nephew. And do reassure Flora she’s allowed out of the halls – the poor girl would love to see Merlinith, but she seems very shy about it.’

The morning passed. Thranduil presented himself to see his grandson. His mouth was grave, but his eyes smiled, and lingered on Nestoril’s jewel, and she felt a little thrill of delight at their secret as she escorted him through to Flora’s room.

The day-meal in the room behind the duty desk, an hour at her own desk with paperwork, reports and the like, and a message was delivered by one of the attendants. It was in Arveldir’s hand; Thranduil asked that the enclosed be passed on to her, and inside was a sealed note.

_‘Ness,_

_‘Dine with me in my rooms tonight, informally, please? I fear this will be my last chance to dine away from the High Table for several evenings, and I crave your company. Come early, if you can, and stay late, perhaps._

_‘Thranduil.’_

Of course she would. If nothing else, it would put her out of reach of Flora, and much though she liked the young woman, a little rest from her company would not be a bad thing...

She wrote a reply, that she would be pleased to accept and would be there as soon as duty permitted – perhaps an hour before the formal dining hour, and a cover note for Arveldir, asking him to please pass it on. She was just to go in search of Aeglosdes to send her to the King’s Office with the message when there was a knock at her door and Master Hanben, twiddling his fingers and almost blushing, begging the honour of a moment of her time.

‘Please come in, Hanben. Is all well with you?’

‘Yes, Healer, thank you, I am well, and Merenor also, we are fine, fine, yes...’

Oh, dear... one of those conversations...! As fond of Hanben as she was, reading his shy riddles was not something she always found easy... almost she asked him to spit it out, whatever it was, but she was in far too good a mood today, and instead she smiled and waved him to a seat.

‘Is there something I can help you with? Or did you wish to discuss any details of the wedding with me? I thought we had the whole of tomorrow afternoon set aside for that?’

‘We do, yes, Healer, but I... I want the key to the locked scroll cabinet.’

Nestoril hid her surprise; the conversation looked as if it was going to be especially interesting... 

‘Please,’ Hanben went on. ‘Just for an hour or so...’

‘Hanben, those scrolls are kept locked away for good reason, if I were to agree I would need to know why you wanted to see them...’

‘Research,’ he said, flushing so bright a red almost she was worried.

‘Research...?’

‘It is... for my wedding night, I... there are some things I do not know and I find I need to and... oh, dear...’

Nestoril reached across the desk and took Hanben’s hands in hers.

‘My dear friend, it would be better by far if you were to ask what you need to know. I am sure your Merenor would be only too happy to fill in any lack of knowledge...’

Head down, muttering and mumbling and growing even more scarlet, Hanben gave her to understand that his very beloved Merenor had no idea he had come to see her, that he couldn’t possibly ask him, or... or anybody but there were – things – and he wanted to be what Merenor wanted and, yes he had been a healer so if anything were to go wrong, he could help, but he did not want to hurt his darling in the first place and... and – oh, dear.

Oh, dear, indeed.

‘Hanben?’ Nestoril squeezed his fingers gently. ‘Hanben, the information in those scrolls... yes, I suppose some of it might tell you what you think you need to know, but... but there is more, and it might shock and upset you, and if there are things of which you are unaware, such an introduction might frighten you. Normally, I would say, speak to an older relative, but I suppose you don’t have anyone here, do you?’

‘Only my honour-kin to be, and while they are mostly older, they are Merenor’s sons, oh, I could not possibly...!’

‘No, I see that. And you really cannot ask Merenor?’

‘I... not about this.’

‘And I suppose you wouldn’t want to ask me, either?’

‘But... but you are an elleth, I do not think you could know...’

‘You’ve been a healer yourself, Hanben, you know we are trained to comprehend many things we have not experienced for ourselves...’ Still, it was a conversation she did not really wish to have with Hanben. ‘I am sure Merenor will make all easy for you, when the moment comes. In the meantime, leave the matter with me; I will see if I can find something less distressing than the locked scrolls to help you.’ She tightened her grip on his hands for a moment. ‘And do try not to worry! Many couples face similar moments of doubt before they take their vows, and yet all is well.’

He nodded, his eyes unhappy as he got to his feet.

‘Thank you for seeing me,’ he said.

‘Just keep in mind; you love him, he loves you. All will be well, I am sure.’ She picked up the letter from her desk. ‘Let me walk you out, Hanben. Canadion has been grumbling that you will not let him arrange bunting for you, can it really be true?’

‘It is our wedding, and not his, after all,’ Hanben said. ‘I hope Merenor will like what is planned, for myself, I do not care.’

She smiled and waved him off, giving the missive to Aeglosdes to take to Arveldir. Really, she and Thranduil would have to find a better way of communicating, all these notes-within-notes... still, it kept Aeglosdes occupied.

Unlocking the scrolls cabinet and then locking herself in her study to try and compose a simple guide for Hanben made for an equally interesting end to the afternoon. Hanben’s words had been telling; to an outsider, it was obvious that Merenor had the experience, and the more confident manner – and the sons – to suggest he might be the one loving, rather than the one loved. But Hanben had mumbled his concern lest he hurt beloved, which suggested an intention other than most persons would assume. 

Nestoril, of course, was not usually one to make assumptions.

Yes, there was far too much information here, she thought, trying not to be disapproving. How the scrolls had come to the palace was now forgotten, but they had been locked away, in the Healers’ Halls, for as long as Nestoril could remember. Stories of Elendil having once owned them, of them residing in Imladris for a while did not surprise her, but were of no account. What mattered was that she sift through the bizarre, the distasteful and the down-right dangerous practices to find a simple guide that would give Hanben the basic knowledge he needed without the more alarming aspects...

It took her the rest of her working day to collate a brief draft which she then copied out, trying to disguise her penwork (for the sake of sparing Hanben’s blushes, not her own). It was a relief, almost, to lock away the scrolls once more, seal up the document to give to Hanben tomorrow, and go through to announce to the duty-healer that she was finished work for the day.

‘I am going out presently, Gyril,’ she said. ‘In the very utmost need, a message to the King’s Office, and Arveldir might be able to find me. But unless there is a catastrophe bringing more injured than there are healers, I am not available at all for any reason.’ 

‘We are all very pleased for you both,’ Gyril said, trying not to grin. ‘But, perhaps, you might not want to say so to our king.’

Nestoril smiled and nodded and went on her way to change and prepare for her evening. 

Sometimes, her healers were annoyingly lacking in initiative – and other times, they were worryingly well-informed.

‘Have a pleasant evening, Healer,’ Gyril said on her way out. 

‘Oh, I will, thank you.’ Suddenly, she turned and raised an arch eyebrow. ‘And, please – don’t wait up. I will be late back... I hope...’


	413. Pining for Hanben

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor wonders what Hanben has been up to, and Cullasbes arrives...

Merenor smiled up into Hanben’s dark and lovely eyes and lifted his hands under the mahogany hair.

‘I missed you this afternoon,’ he said, still smiling. ‘I had a spare hour, and I thought, oh, I know, a nice wash under the cascade, with my sweetheart, refresh us for the evening. But your workshop was shut, your office empty. And so, I have been pining for the sight of you since early afternoon...’

‘Well, I am home now,’ Hanben said, relaxing as Merenor’s thumbs swept over his earlobes, his fingers sliding into his hair. ‘Had I known you were seeking me...’

Merenor leaned in, close, pressing his face against Hanben’s chest, the leather tunic cool beneath his cheek. Where had his sweetheart been? What was so secret he had left no word? Was it something Hanben needed prompting to share, or was it something... something Merenor was better off not knowing, what, why?

He didn’t ask, he wouldn’t ask. If it was something... well, as long as you don’t know, you can pretend... Not that he thought his beloved would look elsewhere, sweet Eru, no! But...

Why had he been gone? What had he been doing? 

‘There is something worrying you, I know, I can tell, my love. But what? Won’t you tell me, just in case I can help?’

‘I... oh, Merenor, my sweet scoundrel, I... yes, I am worried, you know I am worried, it is the day after tomorrow and I still do not... we... I... things...’

‘Oh, I see. I think.’ Merenor snuggled closer, his arms hugging, reassuring. ‘If it’s to do with the wedding night... don’t worry, please, try not to. We can... anything you want, but only what you want. We have plenty of time, after all. Even so, not ever anything that you do not like the idea of. It will be fine...’

‘But I do not want it to be fine, Merenor, I want it to be perfect for you. For you. I... will be content with whatever you wish, for you have said, but... for you.’

‘My darling.’ Merenor looked up and smiled all his love into Hanben’s eyes. ‘If there is you, and me, and a minimum of clothing, and somewhere to lie down, it will be perfect for me. Really.’

Hanben sighed and gave in to the loving eyes and the gentleness of Merenor’s arms, dipped his face to kiss the smiling mouth.

It was some minutes before Merenor had breath, or wits for anything, but when the kiss slowly finished he tipped his head and took Hanben’s hands in his own, drawing him towards the bed.

‘And there is nothing else worrying you?’

‘No. Well, I...’

‘Hanben...?’

‘Do you want... do you want bunting?’

‘What...?’

‘At the wedding, bunting, do you want some? Only I know Canadion wants you to want some, and I thought, he is like you in many ways, perhaps you are like him in some ways, too, and I would not have you wishing for bunting when there is none, but to provide it when you do not and have it look as if Canadion were in charge and... and, oh, dear...’

Merenor leaned back to look up through his lashes in a manner he knew usually made Hanben stop breathing for a second. 

Yes, he wanted bunting, absurdly, yes, he wanted banners fluttering, bunting to shout and wave and trill his joy, he wanted satin and silk, flowers and fripperies and furbelows, he wanted it to be pretty and delicate and silly... and he was marrying an ellon whose idea of decoration was including split rings in the design of, oh, everything...

What mattered, what really mattered, was that they were going to be married.

‘What do I want at my wedding...? Let me think... I want you, and me, and our Witness... the rings we have made for each other would be nice, too. My sons, yes, I want them there. But nothing else matters, not really. Oh, look, over there, against the wall, I am sure that is our bed... how long has that been there?’

He gazed into Hanben’s eyes while his beloved tried to stammer and stutter out an answer through his confusion.

‘You will say, it has been there for ages, it is the same bed as was there this morning,’ Merenor said. ‘And I will say, are we sure? Perhaps we need to lie down on it, just to make certain? Yes?’

Hanben swallowed, managed to nod, and allowed himself to be steered over to the bed in question and pushed down onto it.

‘It... it certainly feels like...’

‘Ah.’ Merenor lifted his head, lowering his lashes again. ‘But we are both dressed, surely we will know better once we are unclothed...?’

‘...Un...? Yes, I see...’ Hanben allowed Merenor to tug at the lacing of his tunic and reciprocated with his own dear rascal’s garments. ‘Yes, I can quite see the need for thorough...’ He broke off as his clothes came off. ‘...empirical...’ Merenor’s garments, too, shed, abandoned. ‘...investigation...’

And then he found himself too busy to think about anything other than the beautiful ellon kissing him.

*

There was no deceit in Hanben, no guile, Merenor was certain, watching his beloved drift into post-orgasmic reverie beside him. There were secrets to do with the wedding, of course – he was longing to see the wedding ring Hanben had crafted him, for example, and although Hanben’s choice of clothes for the day was secret, it only remained so because Merenor, with great restraint, had not asked about them... no, his dear one was no good at keeping secrets, at subterfuge.

Which only made his absence this afternoon all the more worrying. But to ask might be to distress him and, poor love, he was already quite anxious enough...

Well, it was time to begin dressing for dinner. There was no formal top table tonight, so things would be more relaxed. He had intended suggesting they eat in their rooms, but now he wondered whether an evening in public might be better; if Hanben was still anxious, a long evening alone together might make him worse...

Merenor kissed his sweetheart’s forehead and stroked his hand.

‘I am going to the washing cascade,’ he said, hoping his words would penetrate just enough to bring Hanben towards waking. ‘If you hurry, there will be time for more than washing, too.’

But while Merenor was refreshing himself, a knock came to the door, urgent and repetitive.

‘I am awake, really, I am!’ Hanben said loudly. ‘Merenor?’

Again came the knock.

‘I am washing, my love, but whoever it is can leave a note, if it is urgent.’

‘No, I am up, I need but a moment...’ The sound of the door opening. ‘Yes? Oh, Thiriston...’

‘Sorry to bother you. Message from Canadion for you both...’

‘I am here!’ Wrapped in several towels, Merenor came to Hanben’s side. ‘Is all well?’

‘Canadion’s apologies, Cullasbes has arrived. She’s summoned all your lads; they’re in our rooms hiding while they work out how to ignore her.’

‘We will all dine together, all Merenor’s family and I, in the main hall,’ Hanben said with determined command. ‘She may, if she must, join us. But otherwise, she must understand she has no right to demand her sons’ time. Especially not those who have jobs and families of their own.’

Merenor grinned. ‘Well, that only leaves Caraphindir, and he’s not here yet anyway, so... I like it, Hanben. Yes, tell her that. Or would you like me to? After all, she hasn’t properly met Hanben yet, not as my future husband...’

Thiriston’s grin was so broad it looked frightening.

‘Will be delighted to pass that on to her in person, Honour-Ada,’ he said. ‘And we’ll save a table. A big one.’

*

‘She won’t come,’ Merenor muttered as he readied himself. ‘She’ll back down, claim she has to sit with her friends... or her special friend, perhaps... she’ll find some sneering way of not joining us...’

‘Do you really wish for her company?’ Hanben said, noting with alarm that Merenor was absently reaching for the least-flattering of his tunics. ‘My rascal, you know I think you look wonderful in all colours, but the green one brings out the lovely hues of your eyes to their fullest...’

‘Really?’ Merenor dropped the red coat he’d picked up and reached for the green one. ‘But I only have the brown leggings to go with it and they shrank after lying around damp for too long...’

‘They show off your perfect musculature quite admirably. Especially,’ Hanben added, reaching into the wardrobe, ‘with these boots. I shall find myself longing for the moment we can be alone together, if you wear the boots...’

‘Why, Hanben...’ Merenor stared, smiling at the blush on his beloved’s face. ‘You never said... well, just think, me an object of desire...’

‘Oh, do not be ridiculous, you know you are the handsomest ellon in the Greenwood,’ Hanben said with a trace of impatience. ‘It is high time you dressed to show it.’

‘The...? What about Glorfindel, Thranduil, Legolas?’

‘Oh, blonds! Who looks at blonds when there are Silvans with enchanting eyes to be captivated by?’

‘You, they will be looking at you, then.’

‘Nonsense. If so, only because I am with you. Let me help with your braids. There, just like that, it keeps the hair back from your throat... oh, except you have a small mark...’

‘Oh, am I wearing the token of your love, my Hanben? How wonderful, no, let it show, let them all see...’

‘Well, if you are not shy, why would I be, you rogue? Now, let us go and show this silly elleth how you flourish away from her side.’

‘How well I am loved.’

‘Yes, if she sees your neck, she will be imagining all sorts of things...’

*

Canadion was loitering at the end of the corridor.

‘Thiriston told us your idea,’ he said. ‘It is wonderful! In fact, it could only be improved upon if there were more of us, so we have decided it is a party tonight, and our prince will be there, and Commander Govon... of course, Naneth will not refuse if she gets to sit within shouting distance of Prince Legolas... and Merlinith and Araspen, and even Arveldir and Erestor, because I think Arveldir thought there might be mischief... and Glorfindel, and Triwathon...’

‘Is anyone not coming?’ Merenor asked with a laugh as Hanben took his hand.

‘Yes, Thranduil and Healer Ness, and that would look odd, would it not? Except, of course, Flora and the baby are here...’ Canadion talked on, filling the distance to the feasting hall. ‘You look nice tonight, Ada, Hanben had better keep tight hold of you...’

‘Yes, I intend him to,’ Merenor said, laughing. ‘In fact, I would be happy if he never let go.’

‘A lovely thought. It might make innovating a little difficult, however.’

They entered the hall and were greeted by cheers and raised goblets from a long, and very full table with space at the head for Hanben and Merenor. Canadion seated himself next to Thiriston a few seats down, and Merenor beamed at everyone.

‘Family, hello, friends, hello, friends of friends, and princes, and everyone, hello! This is lovely!’ He leaned forward to where Cullasbes was wedged at the end of the table between Ravomen and Araspen and Merlinith. ‘Oh, and mother of my children, and Master Ravomen, be welcome. Well, thank you all for coming. Shall we eat?’

In spite of the potential for disaster, Merenor enjoyed himself. Hanben was at his side, his hand sliding under the table occasionally to rest on his thigh in a greatly-daring caress, Canadion was in spirits, his brothers laughing hard and drinking harder. Arveldir and Erestor steered the conversation, where possible, and tried to keep the rowdiness down to almost genteel levels. Talk danced and spun, rose and fell with snippets from each end of the table reaching here and there...

‘...such as my youngest’s wedding, miles of bunting there was, all kinds of hues, most distracting... some poor soul had to make that...’

‘In fact, much was made by my team of ellith; they worked diligently to make it just as Canadion and Thiriston wanted, it being their wedding...’

‘I see. You must have been glad when it was done...’

‘I liked it. And my ladies have been busy about the decorations for Master Hanben and Master Merenor and it will be beautiful. Anyone who says otherwise has no taste!’

Hanben almost choked on his wine. Well, if Cullasbes hated bunting, bunting they would have... but what was Merlinith saying, was it already in train...?

‘What’s that?’ Merenor said, eyes bright as he turned to Hanben. ‘Did you organise bunting anyway..? Is that what you were up to this afternoon? Oh, sweetheart...!’ 

He rose from his seat to fling his arms around his beloved, who had no option but to scoop him onto his lap and respond to the shower of kisses. From somewhere, Arveldir cleared his throat, and Merenor grinned.

‘Oh, Hanben, this is so lovely of you! But you had better put me down until later, we do not want to put the nice Lord Glorfindel off his honey beer, look, he hasn’t even opened that bottle...’

Hanben helped Merenor back to his place.

‘Never you mind about nice Lord Glorfindel and his beer, he is nice Captain Triwathon’s problem, not ours.’ He took Merenor’s hand and sighed. This was not the right place for a confession, but it was the right moment, which was more important. ‘No, I wasn’t off organising bunting today. I must admit, I went... went to see Healer Ness, I wanted some information...’ he lowered his voice. ‘There is a certain scroll from the other side of the mountains, I... well, I didn’t get to see it. It is unimportant anyway. But I would not have you think I was somewhere I was not.’

‘Nice Lord Glorfindel heard that,’ Glorfindel muttered for Triwathon’s ears only. ‘Oh, and I remember a certain scroll going missing... it had been in Elendil’s possession, then Gil-Galad got hold of it, then Elrond was closeted away in his library for some time, and wouldn’t let even Erestor in...’

‘I’m not quite sure I see the relevance?’ Triwathon said, smiling in response to the grin on the Balrog-slayer’s face.

‘Well, there’s only two reasons you look for a scroll like that... to while away a lonely hour... which is not going to be the case for our fine friend the Innovator here... or in a genuine quest for knowledge... good thing he didn’t get a glimpse of it if you ask me.’ Glorfindel raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. ‘Shocking, it was. Why, even Ecthelion would have been taken aback... I’ll tell you more later, it might put everyone off their dinner...’

Eventually the party began to thin out, Legolas and Govon the first to take their leave.

‘We have duty in the morning – as do some others here,’ Govon said with a grin. ‘So I know who to expect to be slacking... Goodnight, all.’

Melion got up soon after, Baudh and Faerveren with him.

‘Well, we are expected back. Goodnight, Ada, Hanben. Oh, and you too, Naneth.’

Merenor smiled and waved them off, feeling only a little sorry for Cullasbes. After all, she had wanted to see her sons... and she had certainly been able to see them, just they had hardly looked at her, or spoken to her all evening.

But there was space opposite him now, and she rose regally from her seat and came to fill it.

‘Merenor.’

‘Cullasbes. Thank you for coming to see me married. I don’t think you’ve properly met my Hanben?’

She inclined her head.

‘I have heard your name, Master Hanben, but I thought you were his employer.’

‘It is more accurate to say we work together, Mistress. My husband-to-be now also has considerable responsibilities in the King’s Office.’

‘You met at my youngest son’s wedding, I think? You have not known each other long.’

Hanben remembered a time when his manner had been considered a little overbearing. He drew now on his recollections and brought the full weight of his pomposity to bear on this dreadful elleth who had made his beloved’s life unhappy and had betrayed even her short vows.

‘While you, madam, have known your new friend for a very long time. Or so says common report.’ Hanben turned towards his beloved. ‘I must have a word with Merlinith, and she looks as if she is preparing to depart. Will you excuse me for a moment?’

‘Of course, my love.’ 

Hanben eased from his seat and bowed to Merlinith who took his arm and dragged him onto the seat next to her.

‘Well said, Master Hanben! Yes, I have heard all sorts of stories about those two... you noticed he disappeared as soon as she moved?’

‘I hadn’t, but...’

‘And you heard what she said about Canadion’s wedding?’

‘It seemed to me to be a very elegant affair. My dear Merenor speaks of how much his son loved the decorations... did I hear, you have been making bunting?’

‘Should I not...? Only Canadion’s took so long to make, and we were at a loose end, so...’

‘In fact, I want bunting, all the bunting, as much of it as you can. All I ask is that you try to include specific colours; green and pink, violet and amber on the key sections.’

‘Most of it is white, or cream – we thought there might be late snow, and it would look nice – so we could add small spots of colour... yes, I am sure it could be done.’

‘Then if you will do so, Mistress Merlinith, I will be most grateful. And I think it will make my husband-to-be happy, too.’


	414. Informing Hanben

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor has a chat with his sons, and Hanben has a talk to someone, too...

Merenor timed his arrival at breakfast next morning with great care. After long and rambling pillow-talks with Hanben about the previous evening, he had come to the realisation that some things were right and some were less right, and just because you loved someone didn’t mean you should let them get away with it. Even if you wanted to, and you understood, and you loved them for what they’d intended.

So he and Hanben waited outside the hall by the second entrance until they saw Melion and Baudh come in by the other doors. Thiriston, and Canadion, were already in the hall, Thiriston seated with food in front of him, Canadion delayed at the board by Cullasbes, where he seemed to be helping her carry her tray; Merenor could see him smiling and nodding, leaning in to listen.

Well, that was something. Actually, it felt like a lot.

Hanben squeezed his hand and murmured in his ear.

‘You see? It is not all of them, and so last night cannot have been deliberate. They were just in high spirits, perhaps resenting the summons, but with no malice intended towards Cullasbes.’

Merenor nodded. Last evening it had been very obvious that his sons had not been eager to talk to their mother, and it had seemed, to him, at times more pointed than accidental. The thought had occurred, only admitted to Hanben quite late in their talk, that the three had been in collusion to turn their shoulders away from Cullasbes, and he had not liked it, had not liked even thinking it of his dear lads.

‘They are your sons, they are not bad boys. Just, perhaps, mischievous. Loyal to you, too. Now, I will bring us food, my rascal, you go and talk to them before they sit.’

Merenor nodded, ran through his thoughts, and reminded himself how much he loved them, how wonderful they were, aways...

‘Baudh, Melion, good morning! Tomorrow is my wedding day, is not it wonderful?’

‘Ada!’ Baudh laughed and hugged him. Melion, too, embraced his father.

‘There, this is lovely,’ Merenor said. ‘I am glad to get you two alone for a chat; I will have a talk with Canadion later, but... you didn’t seem to get much chance to talk to your mother last night...?’

‘Well... there were other people to talk to, Ada,’ Baudh began, hunching up a defensive shoulder. ‘And after what she’s done to you...’

Merenor put his arm around Baudh’s shoulder, Melion’s too, cuddling them in lovingly.

‘Exactly, ion-nin, what she’s done to me. Not, in this case, to you. Please, my dear boys, I know she’s hard at the edges, and overbearing, and all that, but she is your mother. And it’s a long way to come, just for a wedding, a long journey, and still, she came. Now, for everything she’s done to you – and the Valar know it’s a lot – feel free to take her to task. Really, I am grateful you love me so well you would defend me, but I do not want you to darken your fëar with ungenerous thoughts just for me...’

‘Sorry, Adar,’ Melion said. ‘But it was hard, seeing her there with... him. And knowing how long she’s... they’ve... but...’

‘But you didn’t complain when Hanben spoke to her, Ada...’

‘That’s the point, Baudh; my future husband did, actually, speak to her. Well. I truly am grateful, my dear lads, that you want to support me. But there’s no need, you know. It would make me easier in my heart if you could try just a little bit harder...?’

‘Yes, Ada,’

‘Sorry, Adar.’

‘I know it’s not easy, she can trying... but I am so proud of you, of all you are, I hope you know that? Well, that’s good, then. Oh, and don’t even think about apologising to your mother, it might make her think about it too much. So, are we going to sit with Thiriston and Canadion?’

‘If Hanben doesn’t want you to himself.’

‘If Canadion doesn’t want to be alone with Thiriston...’

‘And if we all don’t mind eating with your naneth, after all that, Canadion has invited her to join them...’

‘Adar, I think the day meal is enough time for Baudh and I to chat to Naneth...’

‘Yes, Melion can ask her to join the family in their rooms, and I will go, too.’

Merenor laughed. ‘You scamps, both of you! Well, all right! But only because it might look odd if we’re all nice to her at once.’

He waved them off, grinning, and went to sit with Thiriston. Hanben joined them, laying out dishes for his beloved.

‘I see we will have other company, my dear rogue...’

‘We can slink away, if you wish...’

‘Don’t,’ Thiriston said quickly. ‘The more of us here, the less she’ll scold my penneth... and she’s left her whatever-he-is behind...’

‘Oh, come now, we all know, he’s her lover, has been for ages... since Cullasbes saw fit to banish me south, probably,’ Merenor said. ‘Coinciding with her concerns for Canadion being corrupted by my wicked ways. But we can’t keep chewing over such old bones; there is nothing of goodness in them, only bitterness, and I am starting a new phase of my life, soon.’ He gave Hanben his most loving smile. ‘I want all to be as smooth as it may be, so there is no point in bearing grudges. But I loved you for saying what you did, my darling, last night. You made me feel valued.’

‘You are valued, my rascal. Ah, good morning, Mistress Cullasbes. Would you care to sit with us?’

‘That rather depends on how you speak to me, Master Hanben.’

‘Naneth!’ Canadion protested with a laugh and sat down next to Thiriston. ‘I heard you two chatting last night; it was nice of you to notice how swiftly love happened for Ada and Master Hanben, at last, and I am sure Master Hanben was only thinking that you and Master Ravomen have been friends for so very long that, were you to consider more, that it would be a sound basis for a deeper association...’

‘Yes, let’s leave it at that, shall we?’ Merenor said, smiling at his youngest son. ‘I heard a rumour that Caraphindir is due in today, have you heard anything in the Dragons about it, Thiriston?’

The big elf shook his head.

‘Leading knifework and archery practice the last day or so, on the grounds, nowhere near the gates.’

‘But it will be nice to be together again, won’t it?’ Canadion said. ‘All of us together for Ada’s wedding. Well, I think it will be nice... but it is a shame you cannot be in the Sacred Grove...’

‘Ah, but we do not want to be troubling the nice fëa-trees with our nonsense, penneth. No, outside the workshop is where we want to take our vows; it is a pleasant, open space, and if it rains or snows, our guests can shelter inside.’

‘But what about you and Hanben, and Healer Ness?’

‘We have reworked your ada’s cantilever design to make a large shelter, enough to cover us should the need arise. If the night is fine, well, we will bedeck it with bunting instead.’

‘Bunting?’ Cullasbes said, scorn dripping. ‘Whose wedding is this, Canadion, that you infect it with your ideas?’

‘Oh, but it is not Canadion’s doing,’ Hanben said quickly. ‘In fact, if you ask at Mistress Camaemes’ sewing room, you will find them working on my final instructions today. However, I was trying to keep it for a surprise...’

Merenor smiled so hard his face hurt.

‘Oh, I am sure you will find some other way to surprise me, my darling,’ he said. 

*

Nestoril hid a twinge of impatience and asked her question for the third time.

‘Merenor? Hanben? Which is it to be, will you walk in together, or will one of you wait with me?’

‘Yes,’ Merenor said, glancing towards the window of Ness’ study.

‘No,’ Hanben said, fidgeting with the ties at the neck of his tunic.

Well, she knew why Hanben was twitching; anxiety and nervousness. But Merenor wasn’t worried, she thought; he just kept looking towards the outside...

‘Is there anything wrong, Merenor?’ she asked as gently as she could. ‘You seem distracted today...’

‘I do? Forgive me, your time is valuable and you are so good to help so much, it is just that my eldest, Caraphindir, he is due in today, and I am wondering exactly when...’

‘I see. Bear with me one moment.’

She rose and went out into the corridor where she could be heard talking to someone.

‘Please have word sent – it is most important – that when Caraphindir Merenorion is sighted from the gates, word is to be brought to me immediately, my meeting is to be interrupted. At once, yes, just knock and enter, we will be waiting, and my thanks. Then there will be a message to take.’

Merenor looked sideways at Hanben.

‘I am sorry, I had not thought until now, to arrive together, or not. What do you want, my love?’

‘You, to be married to you, I... well, I wanted to surprise you, and if we go together, I do not know... but I want to wait with you, while everyone assembles around us, I do not like to think of being alone, or you being alone, while that happens. In short, I wish to be sure you are there, when I am there, more than anything.’

‘More than anything... well, that is easy, then. Except, if we get ready together, I will only get distracted, and then we will both be late...’

‘You still have that guest room at your disposal; you get ready at home, and I will change in your room. We will meet at the outer door and walk across together.’

‘That’s a good idea. Or you at home... it is your room.’

‘They are our rooms.’

Nestoril had come back in, closing the door softly behind her before resuming her seat. Hanben ventured a smile.

‘I think the confusion came about because it seemed that there were two questions at once. We each answered a different question, that is all. We will arrive together, the two of us.’

‘Very well. And your vows, have you decided on your precise wording yet?’

‘I keep thinking I have, and then adding bits in,’ Merenor said.

‘But we will both include words such as ‘forever’ and ‘beyond the Sundering Seas,’ Hanben said. ‘These are forever vows, my rascal, and no escape after.’

‘Indeed, why would anyone wish to escape you?’

...and this was almost worse than before...! What else was there left to discuss...?

‘Afterwards, Merlinith has said she and Araspen will host a party for you in their Friendly Rooms; is that all evening, or... stop smirking, Merenor, for a moment... I meant, will you be dining formally in the Feasting Hall as well?’

‘Oh, I should not think so,’ Hanben said. ‘We are taking our vows early in the evening, as soon as it is fully dark, so that it is not too late an event for little Mírien, Merenor’s granddaughter. Then those who wish can dine in the Feasting Hall and come later to the Friendly Rooms.’

‘I see.’ Nestoril forbore to ask how the hours between the wedding and the celebration would be spent; she did not wish to make Hanben blush... ‘I must confess, I am glad of it, for I am expected to dine in the hall. So this means I may share your evening, also.’

‘Of course, Ness,’ Merenor said. ‘We’re looking forward to it. And if, you know, you wished to bring anyone... a friend...’

‘I expect all my friends will be there anyway. Now, is there anything else? Ah, yes. Will you take care of the rings you have made each other, or do you wish to give them into my keeping?’

‘Oh, we will keep them, thank you,’ Hanben said. ‘But...’

A knock at the door and the servant appeared, apologising.

‘But you wanted to know, Healer, and so there is news that visitors are half a mile from the gates.’

‘Thank you, my dear. Please take that other message now.’

‘At once, Healer.’

Merenor sat up straighter, grinning. ‘Hanben, it will be Caraphindir, at last!’

‘Well, go and greet him, my rascal. I will finish our business with Healer Nestoril...’

‘May I, Ness? Will you hold me excused?’

‘Indeed I will, but only if you leave your husband-to-be here; we will arrange the rest of it. Go, greet your son. And if I do not see you before, tomorrow evening, I will Witness your vows.’

*

Nestoril waited for Merenor’s steps to fade from the hall outside, for silence to settle in the room before she got up and went to a dresser on the far side of her study. From one of the drawers she took out a small box, wrapped and tied.

‘My dear friend, I thought long about your problem,’ she said. ‘Which is not really a problem, simply an area of uncertainty. In here, you will find a selection of oils, soothing and relaxing, some with dual properties... for... massage, for instance. There is also a document, which will explain matters to you in some detail; the tone is not at all lurid, do not fear!’

‘Healer, this is most kind of you, I...’ 

Nestoril rested her hands on his shoulders and gave him a gentle squeeze.

‘There is winter wine in the decanter on the table, help yourselves.’

‘I beg your pardon? I do not...’

There was a tapping at the door and Nestoril opened it.

‘Thank you for coming, Lord Glorfindel. I place all my faith in you, and I am sure you will be of great use to my friend.’

‘Lord Glorfindel...?’

‘Yes, our friend has agreed to have a little chat with you; I can think of no-one better placed to answer your questions – even if you cannot quite bring yourself to ask them. Consider it my wedding gift to you. Good day, Hanben.’

‘But... Healer Ness... I...’

Glorfindel secured the door, spotted the winter wine, and went over to pour two hefty measures. He dropped into one of the chairs near the window, and waved to the other.

‘Come and take a seat, Master Hanben. I owe your Merenor a debt of gratitude – he reassured me my Triwathon was waiting for me, and let me steal all his strong spirits... the least I can do is fill in some of the gaps in your education. I understand you have no older relatives who might guide you, and, really, if you’re looking for age and experience... There. Now, take a big drink, and tell me; what exactly is it you need to know?’

Hanben moved to the indicated chair and took a deep gulp of the winter wine. It burned and soothed and made him brave.

‘Everything,’ he said. ‘Oh, except for dimples, I know all about that...’

‘How interesting, for that is something of which I have never heard... do tell me...?’

‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly...’

‘Are you sure? Pity, I’m always interested in new possibilities... Ah, well. Perhaps it’s best if I just start at the beginning. Have another drink, that’s it... Now, when an ellon and an ellon like each other very much...’


	415. 'Always Time...'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hanben is in need of a little reflection...

Hanben tottered back towards his rooms, his head reeling from a heady combination of winter wine and shock, convinced he was still blushing from Lord Glorfindel’s friendly little chat. It had, in fact, been a revelation, if a traumatic one, and he needed the peace and quiet of his own surroundings for a little while.

Except that, as he turned the last corner, he heard laughter and voices spilling out from the open door.

‘Caraphindir! It is... it is indecent, it is verging on scandalous!’ Merenor was saying, his voice laughing and shocked, delighted and awestruck at the same time.

‘Oh, Ada, you will look wonderful!’ This, Canadion. ‘And you know, it is really not at all indecent...’

‘Well, I do like the colour...! Of course, thank you, thank you! Let me fold it away until tomorrow, and I am grateful, truly... And they all did this, Caraphindir?’

‘Everyone helped in one way or another.’

‘Left to yourself, you’d show up in any old clothes, wouldn’t you?’ Thiriston said.

‘As long as Hanben likes what he sees, I don’t care about anyone else,’ Merenor said. ‘Now, another drink? I hope he will be back soon, he was just finishing off the arrangements with Ness, but that was over an hour ago...’

This seemed like a good moment for Hanben to make his approach known. He patted the pocket of his robe, reassuring himself the packet from Nestoril was discreetly concealed, and called out from the doorway.

‘Indeed, I am here now. We have company, I think?’ 

Merenor jumped up from his chair to reach for his hand, pull him in.

‘Yes, indeed, you know Caraphindir, my oldest son?’

‘A little; it is good to meet you properly.’

‘And you, Master Hanben. My brothers say you make Adar happy.’

‘I endeavour to do so.’

‘...While I drive my poor Hanben to distraction with my flirty ways...’ Merenor grinned up at his beloved. ‘We are drinking, there is plenty, join us, Canadion appropriated some honey beer for us... what’s wrong?’

‘N...nothing,’ Hanben said swiftly, trying to push the memory of one of Glorfindel’s more striking confidences from his mind. ‘Well. It is lovely to meet you, Caraphindir, and I hope you will stay long enough that we might become properly friends. Canadion, Thiriston, hello and goodbye; Merenor, my love, you will excuse me, I hope, but I need to spend a little time in my workshop... I only came back so you would not worry, and I will be back in plenty of time to change for dinner...’

‘All right. Let me walk out with you. Boys, I will not be long, have more beer...’

At the end of the corridor, Merenor stroked his hand over Hanben’s upper arm, rubbing gently.

‘Were we too rowdy for you? I am sorry, I forget how quiet and gentle is your fëa...’

‘No, my rascal, it is not that, not at all... but you have not seen your eldest for a while, you will want to catch up, and of course Canadion... and it seemed, I overheard a little, it might have been private, I do not want to intrude...’

Merenor shook his head.

‘You are not an intrusion, you are my sweetheart, my husband-to-be... My friends in the southern offices wished to send me a gift for the wedding, and Caraphindir was just showing me what they had sent... and all seem to think I should keep it to wear tomorrow, at our wedding. For you. But it was put away before you arrived, the surprise is not revealed early, and it was not private... But must you go, really?’

‘Do you mind? An idea occurred to me and I wish to make some sketches before the thought is lost. I would not leave you alone, my darling rascal, but you have your sons, and honour-son...’

‘As long as you are not upset, as long as you are all right, I thought you seemed a little... troubled, that’s all.’

‘I will be fine, Merenor, my lovely rogue.’ Hanben smiled. ‘I will see you soon, I promise.’

*

‘You would not believe the afternoon I have had!’ Glorfindel said, striding into Triwathon’s rooms. 

The young captain looked up from where he’d been cleaning his swords.

‘From the glint in your eye, my dear Laurefindil, I think you have a story there indeed... well, what was it, what mischief now?’

The golden-haired Balrog-slayer grinned and dropped onto the sofa, resting his arm along the back in invitation for Triwathon to set aside his work and join him. He waited until his friend was cuddled in nicely before he went on.

‘Mischief? I would have you know I have been very helpful this afternoon, I have been...’ He paused, struggling to speak around laughter. ‘...passing on information to... to an ellon about to be married who seems to have been living in a cupboard for all of his life since he had no idea of proper procedures...or...or even improper ones for that matter, and...’

Glorfindel dissolved into laughter, leaving Triwathon shaking his head in wondering disapproval.

‘Not everyone has had the benefit of a Gondolinian education, my dear iphant!’

‘No, I know, and I shouldn’t laugh, I suppose... well, Nestoril did remind me it’s not very long ago since such as you and I were referred to as ‘afflicted’, and it was considered a kind term... so I suppose, if you hadn’t been living amongst a large community, you might not realise... or know what to do, once you did... But, sweet Eru! The fellow trained as a healer, you might think he’d at least have a basic grounding...’

‘You mean Hanben? Poor soul, if he knew nothing and you laid out all your Gondolin stories for his education... but Master Merenor was very kind to me, you know...’

‘Yes, he’s kind to everyone, that fellow...’

‘He it was suggested I think of something to make for you, to fill the empty hours until you returned. But I would have thought he had knowledge enough for them both...’

‘Ah, but our Master Hanben is... is saving himself... and... well, one doesn’t wish to make assumptions, but... well. Poor fellow spent a lot of time blushing and not looking at me, but after a few glasses of winter wine he got his courage up a little...’ Glorfindel shook his head. ‘He’s an odd sort of fellow, I thought I’d done a good job of explaining and then he said, yes, but he wanted to be able to look into his husband’s eyes. Of course, I’d been leaving that as being a bit advanced for a first experience, but he was insistent. And when I gave him the information he needed he said... he said it didn’t sound practical, not at all, and had nobody thought of anything that might make it easier...? And then – then... then... he... he shushed me, pushed up his sleeve and began writing and drawing on the back of his arm...’

He broke off as mirth took him once again.

‘I know what he means, though.’ Triwathon’s voice was faintly wistful, adding an erotic edge to his words. ‘Wanting to look into the eyes of the ellon you love as you join with him, to watch as all the pleasure you are trying to give is shared and passed on in those eyes. Your eyes, ‘findil-nin, so very blue, so full of sighs...’

‘Triwathon...’

‘So blue, so much more blue than anything I have ever seen...’ Triwathon rose and reached for Glorfindel, tugging at his hands, pulling him in for a sensual, lingering embrace. ‘To look into your eyes is like immersing myself in calm waters, to be upheld and caught by your gaze. We are running short of time, Glorfindel, beloved iphant, just a few days now, so very little time left and you want to spend it laughing about Merenor and Hanben?’

‘Yes. I suppose...’ Glorfindel tipped back his head to sigh, his hair a golden tumble. ‘I suppose because they’re getting married, Triwathon, and we’re not.’

‘That’s how it has to be, Laurefindil, you know this; you have a greater love to return to, one day, I have the love of my life ahead of me. But for now, now we’re wasting time.’

‘Oh, Triwathon...’ Glorfindel snuggled close against the sweet skin of the young captain’s neck. ‘Oh, how I do love wasting time with you...’

*

The huge barn doors of the workshop swung ponderously closed and Hanben put his back to them with a relieved sigh.

This was his space, his sanctuary, his domain. Even with his eyes closed he knew the place intimately; the work bench with its tools, set under the skylight for clarity. The raised platform for the placement of large projects, making it easy to examine from all angles. The corner with the comfortable chair where he could sit for a moment, or an hour, and just think.

Two chairs now, of course, for he had brought one in for Merenor, too.

Yet it was still his sanctuary, one Merenor inhabited, shared, but where he was not an intrusion; instead, he was a necessary part of Hanben’s creative process. He thought more clearly, made decisions more wisely, could see the end of his inventive planning more easily with Merenor here.

Hanben opened his eyes and went to the small desk where he sat to make his first drafts and sketches.

The workshop was unusually tidy, at present, all his projects shut away, or the ones he wanted to begin deliberately not started, just in case tomorrow was seriously inclement and the guests required shelter during the avowing ceremony. So he would have to be careful not to make too much mess...

Still, a couple of drawings, a few notes...

First, though...

First, he drew out the papers Nestoril had passed to him and read them through. Being alone, it didn’t matter if he blushed, of course, but he found he did not, perhaps because of the careful tone of the document. It covered all he needed to know, and in far less lurid detail than Lord Glorfindel had... also, without the too-informative gestures...

For a moment, he stopped reading, caught up again in the remembered light of those ancient blue eyes as recollection merged with rumour and led on to anecdote, as possibilities and practicalities all had jumbled together in an alarming hour of talk...

No, he preferred his information like this, written down, accessible. Non-confrontational.

The tone of the document was reassuring, gentle, and read almost as if it had been tailored to Hanben’s specific fears, so that he learned where one’s partner was most fragile, which tissues, which areas were more delicate, vulnerable, what could be done to minimise the risk of excessive discomfort.

Excessive discomfort. Yes, a far less worrying way of saying ‘pain’, but the suggestion was there, that one must be careful.

Of course, he would be careful, with his precious, darling Merenor, he would take as long as was needed, would listen, would ask, would try to read response, and he would not – would not – hurt him in any way.

Oh, but he did want to look into his face, see those beautiful, gold-ringed eyes glowing back in love...

Simply thinking about Merenor’s glorious eyes made Hanben’s breath shorten, his pulse quicken, his loins to stir. Clearing his throat, he folded away the so-kind, so-helpful document, and reached for the wax tablet he liked to use for his first ideas, scratching in shapes and lines and measurements. Yes, a simple thing, it might work. Of course, he would need more practical experience in order to gauge exactly what was needed, but as far as he could tell, it was all going to be down to angles and support...

The rattling of the large doors as someone outside knocked. Leaving his work, he went to see and found Thiriston there.

‘Hope I’m not intruding,’ the big elf said, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. ‘Only Honour-Ada’s got that look, when he’s trying not to worry, and Canadion got it, too... so I thought, maybe you’d rather I came than my husband...’

‘Oh. I see.’ Except, he didn’t. ‘I have chairs, would you like to sit with me and explain?’

Hanben gestured to his chair, so that he could sit where Merenor usually did; it felt a little like being hugged by him.

‘Thing is,’ Thiriston began. ‘Canadion, always talking, thinking out loud... can’t help himself, people he loves, he worries about, and he worries to me about them...’

‘I love his father, Thiriston, and I will do all I can to make him happy, to show him he is loved and valued and – and I will never, ever begrudge him time spent with his sons. Any of them, all of them, goodness, so many of them, there will be always time for them... if that helps. Canadion, of course he is worried, but I know how much Merenor has missed him. I would not stop them being together...’

‘Thank you, I told him that. But it’s more... today, you didn’t have to run away just because Merenor’s got one or other of his sons there. You could have stayed.’

‘Is that how it seemed, that I was...?’ Hanben sighed. ‘Between ourselves, perhaps I was. Running away, that is. Not... not from Caraphindir, or Merenor, or you or Canadion, just... I needed a little time to calm myself. I... please, I would ask you, say nothing of this to anyone, it is too mortifying, but... but I have little knowledge of... of some aspects of... and so Healer Nestoril very kindly arranged for somebody with... with more experience to... to explain things to me and, oh, it was just excruciatingly embarrassing and I needed a little time to... to settle myself afterwards...’

‘Thank the Valar for that!’ Thiriston grinned, worked his shoulders into the chair, relaxing. ‘That was the other thing Canadion wanted, me to make sure you knew what you were doing...’

‘Oh, Eru be praised, then! I am sure you are a most... most well-informed ellon, but it was bad enough...’

‘Yes, glad to help and everything, but... it would have been a bit odd. Who was it, then? Who told you?’

‘Perhaps it is better if I do not say...’

‘No, go on? Like to know who I’m indebted to for getting me off the hook...’

Hanben swallowed.

‘Glorfindel.’

‘Gl...?’ Thiriston grinned, shook his head. ‘Well, who’s a lucky Merenor, then?’

‘Oh, do not! I am sure most of what he said was invented, can’t possibly be right, or proper or... or even safe, but... well, yes, you can tell Canadion I know how not to hurt his Ada, if that’s what he was worried about...’

Thiriston nodded and got out of his seat.

‘Walk you back,’ he said. ‘Other kinds of hurts too, you know, like worrying about your sweetheart when he just takes off...’

‘Ah. Well, I really have been working; I can show you the drawings if you like...’

‘No, just come home. I’ll walk you to the end of the corridor, you can send Canadion out to me, then.’

*

Merenor looked round as Hanben entered their rooms and, yes, now Hanben saw how tight was the skin around Merenor’s eyes, how carefully he smiled.

‘All done?’ his rascal asked.

‘My preliminary thoughts are logged, my first drawings are made, yes, thank you, my dearest rogue, for letting me run away so abruptly! Canadion, I believe Thiriston is waiting for you outside. Thank you for keeping my beloved company while I worked.’

‘I hope it is for a surprise for him, Ada-in-honour-to-be!’

‘Indeed, it may well be for us both, Canadion. Merenor...’ 

Hanben lost interest in Canadion and went to hold his husband-to-be closely in his arms, feeling the tension in Merenor begin to relax as they hugged.

‘My work is done, my time is yours, I am yours. Are we alone yet?’

The click of the door as Canadion left. Yes, they were alone.

Hanben kept Merenor close with one arm, his other hand sliding up to stroke Merenor’s neck, caress his ear, touch his hair. He wanted... so much, he wanted to share his new knowledge, but also he wanted to wait...

But then, not everything Glorfindel had talked about needed to be kept for the wedding night...

‘My darling, beloved rascal,’ Hanben said softly, glancing almost furtively around the room and delighted to see what he had been hoping to see was still present, ‘have you ever contemplated the alternative uses for effervescent beverages beyond the remit of mild intoxication?’

‘Um... well, now you mention it, no,’ Merenor said with an intrigued laugh. ‘Why? Have you?’

‘In fact, I am beginning to... so, if there is an unopened bottle of honey beer left, would you like to begin an exploration with me? I think there is time.’

Merenor sighed with happiness and followed Hanben to the bed, collecting a bottle of honey beer on the way.

‘Sweetheart, for you, there’s always time,’ he said.


	416. Last Minute Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning of the wedding, and Hanben has a project in mind...

Hanben had no idea whether or not he appeared furtive, but when he knocked on the door of the sewing rooms where Mistress Merlinith worked her needle, he certainly felt it. What was worse, when he stammered out his requirements to Mistress Camaemes and showed her his sketches, he was certain it must be obvious what he wanted the items for.

She turned her head to look at the drawings, turned the drawings and nodded.

‘Yes, we can do this for you, of course, Master Hanben. One of your innovating things, is it?’

‘Um...’

‘It will be several days, we are quite busy. Is that all right?’ she added, for his expression, always reserved, was more than usually unreadable.

‘I had hoped... a tight timeframe... expectations...’

‘Ah. Well, if you happen to know someone handy with a needle and thread, it’s not difficult. I can give you the end of a bolt of fabric and the thread and a requisition slip for the rest from stores...’

‘I see, thank you, then, and good morning.’

He turned away, hoping his intention had not been suspected. In fact, when he considered the matter on his way from the sewing rooms to the stores, it was highly unlikely, since his intention would not be one Camaemes would have ever considered, and besides, he was creating something that, he suspected, did not already exist.

Stores were surprised, but helpful.

‘We had thought you would be busy today, Master Hanben,’ the elleth in charge said. ‘What with the wedding.’

‘Oh... well... in fact, my husband-to-be has work this morning that he cannot defer, and so, I am busy too... goodness, that is a big bundle... no, I can manage, good day to you...’

Returning to the rooms he shared with Merenor, he set to work, and found it was as Mistress Camaemes said; not too difficult, if one could use a needle and thread and, well, Hanben had needed to stitch injuries together in his time as a healer; fabric, at least, did not swear at one...

By the end of the morning his project had come on well. He had rolled and folded, cut and stitched, tied and fastened until he had what he thought he wanted. Granted, he had not encased his prototypes in fabric, but he debated whether that was best left until later.

He cleared away, making sure the project was concealed, and set off for the King’s Office, where Lord Arveldir had been showing Merenor the proper recording systems which had been agreed for the new Division of Matters Matrimonial.

When he arrived, Merenor was just rearranging several documents prior to putting them away, and looked round with a happy smile.

‘Hello, my almost-husband! Was your morning good?’

‘It passed, my dear rascal. Are you ready?’

‘Almost. So, Lord Arveldir, these go in here...?’

‘Yes, that’s right. Copies for the master records can be filed by anyone, just so long as each division has its own records. Very well, off you go. And do not come back this afternoon, get ready for your wedding.’

Merenor grinned and leapt at Hanben, swinging him round delightedly.

‘Do you hear that? No more work today! Thank you, Arveldir! We will both see you at the wedding, then!’

They ate together in their rooms, nothing much, just a breaking of bread together, cheese and honey, and talking in half-sentences about the wedding, both remembering in time what was meant to be kept as a surprise, but each wanting to share everything...

‘So what did you do this morning?’

‘I went to... get some things to... well. You will see. And you, beloved, did you see any of your sons since breakfast?’

‘Yes, Canadion stopped by to ask if... well. So, you see.’

‘Ah. He is insisting on helping me with my... my preparations, he is taking me off to his and Thiriston’s rooms later.’

‘Yes, while Thiriston attends me in my old room. But he won’t be coming for me for ages yet.’

‘Hours, in fact.’

‘Oh, my dear Hanben, however will we fill up the time?’

Merenor smiled across at his to-be-husband, who flushed in a most promising way right to the tips of his perfectly-shaped ears.

‘There is still a bottle of honey beer left, he said, ‘you seemed to find our initial investigations... interesting. Perhaps we could develop our understanding of the process a little more...?’

‘An excellent notion, for I am sure it could be done with less spillage...’

*

After a pleasant and leisurely interlude spent enjoying Hanben’s new discovery with him, and cuddling after, Merenor smiled into his beloved’s eyes and slid towards the edge of the bed.

‘So, will you join me in the washing cascade? We spilled less beer today, but it is rather sticky when it dries.’

‘A lovely thought, that we assist each other get ready at skin level. Come, then, my beautiful rascal. We will have to wash your hair as well, that beer...’

‘Yes, everywhere!’

And Hanben did, indeed, wash him... everywhere! His hair was stroked with water and washing solution, rinsed and gathered and held to one side so that his neck could be kissed, his body was silked with soap, Hanben’s clever, loving hands stroking and sliding over his shoulders, his waist, his hips, round, down, and, oh, everywhere, and... no, really everywhere, and as long fingers worked with almost exploratory diligence, Merenor gasped and hoped and wanted...

No, he wasn’t going to think like that; want, yes, hope, well... but he didn’t need more than he had with his beloved Hanben, and, but, oh, those fingers, sliding over and around and between, and... and... and the other hand at his groin, fondling, enfolding, and Merenor could feel the rise and stir of Hanben’s own body, so brought his own hand around, encompassing Hanben’s erection, his own, Hanben’s working fingers so that he held them both, they both each held them both, guiding and encouraging, feeling the heat and slide of Hanben’s erection against his own, adding an extra level of excitement and arousal, putting his face up to kiss, be kissed, lose himself in all the touch and taste, and Hanben’s free hand still.... still... oh, what might it mean, could there possibly be more at some point? how he would love more, but, no, he was loved, he loved, that was all that was important and, ah, Hanben...

‘Oh, my darling rogue, I think you need another wash, do you not?’

Merenor laughed and leaned against his beloved for support, arms going around him, feeling himself cuddled and hugged close.

‘Well, perhaps we both do. We do not have long, though, they will be here soon to take us off and get us ready for the evening... it should not take two hours, though, surely?’

‘I do not know,’ Hanben said, ‘I have never needed to get ready for my own wedding before...’

It was said with a smile, intended as a joke, but Merenor’s gold-ringed eyes darkened and he turned away to reach for a towel. He wrapped it around Hanben’s waist, tucking the edges in, paying all his attention to his task, looking down, constantly down.

‘Merenor? My... my beloved...?’

Merenor took a towel for himself, pulled it around his shoulders so that he looked huddled into it, a refugee from his own past.

‘Fifteen minutes, for short vows with Cullasbes,’ he said. ‘Mostly spent by my kin telling me this was the right thing for us both, that we would have elflings, that it would stop... stop the talk... No, not the bright tunic, Merenor, you do not want everyone looking at you, do you? That one, the grey one there... have you got the avowal ring? What, no? You have to exchange rings, it doesn’t matter if there’s no love, it isn’t a token of love, it’s a token of vows. And for the Valar’s sake, Merenor, don’t look so miserable...!’

‘Merenor...’ 

Hanben reached for him, pulled him close.

‘I am sorry,’ Merenor said, ‘I do not often revisit those days, I love my sons, I do, but sometimes, sometimes, oh, I wish...’

‘I love you,’ Hanben said, not knowing how else to start. ‘And the ring I have for you, it is very much a token of love. I spent days during the planning just thinking about you, who you are, what you mean to me, what you would like, and love went into every hour, every minute I spent crafting it. And I hope you wear what you want today, I hope you shine like a star, a beacon, my darling, I want everyone looking at you, to see how beautiful are your eyes, how shining your hair, how fortunate I am to be loved by you. And I hope they will see how you are loved. I am sorry you have been unhappy, my darling rascal, but all that is behind you now, I hope, if it is within my power, it will be. And your sons, they are all here to see you married, happy, they have all grown into wonderful, loving, ellyn.’

Merenor lifted his head, at last, to look into Hanben’s gentle eyes, and if there were tears in his own gaze, well, he could pretend it was the washing cascade.

‘They have, have they not? I am so proud of them, too.’

‘As they are of you. So, come, we need to dry ourselves and dress, and be ready when they come. But you are right, I do not think it will take two hours to get us ready... it is more... it might take that long to get our rooms ready...’

‘Oh?’ Merenor allowed himself to be distracted from his reflections. ‘And what is happening in our rooms while we are not here?’

‘They are coming to set up the new bedchamber for us, of course. I have tested and checked the new facilities in the bathing room, all works splendidly, by the way... but they will need to move the bed, and other things. Now, come, what will you wear to go to your old rooms in?’

Merenor reached for the red coat, the one Hanben had said didn’t suit him.

‘This. I know, I know you like me better in green, but... it is part of my old life, and so it feels to me that it will be good to wear it, that when I take it off, I am taking off the bits of the past that hurt me, and may start my new life with you, unafraid.’

‘That is a lovely thought, my dear rogue. And... it is certainly bright.’

*

All the boys arrived, a cluster of laughter and cheerful voices outside, tempered by the bass tone of Thiriston’s admonitions for a little decorum. Hanben opened the door, and in flowed Caraphindir, and Baudh, Melion and his son Faerveren, Canadion and Thiriston.

‘So, we are not all going to help,’ Canadion started. ‘It is still just Thiriston with you, Ada, and me with Hanben.’

‘But we wanted to see you before your wedding, Adar,’ Caraphindir said.

‘To wish you well,’ Faerveren added.

‘Because we are happy for you both,’ Melion put in.

‘And, you will be a much nicer Ada-in-Honour than Ravomen ever could be, Master Hanben,’ Baudh said, laughing.

Thiriston shrugged, letting everyone else do the talking.

‘Now, Baudh, we know nothing of the fellow, except for his taste in ellith,' Merenor said. 'And we ought not condemn him for that...’ 

Worried lest the tone of the conversation turn to recrimination, Hanben smiled at Canadion.

‘Well, if you wish to bear me off for whatever unspeakable rites you have arranged for me, I am ready. I will not embarrass you all by kissing your father in front of you, but...’

‘No, won’t you?’ Merenor asked with a grin and a wink, buoyant once more. ‘Not ever?’

‘Of course not, not ever... oh, very well, then, boys, look away if you embarrassed...’

Merenor in his arms, putting up his face, the kiss beginning chastely enough, but a need there, in his rascal’s clinging, and how could he not but give...?

Cheers, around. Of course, the sons of Merenor had not looked away.

‘Come on, then, Ada-in-honour, Adar-in-Honour,’ Thiriston said, holding the door. ‘I hope all your last-minute preparations are done, because the next time you meet, it will be to take your vows.’


	417. An End to Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor has an apparent fit of last-minute nerves and Thiriston has to come to the rescue...

‘You’re a very calming presence, you know,’ Merenor said. ‘Anyone else, I am sure, would have told me to stop pacing and sit down ages ago. But because you haven’t, I don’t feel as anxious as I would if you did.’ 

He finally stopped stalking around his former sitting room and took a seat. 

Thiriston shrugged.

‘Canadion’s always dancing about, unless I’ve actually got hold of him or he’s asleep. Always fiddling with something, playing with the candle wax as it melts, tying and untying bits of bow string... Fidgeting.’

‘Making a mess?’ Merenor smiled. ‘Yes, he was always like that as a child. Almost, as if he was leaving a trail behind him, so we wouldn’t lose him.’

‘But you never would.’

‘No, but I was away too long, I allowed myself to believe if he needed me, he’d send word... someone would send word... Still. I am so fortunate, Thiriston, not only does Hanben love me, he understands that I love my sons.’

‘Canadion’s happy for you. All of them are. Me too, of course. I know what it’s like, to be forever without someone to love, then to find them.’

‘Is it time to get ready yet?’

The two of them glanced up through the skylight. Above, the first hints of dusk were shading the sky, but there was still almost an hour before the ceremony was due to start.

‘Depends how long you want to sit around in your wedding clothes for.’ Thiriston twisted up a shoulder. ‘Talking of wedding clothes, something you should know...’

‘Ooh, that sounds worrying...’

‘No, ‘tisn’t. Well, I don’t think so, think you’ll love it. So does Canadion, his idea, you see. Hanben wasn’t keen to start with, but penneth said... well, all sorts of things. Think he’s right myself, but if you hate it...’

‘Then I will be discreet, even if I do hate it. As long as you haven’t put my sweetheart in yellow, poor dear, he likes to wear darker colours...’

‘Colour’s fine for him, no, just... not something he’d have thought of. Sure you’ll love it, though.’

Silence settled. Sorely tempted to start pacing once more, Merenor spared a thought for Hanben, perhaps equally restless, wondering how he was enduring the wait with Canadion in attendance.

‘So, obliged to ask... not worried about this, are you?’ Thiriston asked presently.

‘Not in the slightest!’ Merenor announced. ‘Well... perhaps a little. Hanben has lived so out-of-the-way, really. And I... have this reputation, but... most of what I know, or knew, is older than Caraphindir by a good few decades... and my beloved is looking to me to have all the answers and, really, I do not even remember some of the questions... and to think, perhaps he is seeking advice, even now, from... from my own son...’

‘Have no fears there. Happen to know Healer Ness found someone to take him aside for a chat. Canadion doesn’t need to help in any way.’

‘If I asked you who, would you tell me?’

‘Best not to know, really.’

‘Ah.’ Merenor took a breath, let it out, glanced up at the skylight again. It was perceptibly darker, but not by much.

‘Ten minutes since you last asked,’ Thiriston offered. 

‘Ten minutes nearer the time, then. Well, I think I will make a start, I know, it will only take me a few minutes to change, but...’

‘Go on, then. Call if you need help.’

In the bedroom, Merenor shook out the tunic that had been sent from the southern offices. To think that everyone there had contributed, had discussed what would be right, had gone to all this trouble...

It wasn’t a colour he normally would choose, a sort of deep blue with hints of purple to its hues. Not silk, they knew he didn’t really enjoy finery for finery’s sake, that he was more likely to cuddle elflings and get sticky fingers wiped all over himself than he was to attend a formal gathering, but made from a fine linen with decorative stitching in a contrasting cream. It was cut, so Caraphindir had said, handing it over, to the latest style and fashion, which didn’t really matter either – but it was the length that had had him laughing and exclaiming that it was a scandalous garment, even though it wasn’t, not really. 

Coats were typically cut to the lower hip line, or longer, to the calf, depending on use and season. But this finished between knee and hip, to mid-thigh length, which, of course, drew attention to what was covered, which usually was not. This coat, moreover, was flared at the back, pulling the eye to the natural curves beneath.

And yet more was concealed than usual, it was intriguing how it played with the perceptions...

Merenor changed into his best shirt, the one with embroidery around the cuffs, removing the ties entirely so it lay open at his throat and half-way down his chest to expose his throat to its best advantage, and began to look for leggings to suit the tunic.

Ah.

There were none that didn’t clash violently with the new coat; the green, which he’d hoped would work, had an unexpected stain on the knees and he remembered, too late, little Mírien with her messy fingers one evening, and he forgetting ...

Brown, dark brown, perfect for with his green tunics, but not for this blue one... which he felt obliged to wear. He ignored the last pair in the drawer, clean, fresh from the laundry, the grey ones, the ones he never wore unless he had to, and went to the door.

‘Thiriston,’ he said. ‘There is a problem...’

The big elf scratched his head as Merenor explained.

‘You’ve no others?’

‘Only brown, and they colours won’t work... I would gladly wear another coat, or no coat, but as it was a gift, for the day...’

‘What about those in the corner? The grey ones?’

Merenor lifted the leggings out from the drawer and tried, really hard, to make himself say, yes, they will go perfectly. 

But he had worn grey once too often. Not today, not on this, his wedding day, not for his forever vows... 

There would be an end to grey, in his life, in his clothes.

He took the offending leggings by the lace holes and tore them asunder, dropping them in ruin on the floor. 

‘These? No, they’re ripped.’

Thiriston blinked slowly. Funny how last-minute nerves could affect a person. He nodded. 

‘Yes, think you’re right there. Well, then. Were you going to wear shoes or boots?’

‘Boots, but they are black, they will be fine...’

‘In that case, next question... how bold are you feeling...?’

‘Bold enough to be taking forever vows in stained green leggings if I have to, why?’

‘Because, we’ve got a bit of time, and I think I’ve got an idea... only, I need Canadion, so I’ll need to get someone to keep Hanben company instead... Just... sit tight, don’t panic, and I’ll be back as soon as I can. Anyway. There’s ages yet. Practice your vows while I’m gone.’

Almost before Merenor had calmed himself, had got over his surprise at how he’d just rent asunder a pair of perfectly serviceable leggings, Thiriston was back with a smiling Canadion in tow. That his son didn’t rush over and ask if he was all right suggested the big elf hadn’t mentioned his Ada’s aberrant behaviour, for which he was beyond grateful.

‘Ada, Baudh is sitting with Hanben, who is already changed and looks gorgeous, so Baudh says... and so I can help Thiriston, I must say, I think it a wonderful idea... and, of course, I am here to help with the design, and not at all to make sure Hanben does not worry about anything...’

‘I am very glad to see you, penneth, but Thiriston hasn’t shared his plan with me yet...’

‘Has he not? Have you not, Thiriston-nin? But, Adar, it is simple; between the hem of your garment and the tops of your boots is not a very large area. Thiriston will decorate your skin with warrior paints...’

‘But... I am no warrior...’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Thiriston said. ‘Sounds to me as if a lot of your early life was a battle. Come, then, leggings off, tunic off, sit down somewhere and let’s get started.’

‘Oh, and Ada? Hanben is wearing the armband you made him, over his shirt, so if you wear yours on top of your tunic, it would look well...’

‘That’s a fine idea, Canadion... just a moment... there.’

‘And, Thiriston, you could perhaps use Ada’s armband as inspiration for your design? Because I do not think Hanben would really like his husband-to-be turning up with flowers on his knees...’

*

‘Baudh, I must say, although I know Canadion means well, I am not quite certain this is really a good idea...’ Hanben looked at his reflection with a critical eye and looked round with an appeal to his soon-to-be honour-son. ‘Truly, what do you think?’

‘Gorgeous. That is to say, I think it was an excellent idea, and the end result is particularly fine.’

‘I see.’ Hanben sniffed and faced the mirror again, turning to examine the full effect. ‘Well. The colour at least is not too outrageous. I wonder what your Adar will arrive in, I heard some of his thoughts on the gift from his southern friends...?’

‘Well, you will be able to see for yourself shortly. You have all you need? Do you need to practice your vows? The ring is safe? Can I see?’

‘Let me think... yes, no, yes, not yet. Merenor must see it first. Should we not leave? I am certain, if we do not leave, we will be late...’

‘Oh, and they will start without you, of course? No, Canadion said when they were ready, he would come and knock for you, so do not worry.’  
Hanben had time to tidy his hair, fiddle with his sleeves, checked the hang of his garments once more before the knock, and Canadion smiling at him from the doorway.

‘Well, then, Adar-in-Honour-to-be, my Ada is ready and Thiriston is walking him to the outer doors now. So if you are ready... goodness, you do look fine, he will love it... shall we go?’

‘Yes, yes, let’s... what was the matter, that Thiriston needed you there?’

‘Oh, nothing, just Ada had a bit of trouble with his leggings and, you know my Thiriston, he didn’t want to be helping with something that personal without me there... but it is all done now, everything is fine.’ Canadion linked his arm in Hanben’s and gave him a little hug. ‘I am so happy for Ada, you have brought him so much joy already...’

He led off, chatting and prattling all the way down the corridor and along towards the outer doors. At the last turn, he released his hold and gave Hanben a little push.

‘I can hear Thiriston’s voice. Off you go, then, and I will see you later. We will see you later. It will be wonderful, lovey, perfect.’  
Hanben nodded, took a breath and walked around the corner. Standing in the bright pool of light cast by a wall sconce, Merenor smiled at sight of him, smiled and laughed and ran up to take his hand.

‘Oh, my darling, you? In a kilt? You look amazing, so handsome, so tall, so wonderfully enticing... my Hanben, but more.’

He reached out to hug his husband-to-be, snuggling for a moment before pulling away to see Hanben’s mouth twitching.

‘My dear rascal, I think I must let you go, and ask you to walk away – and back, of course, so that I can see this scandalous tunic... Oh, but it is really rather... well, I will be the envy of all! Although it is not the tunic itself that is daring... And what exactly has become of your leggings?’

‘They were ripped,’ Merenor said, grinning, coming to take Hanben’s hand. ‘And so, clever Thiriston had an idea...’

Thiriston had used warrior paints to decorate the skin between hem and boots in a series of swirling patterns in a range of purples and blues and greens to complement the shades in the tunic. More, he had highlighted the patterns with a tracery of silver that meandered and twisted around, echoing the swirls and convolutions in the mithril armband Merenor wore with such pride. The effect was dramatic, beautiful, and one had to pay very close attention indeed to see that he wasn’t wearing leggings at all.

‘Clever Thiriston has been very clever indeed,’ Hanben said. ‘And wise, too, to have Canadion present... well, my beloved, beautiful, painted rascal. Shall we go and get married?’


	418. Forever Vowed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor and Hanben exchange vows, and rings.

Nestoril waited just inside Hanben’s workshop until the appointed time, looking out.

Beyond the doorway, a dais had been erected, framed with an arch over which some remarkably tasteful bunting had been installed. In white, just a few of its pennants highlighted here and there with a splash of colour, it was bright against the dark sky above. 

A cold evening, but clear and shining; when she took her place, the stars would be huge and glittering above, perfect for a wedding.

Creaking from the side door.

‘Healer Ness? I have just left Ada with Hanben at the doors, and all the guests are assembled by the other exit.’

Turning, she smiled.

‘Thank you, Canadion. I will take my place, then.’

Yes, wonderful, strong stars, and a heavenly sky... for a moment, she thought about the last avowing she presided over as Witness, Legolas and Govon in the Sacred Grove, in what they had thought would be a quiet ceremony, only to have Thranduil rout the palace and the guard to bestir all their friends to attend.

Hanben and Merenor came into view, holding hands and paying more attention to each other than to their path, but managing to negotiate the space between the benches without incident.

As the to-be-weds drew nearer, Nestoril was able to take in the full glory of their wedding clothes; Hanben in boots and a kilt of dark greens and browns, a thread of gold running through the weave He had a jerkin to match, worn over a plain shirt on which he displayed a carved wooden armband. 

Merenor wore a startling coat that appeared too long, and yet was not quite modest enough. The most exuberantly decorative leggings she had ever seen bridged the distance between coat and boots. His shirt was open and his face was happier than she had ever seen it, and clasped around the strong blue of his coat, a winding mithril armband shone brightly.

They bowed to her, and let go of each other’s hand with slow reluctance.

‘Welcome,’ Nestoril said, ‘welcome, my friends. You are both looking splendid, if I may make so bold.’

‘Thank you, Healer,’ Hanben said.

‘Oh, no, my dear friend, I am not wearing my head-rail or habit, I am Ness to you tonight, your Witness.’ She smiled to show it was an invitation, not a reproof. ‘I am so pleased that you asked me to officiate.’

Over their heads, she could see the shadows deepening as figures filled the benches. The two before her exchanged glances, hands reaching as if connect for comfort, courage, but refrained from touching.

It seemed to take forever for the spaces to fill, for the rustling of garments to cease, for silence to fall, soft and tense.

Nestoril lowered her gaze, stepped forward and looked up to smile at Hanben, her old friend, and Merenor, who had saved her. Just as she was about to speak, to commence, a noise broke the calm, a raucous braying from somewhere off to the side, breaking the tension. A murmur of amusement, surprise, passed through the invisible guests and Ness tried not to grin at the interruption.

Presently the glade settled into silence again, and Ness drew herself up and addressed the gathering before her.

‘Honoured guests and friends,’ she began, ‘dear friends Hanben and Merenor, we are assembled tonight to hear you make vows of promise, each to the other, and I am your Witness. Speak, then, Hanben! Merenor, speak!’

They turned to face each other, taking hands at last and Hanben inhaled sharply. Terror gripped him, but the look in Merenor’s gold-glistering eyes held him, steadied him.

‘Merenor, I have not known a moment’s peace since first I saw you, I love you and only you. Therefore, in sight of the bright stars above and the Valar who care for us, I wish to bind myself to you, fëa and hröa, here in the Greenwood and wherever our paths might lead us, this side of the Sundering Seas and beyond, now and forever, my rogue, my rascal, my most beloved scoundrel...’

‘Oh, my most beloved Hanben! Beyond all hope you brought love to my tired heart, you renewed my fëa with you kindness, your friendship... in sight of the Valar who love us, under our bright stars, I vow myself to you, Hanben, dear one, hröa and fëa, now and always, to follow you, bear you company, love, cherish and annoy you, here in the Greenwood we both love, and beyond in the wide world, even beyond the Sundering Seas, for all our days and beyond into forever... my best friend, my darling love...’

Nestoril cleared her throat. She had heard that there was to be a new Division of Matters Matrimonial; perhaps one of its duties would be to give guidelines as to what was appropriate for vows...

But Hanben was drinking in every word, and Merenor was almost on tip-toe as he looked into his sweetheart’s eyes...

Nestoril continued with the ritual.

‘It is with honour I witness these vows in sight of the Valar and under the bright stars. But what tokens of these promises have you to gift each other, symbols of your love and your forever-vows?’

A moment’s fumbling, and each placed something in her palm; rings, as was fitting for not-warriors, both beautifully designed and made, but as different each from the other as were the two ellyn before her, one, a slender, twirling swirl of mithril bounded with gold, four domed gems of green and pink, violet and amber set amongst its wandering curlicues. The second was equally beautiful, mithril settings which held a series of square-cut stones, all in shades of brown and gold and beige, interspersed with each other to show the dramatic contrast of each to enhance the beauty of all. 

Ness nodded approval even as her other hand closed over the items and she closed her eyes.

‘May these rings be blessed, and worn with love and joy in token of your promises. Now take back these rings, and place them on the finger of your beloved.’

Merenor was straining to properly see what Hanben had made him, but the ring was hidden by the long, clever fingers until it was actually slid into place. And then Merenor had no time to look, for he then must place the ring he had made on Hanben’s finger...

Ness placed their beringed hands together in her own, clasping them together warmly.

‘Your vows are witnessed, your promises made, hröa to hröa, fëa to fëa. Today, tomorrow, and forever, on this side of the Sundering Seas or the other, wherever your paths lead you, live in joy and light.’

At the last word she released them and lifted up her lantern, uncovering it to let its light shine out, and trying to turn the newly-weds to face the glade, where lantern after lantern was being uncovered. But they were busy, arms around each other, mouths locked together in their first married kiss, and she had to poke them hard in the ribs to get their attention.

‘Sorry, Ness,’ Merenor said. ‘I want to see my ring, what did you make for me, clever, clever love...?’ He looked, and looked, and smiled, and squealed, and threw his arms around his husband with delight. ‘It is perfect, glorious, wonderful... the gems, are they my boys, did you, did you put my boys in my wedding ring..?’

Hanben hugged back for a moment before turning Merenor towards their guests where, in the front row, his sons each held up a lantern with a different coloured glass shading the flame; Caraphindir’s green, Baudh amber, Melion’s a pale purple, Canadion’s bright pink.

‘My sons, you did, you put my sons into my wedding ring...’

‘Adar!’ Caraphindir came forward with his siblings. ‘Our honour-adar put us everywhere! We are even in the bunting, do you see?’

Merenor laughed, looked at his so-new husband and leapt at him, trusting he would be caught, as he was, indeed, and held and hugged.

‘My darling Hanben! Thank you, you are so kind, so lovely, I am so fortunate...’

‘Yes, indeed, you are the luckiest scoundrel in the forest!’ Hanben said. ‘Of course I put your sons into your wedding ring, into our wedding; they love you, you love them, how not?’

‘Ada and Adar... Edair,’ Caraphindir said, ‘we are all very happy for you! But come, Healer Maereth has a special guest who cannot stay long...’

The four brothers clustered around, preventing anyone else coming near enough to offer congratulations, and bore their father and honour-father off towards where the healers waited, Maereth smiling and waving, Gyril holding the halter of a donkey which had been bedecked with bunting and bows and fabric flowers.

‘Dear Cullasbes!’ Merenor said, laughing, reaching out to rub the donkey’s forehead and stroke the delightfully soft ears. ‘Ai, we heard your voice, although I did for a moment wonder if it was your namesake... Thank you, thank you for bringing the dear girl to the wedding!’

‘She has been no trouble,’ Gyril said. ‘And we wanted to wish you happy, Master Merenor, and thank you for all the times you drove us out in the cart. But most, for bringing our Nestoril home.’

‘It was my pleasure.’ Merenor ruffled the fuzzy ears again. ‘She is looking very pretty, too!’

‘We will take her back now,’ Maereth said. ‘Be joyous, be happy.’

‘We will. We are.’ 

Merenor looked up at Hanben and put his arms around his waist. The lovely brown eyes smiled down.

‘My rascal, there are many, many people waiting to wish us well...’

‘I know, isn’t it wonderful? And silly?’

‘Indeed. And rude of us not to acknowledge them, but... a moment, my darling. This ring that you made me... it is glorious.’

‘You like it, then? I am sure it is not as perfect as you made me, but... all my love is in it.’

‘And your thought.’ Hanben freed his ring hand to look again, and smile. ‘Tiger’s Eye and carnelian, agate and jasper, smoky quartz and axinite, put together in such beautiful arrangement. All of them brown... you remembered, when I said, I was just brown... and you told me... and here you show me, brown can be beautiful.’

‘I am pleased that you like it. But look at what you made me, my boys...’

‘They have not seen it, yet, they thought the lanterns were only to match the bunting...’

‘Ah, well, we must show them... Caraphindir! Baudh! Melion, Canadion...’

And Merenor pulled Hanben towards the well-wishing crowd.

*

Nestoril waved to her healers as they departed with the donkey, and looked around her for someone to attach herself to. Spotting Flora and the baby towards the back of the seating with Merlinith and Araspen, she was making her way over when a light touch on her shoulder halted her.

‘Ness.’

Thranduil looked at her, a softening of his eyes that was kept just for her, the nearest thing to a public smile he could offer.

‘Well done,’ he said. ‘That was a more difficult ceremony than my son’s, I think.’

‘They were much more exuberant, certainly! But it was a delight to Witness for them.’

‘Are you busy later?’

‘I am invited to the celebration in the Friendly Rooms, but I will dine first in the Feasting Hall.’

‘Good. But I meant... later than that.’

‘I see. I was thinking of retiring to my rooms as soon as I get back from the celebration. If... That is, I am not on duty tonight...’

‘I, too, have been invited to the Friendly Rooms. I will visit just briefly, I think. Perhaps, if it is not too early for you, I could walk you back?’

Nestoril smiled.

‘That would be delightful,’ she said.


	419. Hanben and Merenor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor and Hanben celebrate their marriage...

Hanben was grateful for the tight hold Merenor kept on his hand as they progressed from one set of congratulations to another, repeating similar thanks to each, and only the faces changing. There were requests to see the rings, and much admiration of both, and if Hanben was quietly proud of how well the ring he had made looked on Merenor’s hand, its small gems glowing, he was more delighted at how his own ring of multihued brown stones sat on his finger.

It was bewildering how many people Merenor knew, how popular he was, even though he’d only been at the palace a short time... bewildering and, possibly, alarming, except that Hanben knew by now that his sweetheart’s reputation was undeserved; Merenor’s easy, friendly way could be misinterpreted by a casual on-looker, although if you were close enough to hear the conversations, there was no doubt all was just friendly and nice and proper.

The love in Merenor’s eyes was plain to see, the special, laughing look, the hand that held on to him as if he’d never let go, as if Hanben would never be adrift and alone again, and that was fine with him.

Briefly there was no-one demanding attention, and Merenor swung round into Hanben’s arms and put his face up to smile, his hands coming to rest low on Hanben’s back and sliding down a little further...

‘Darling, you look wonderful in a kilt! What a clever idea...’

Hanben smiled back at the inviting lips and kissed them before replying.

‘Thank you, my rascal! It was, I must confess, Canadion’s idea; and I was rather wary, especially as Lord Glorfindel had previously, in conversation, discussed how the kilt was worn in Gondolin before its fall... but that you are pleased with the result is all I could wish...’

‘Oh? And when were you in conversation with the Balrog-slayer...?’

Hanben hoped fervently he wasn’t blushing, and disregarded the question.

‘But, you, my darling, how enticing you are... is this the scandalous coat I heard mentioned?’

Merenor’s eyes danced.

‘Ah, in fact, the scandal is not about the coat any more, but the leggings...’ He undulated closer against his husband’s body and lifted his mouth to breathe into his ear. ‘In fact, I am not wearing any... they are but paint...’

Hanben gasped and drew back to glance up and down Merenor’s gloriously clad form as the rascal nodded, his serious mouth belying the mischief of his eyes.

‘It is true, indeed, and I must be careful not to spill anything, or it may wash the paint away and leave me exposed...’

‘Talking of which, since I am, in fact, wearing my kilt in Gondolinion fashion... I, too, must be wary...’

‘I am not quite sure what exactly you mean...?’

‘It means, my darling rogue, I do not even have the barrier of paint between myself and the garment.’

‘Oh, I... really?’ Merenor’s smile deepened, his eyes glinting. ‘Then perhaps we should be careful not to stand in a draught, I suppose...’

‘Indeed. Now, my darling, behave yourself; our king approaches.’

‘Hmm... be careful when you bow, then, beloved...’

Thranduil inclined his head to the newlyweds.

‘Congratulations, Master Hanben, Master Merenor. We wish you happy and well all the days of your lives.’

‘Sire, we are grateful,’ Merenor replied, hand over his heart as he bowed.

‘Indeed, my king, our thanks. We are honoured at your attendance.’

‘Since you are part of the King’s Office, it is fitting, in this case... enjoy your evening.’

The king sailed off and Merenor nudged Hanben.

‘Can we go now, do you think?’

‘Go where? Our rooms are not yet prepared, the evening party will not start for almost two hours...’

‘Ah, but my old room is still there, with its bathing pool and its nice, big bed...’

‘That sounds like a wonderful idea, I...’ Hanben sighed as he spotted two more persons bearing down upon them, more determination in their faces than good wishes. ‘Perhaps presently; it seems we are wanted.’

‘Ah.’ Merenor, in turn, saw the approaching couple: Cullasbes and Ravomen. ‘Hide me?’

But it was too late. Cullasbes stopped an arm’s length away, drew herself up and dipped her head. Merenor smiled warily and nodded.

‘Cullasbes, thank you for coming. Both of you, we are grateful.’

‘It seems to be these days, if I wish to see my sons, I must be where you are,’ Cullasbes said. ‘No, I am not blaming you; they are how they are. Well. Ravomen and I wished to invite you to join us for the meal in the Feasting Hall?’

‘How very kind of you,’ Hanben said. ‘In fact... yes, we would be pleased to do so, would we not, Merenor?’

‘It is, really, very thoughtful... Pleased is not the word... but thank you.’

No, Merenor mused, following the mother of his children with Hanben holding tight to his arm, ‘pleased’ was not the word... ‘annoyed’, perhaps... but then, his beloved husband deserved more than being hurried off to the guest room for an hour between his wedding and his wedding party; he deserved an entire night of gentle attention, whatever he wanted, however he wanted it...

If he really knew what that was, of course...

Still, it would be nice to sit next to him, to play with the edge of his kilt under the table, to hope Hanben would slide his hand over and smudge the painted swirls on Merenor’s thighs...

Although why Cullasbes thought she needed to make such a gesture as inviting them to share their table was beyond him...

A reason became clear presently. Of course their sons followed, and took places as if invited, so the family was, to all intents and purposes, united, friendly, getting along as if they were all really happy to be together...

But as Ravomen had managed to persuade someone to serve the good wine, and honey beer at the table, which made Hanben blush and Merenor giggle, and the food was good, and as they would, after all, need their energy, it was a not unpleasant interlude...

Merenor made a real effort not to mind Ravomen, to try to be pleasant, to chat and to charm, and if his genial manner hid a slight sense of being ill-used, it didn’t matter now; he was married, married to the best ellon in the world, so what did it matter if Cullasbes had broken her vows, if Ravomen had known there were vows being broken and still had continued...

Towards the end of the meal, Cullasbes moved away from chatting to more serious topics.

‘Now you are married, and happy with your choice, it seems to Ravomen and I that we need not wait,’ she began. ‘We did not want to take vows and be thought, perhaps, to be taking away from you the attention you merit.’

‘And there has been talk,’ Ravomen said. ‘For the sake of Cullasbes’ reputation, it is well we were not first to take vows.’

‘But it seemed to us that it might be important to be sure that you do not object, that we are... friends...’

Merenor kept to himself his opinion that they had never been friends...

‘...There is talk of a new Division in the King’s Office to do with avowal arrangements,’ Cullasbes went on. ‘And if the elf in charge knows about our previous connection, there might be problems...’

Merenor blinked, hiding a smile, keeping to himself the knowledge that, well, the elf in charge already knew... he would save that for when she arrived in his office...

‘Cullasbes, I am happier now than I have ever been; everything that was between you and me is done. Our sons are always our sons...’ He paused to look across, Canadion cuddling in to Thiriston, Baudh and Melion talking with their hands gesturing wildly, Caraphindir smiling to himself... ‘but they are long grown, and what they choose to do is up to them. Now, tell me, how are the elflings in the southern villages...?’

Eventually, the meal was done and they could leave, to lead the way to Merlinith’s Friendly Room with their family behind them, to enjoy and a further round of congratulations, friends and wine and beer and laughter, and, yes, Merenor’s leggings became smudged, the paints slurred and running down.

Singing, and drinking, and Thranduil arriving to move through the throng and drink their health, Nestoril at his side, and one drink melded into another, Hanben always there, smiling, Merenor, smiling back.

They had been installed at a table in the centre of the room with bunting all around, the same, soft white, with small dots of colour in the middle, reflecting the coloured gems on Merenor’s ring. Small groups formed, settled to talk and drink, and the newlyweds were left with a little breathing space together to link hands and reflect on the prospect of the rest of their lives together.

His hand entwined with Hanben’s, Merenor could not keep his eyes from the perfect little stones in the meandering filigree of mithril that signified, married, forever, loved, forever. He brushed his fingers across each in turn and looked up through sudden tears.

‘And still I return to this, my boys,’ he said. ‘You put my boys into my wedding ring...’

Hanben shifted his shoulders in a semi-shrug, his shy smile tentative.

‘They are part of you, your family, and now they are mine, if they will accept me. They matter to you, you love them. Of course they are part of your wedding ring; so that you know they are included, they are still your sons, always. How not, beloved? They loved you first.’

‘The stones?’

‘Ah, now, yes, I found that interesting. All the same gem, in fact; it is called spinel, but it comes in so many colours. I felt green and pink, violet and amber suited best; all different, but all from the same heart.’

Merenor smiled, could not keep from smiling, his face did not feel big enough for the smile he wanted to show, so instead, he hugged his new husband tightly.

‘You are lovely,’ he said. ‘And clever, and thoughtful, and kind, and talented. And I love you.’

‘I am pleased to hear it, for the love I have for you is not something I have ever known before...’

Canadion came over, and laughing, pulled them to their feet.

‘Ada, Adar-in-honour, go home!’ he said. ‘And, Ada, do not worry if we are not at breakfast, for Thiriston and I have duty, and are off on patrol soon, so be well!’

*

To a chorus of cheers, Hanben led Merenor from the party and out into the corridors, to weave their slightly tipsy way to their rooms.

‘At last!’ Hanben said, pausing outside the door which had been outlined in bunting. ‘It seems a very long time from the making of our vows until this moment... My dear husband? Are you quite well?’

Merenor had propped his shoulders against the wall near the door, and batted his eyelashes, thinking back to one of Hanben’s early imaginings.

‘Ah, I am but a poor, lost thing and I am exhausted from all the excitement... I think I need help...’

‘Then, my poor lost thing, you must let me help you...’

Hanben led the way inside, supporting his tease of a husband. The main living area looked vast now, lacking the bed, but for the moment, Hanben spared but a brief glance around, for he was interested only in what was beyond, in the new bedchamber. 

‘It is very strange, but all my energy has returned,’ Merenor said as Hanben opened the bedroom door.

‘I am pleased to hear it. Come, come and see... oh, I do hope...’

And all was as Hanben had instructed. The room was gently lit with a pair of golden lanterns. A new, longer, wider, softer bed, hung with pennants, a footboard dipping low and a high headboard, the bedding deep and sumptuous, the counterpane a rich russet tone. Side tables stood ready, one with a bottle of wine and two goblets, the other with a small closed casket set there. Against one wall, an oddly-shaped piece of furniture was hidden under a thrown piece of cloth.

‘It looks wonderful,’ Merenor said. ‘So very inviting.’

‘And so, we are married, here, on our wedding night...’

He opened his arms for Merenor to walk into them and folded him into a careful embrace, allowing his body to press against his beloved rascal’s.   
Merenor ran his hands over Hanben’s waist, his buttocks, down to the hem of the fine, swinging kilt and under it, his fingers seeking upwards against the warm, soft skin.

‘Oh, I do like this kilt,’ he said, ‘it folds in such wonderful ways around you...’

Hanben lifted his hands to stroke through Merenor’s chestnut hair and to begin working on his buttons, one by unfastening them while his skin tingled and contracted beneath the silking fingers.

The coat dropped to the floor, Hanben’s jerkin slid from his shoulders and he bent to kiss Merenor’s full rich mouth, hands on the buckles of his kilt working until it fell away, and they broke apart to pull off shirts, to sit and kick off boots and finally to tumble down onto the bed, to lie and kiss and hold and touch and stroke, reprising what they knew of each other’s bodies with new lust and love.

‘You are beautiful,’ Merenor said. ‘Your hair, so rich, your eyes, so deep and warm and kind... and so clever your hands, so strong and gentle, how you care so much, give so much...’

‘My beloved, my rascal, my rogue... I want...’

‘Anything, my love, whatever you wish for, whatever you want, if I can do it...’

Hanben kissed him once more and sat up abruptly.

‘I... do you... do you trust me?’

‘Of course, of course I do...’ Merenor rose to his knees, resting a hand on Hanben’s shoulder. ‘But I wish I knew what you were thinking...?’

Hanben smiled what he hoped was an arch smile.

‘Ah, but it would be far much more fun to show you, my lovely scoundrel...’

Merenor grinned.

‘Oh, how wonderful that sounds! How – where – do you want me?’

Suddenly, Hanben swallowed. This all seemed very... almost clinical, and that was not at all what he had intended. But there was Merenor, looking at him with love and need, a glint of delight and an obvious need for attention, and his own body was mirroring that need...

He tried to keep the panic from his eyes, to smile as if he knew what he was doing, and he took Merenor in his arms, lying down with him again to reassure himself in the warmth of his kisses before slowly and carefully turning him, encouraging him to lie on his belly on the bed, a pillow under his folded arms. Merenor sighed and wriggled his gorgeously rounded rump as Hanben kissed his way up and down and up his spine to stop with his mouth close to an exquisitely-shaped ear.

‘My dear one, if... all is not... just say, I will stop, I...’

‘Oh, beloved...’ Merenor’s voice was a muffled drawl into the pillow. ‘What could you possibly have in mind that you think I might not like...?’

Hanben kissed the earlobe, nuzzled against the back of Merenor’s neck, kissed and licked all the way down to the base of his spine, Merenor wriggling and sliding his thighs apart so that Hanben could rest between them to kiss and mouth and tongue the velvet skin.

‘Mmm... dimples... you know I like dimples...’

The sensation of Hanben’s tongue and lips, the glide of his teeth, and his hands busy, too, stroking, resting, gently erotic... Merenor relaxed, wondering what this daring thought of his beloved’s might be, if he had the courage for it, or...

Ai! That was most certainly not one of his dimples...but it was... it was...

Hanben nuzzled and licked and buried himself in his beloved’s flesh in a tentative exploration of the secrets of his body, aware that Merenor was gasping and jumping and tensing. He drew out, lifted his head, but before he could ask if all was well,

‘Saes, please, darling, if... if it is not... Ai, I have never felt anything so... oh, beloved...’

It sounded encouraging, and so Hanben returned to his task with more confidence, delighting now in the responses of his spouse, feeling the alteration in the texture of skin as Merenor’s body grew more receptive, more eager...

Presently, Merenor moaning his delight, Hanben withdrew his attentions and slid up his husband’s body to lie against him in interesting ways, Merenor pushing back against his groin, impatient for more. Fumbling at the casket, Hanben found what he was seeking, the small flask of lavender oil, and unstoppered it to coat his fingers and now begin to explore the same secret place once more. With a moan, Merenor turned to latch onto his mouth and kiss him as the soft aroma of lavender drifted through his senses.

Hanben pulled away.

‘After this, you would kiss me?’

‘Of course, why not? And you were very thorough in the shower washing me... very thorough...’

‘Ah, so you noticed that?’

‘Indeed I did, it was wonderful... sweetheart, I know I said how I would like for you to claim me, but I... but you, is it what you want? Because... oh, no, that is delightful, I... oh, Hanben, you have not done this before? No, I know you have not, but, you are so...Ai!’

Hanben kissed the back of his husband’s neck as he continued his delicate foray inside his body... yes, all seemed as he understood it ought to be, now...

He withdrew his fingers and left the bed.

‘Hanben? Where... where are you going? Darling, is something the matter?’

‘I will not be long.’

‘But I need you, after all that, I...’

Hanben had gone to the oddly shaped item against the wall, dragged it across to the foot of the bed.

‘Hanben, is now the time...?’

‘You will see, I will not keep you waiting long.’

He bushed the item into place and took off the cover, revealing a wooden bench with a padded centre and rolls of supporting cushions stitched into place at either side.

‘My darling husband, I want... oh, yes, I do want to... to fulfil our marriage in you, to surround myself in your body, but... I want to be able to look into your eyes. Thus I will know I do not harm you, that you are content, and perhaps even like... so, you see, I will kneel here, and you can lie close to me on your back, and these pads here will support you and...’

‘Sweetheart,’ Merenor interrupted, distracted and desperately trying not to laugh at Hanben’s ridiculous, lovingly thought-through invention. ‘If that’s all that’s worrying you, do come here and lie down; I know exactly how we can manage that in more comfort to us both.’

‘I... I only wish...’

‘Come here, let me hold you for a bit.’

Merenor led him back to the bed and laid him down, lying on top of Hanben’s delightfully-contoured body, kissing him and enjoying the hardening, once more, of his arousal.

Finding the oil, he applied it liberally to Hanben’s erection, enjoying the clean fragrance of the lavender, the anticipation of its promise, and positioned himself astride his wonderful, thoughtful, over-thoughtful, husband.

‘My rascal, if you continue to touch me so, I fear...’

‘No, you’ll see... are you ready? Now, really, are you sure...?’

‘Of course I am sure; what is more, I am determined – that is, if you...’

Merenor bent to kiss him once more before sitting up and smoothly finding the correct angle and position to slide down onto his husband’s erection. He moved with exaggerated slowness, feeling himself expand to encompass his spouse, revelling in the sense of him, the hardness wrapped in such velvet heat as he took more and more into himself with a groan of bliss.

Finally, all of Hanben’s erection was within Merenor’s body and he gave a little wriggle and a sigh. 

‘My rascal? Darling, are you all right?’

‘Hanben, beloved, dearest Hanben, I am more than all right; I am home.’ Merenor allowed his face to show his joy, smiling down, nodding to reassure his beautiful, clever, worried husband. ‘You? Is all well with you?’

‘It feels... delightful, so... so snug and, oh, it is... and your eyes, they are so golden tonight, so very...’

‘Give me your hands. There, I will brace against you... now, slowly, we will move, and you feel amazing, my dear one...’

Merenor tipped his pelvis forward to alter the angle at which Hanben lay within him and lifted up a little way, hearing Hanben’s gasp, feeling the sound down in his groin as he lifted again, further this time, and lowered once more, beginning to feel his body relax, welcome, embrace this so-longed for sensation, starting to find a rhythm as Hanben looked up at him with adoring eyes.

‘Yes?’ Merenor asked, and, ‘Yes, oh, my beloved, yes, I...’ Hanben gasped, and Merenor rounded his back and changed his grip, lowering his body so that he was nearer, closer to his beloved, his own erection held now between their two bodies.

‘You can hold me like this,’ Merenor said, and Hanben put his arms around him to hug him close as his beloved rascal tipped and dipped his body until the change of angle and rhythm overwhelmed Hanben, unused to this as he was, and he wailed and clung on tightly as his body exploded deeply inside his Merenor in shuddering waves of heat, and it was too, too wonderful and Merenor in turn cried out and released between their close-held hips.

When he could breathe, when he could move, Merenor disengaged with care and lay next to his husband, arm across his chest, knee across his thigh. 

Hanben toyed with his hair and cuddled him in.

‘Married, at last,’ Merenor said with the happiest of sighs.

‘Married, indeed, beloved. And you are...not...not injured?’

‘No, of course not! A little sore, but only in the best way... You were very considerate to take so long to learn my body...’

‘I wished to know you as much as I could. I did not wish to harm you and it seemed... I hope I did not shock you, I understand what I did...how we began... is not common, I think?’

‘No, not common.’ Merenor gave a delighted laugh. ‘Yes, you shocked me – in the most delicious way! Surprised, perhaps. And thinking, how brave of you, and how could you know of such things which I have only of in whispers...?’

‘Ah, well, you know my methodology in general; plenty of research before I begin and then prepare thoroughly...’

‘You did that, my darling.’

‘Well, shall we venture into the bathing pool? There is still a little paint left on your thighs...’

‘And more than paint, I think...’


	420. What May Follow After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nestoril contemplates the marriage service she has just Witnessed...

Buoyed by the exchange with Thranduil and pleased that the wedding had gone off so well, despite the fulsomeness of Merenor and Hanben’s vows, Nestoril wandered the gathering, her lantern at her side. She had seen Merenor and Hanben surrounded by Merenor’s sons – their sons now, she supposed – to admire Donkey Cullasbes in all her finery... and found herself hoping they did not speak the dear donkey’s name too loudly or one or two of the guests might take exception to it...

She supposed it must be difficult, to see the father of your children happy with somebody else, even if the new lover was of a different gender, and could not but help admire Mistress Cullasbes’ courage in accepting the invitation to be here. 

As Witness, Nestoril’s duties were officially over, but, of course, there were many who wished to speak to her about the ceremony, about the newly-weds, as if their approbation was better spoken to her than to the couple themselves.

She moved through the throng until she found she had gravitated to Flora and little Belegornor, looking around with bright and curious eyes.

‘Even though by rights he should be ready to sleep,’ Flora said. ‘But he likes the lights, and the sound of the words, I think. Was it nice, what they said to each other, the husbands?’

Ness smiled and took a seat for a moment.

‘It was very nice, yes. When such vows are taken, there are always promises of love and fidelity, but Master Hanben thought he would always be alone, and Master Merenor has been unhappy before this, so they were very pleased to find each other and their vows reflected their delight and their love of each other.’

‘Well, I should get my little gwinig back to the warm, I think.’ Flora began to gather herself, and all the bits and pieces she seemed to think she needed wherever she went with the baby. ‘It has been lovely.’

‘Will you not dine in the Feasting Hall tonight?’

‘No, Healer Ness, I think I will eat quietly, in my rooms, and get this little one off to sleep at a proper time! Will I see you later?’ she added, for Nestoril often would stop by to say goodnight.

‘I do not think so – I am off duty until the morning, and there is a party later, to which I am expected as Witness. But tomorrow, I will see you both then. Goodnight, Flora.’

She turned away to find Thranduil watching her, his eyes warm, his mouth serious. A drift of his fingers suggested she join him, and she found her way across.

‘You’ll dine with me, Ness?’

‘I’d love to, Thranduil. But I rather think the king has to attend the meal in the Feasting Hall...’

‘Pedant! Very well, then, but will Healer Nestoril do his majesty the honour of taking a place near him there?’

‘I think Healer Ness could quite easily be persuaded to do that. Thank you.’

‘It is early yet but I have no need to change for dinner; nor do you, as lovely as you look, and so I will breach a bottle of Dorwinion, I think, in my private quarters. It might be better for my constitution and the peace of mind of my well-meaning friends if I had a companion with which to share it...?’

Thranduil’s fingers shivered across the back of her hand as he turned to lead the way back towards the palace. Of course she followed.

*

Deep within his rooms Thranduil had a snug inner chamber which held a few comfortable chairs drawn up to the hearth, a small table on which one could place a lantern, and a light-well leading up through the layers of rock to open high above and allow the stars to wheel over. There was a closed cabinet opposite the most used chair, a book case beside it.

Thranduil brought in with him a bottle of Dorwinion and two goblets, and poured the deep, rich wine with slow reverence before handing a glass to Nestoril.

‘I do not think I have ever been in here before, Thranduil.’

‘It is not a place I share with many. My sons, on occasion. Now you. I suppose it is where I feel most at ease in the Palace. But sit, dear Ness, and tell me how your day has been.’

‘Like to many other days, I suppose, excepting Flora and little Belegornor being present. And the excitement of the wedding, of course.’

‘Of course. Do you see yourself taking on the role of Witness often? For this is the second time this year, to my knowledge...’

Ness laughed, shaking her head.

‘Really, it was so nice to be asked...’

‘There is to be a proper Division of the King’s Office to deal with such matters as annulments and avowings... one of our newlyweds is in charge, you should speak with them to make sure it is known that you are not an official Witness...’

‘My friend Merenor? He will be wonderful in the role, the way he has of putting everyone at ease... yes, I will speak to him. I do not mind, of course, but I would not wish people to think they have to ask me to preside...’

‘No, and it is to be hoped your evenings will be otherwise spent... ‘

‘Not all of them, of course; I do have duties from time to time.’

‘Yes... but not tonight, I hope?’

‘No, no duty tonight; barring emergencies, I can please myself...’

‘And what exactly constitutes an emergency, might I ask? And do your healers know?’

‘Yes, there is a list... any major disaster, any incident where there are more injured than there are healers... any really serious injury, something life-threatening... difficult or protracted childbirth... a few other things, but as we are not currently on a war-footing, I think I can look forward to a good night’s sleep...’

Thranduil leaned across to brush his lips against her hair.

‘I would not count on it, Ness.’

She leaned in and smiled softly at the promise in his words .

‘Thank you for the drink,’ she said. ‘But I’d probably better arrive before you at the Feasting Hall – unless you want to stir up interest in your affairs?’

‘Whatever makes you feel comfortable. Although I intend telling Arveldir to seat Glorfindel one place further along and have you on my left... if you will...’

‘I’d be delighted. If people are looking, it will cause just a little bit of scandal... perhaps help them get used to the idea of our friendship gently.’

‘Let me walk you to the door, at least. I will not be long behind.’

*

Somehow Thranduil had managed to get word ahead so that Glorfindel and Triwathon had already been shunted up one place to make room for Nestoril to the left of the king’s seat. Legolas leaned forward from the other side of the throne, and grinned.

‘Well done, Ness. Congratulations.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, deliberately turning his words to suit her own meaning. ‘I thought the wedding went well, on the whole. Although I do hope that the sentiment of love, cherish and annoy does not become written into everybody’s forever vows...’

Glorfindel laughed.

‘Why not?’ he said. ‘Forever is a long time to be married, there are bound to be moments...’

Arveldir cleared his throat for silence; Thranduil had arrived, and all conversation was lost in the formal commencement of the dinner.

It was a mixture of delight and worry for Nestoril, to be placed so close to Thranduil, to feel all eyes must be on them... but really, she chided herself, there was Merenor and Hanben dining with Cullasbes and Ravomen, surely that was a far more interesting scene than the one of which she was a part, certainly they were even drawing Thranduil’s eye... 

‘Did you hear that?’ he asked her behind his hand. ‘I am certain Cullasbes just announced to Merenor that she was going to present herself to the new Division of Matters Matrimonial... and Merenor singularly failed to mention he will be in charge of it...’

‘Perhaps he has other things on his mind,’ Ness suggested. ‘Or else he is going to savour the moment.’

‘How pleasant, to have a moment to savour,’ Thranduil murmured. ‘For myself, I am looking forward to the wedding party.’

He leaned a little closer, speaking just for her.

‘And, of course, what may follow after.’


	421. His Father's Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which little Belegornor makes his presence known...

What had followed after had been very pleasant indeed, Thranduil mused. Time at the party seemed time wasted, when Ness had an evening free, when they could have spent more time together... but then, there was something about watching her as she circulated the room, a word here, a smile there, everyone responding, everybody only too pleased to speak to her... and then she would turn, and catch his eye, and smile, and it was enough, a reminder of the secret they shared, a promise of later.

And now it was considerably later and Thranduil hoped he had adequately demonstrated the benefits of inhabiting a larger bed... certainly, Ness, dear Ness, had not seemed to mind the extra space to get comfortable in...

She seemed very comfortable at the moment, curled in against him like a sleeping fawn... he smiled at the thought. Best not to mention that, perhaps; he somehow did not think Ness would take kindly to being considered soft and helpless...

Suddenly she stirred, all the peace gone from her as she sat up and began seeking garments...

‘Oh, sweet Eru, it is halfway to morning! Forgive me, dearest Thranduil, I must get back, I...’

‘Must you dash around so? Would a few more minutes make a difference, other than to allow you to get dressed calmly?’

He slid from the bed to stay her hurry, stood where she could move in to hold him, or away, if she chose, but to his delight and relief she bestowed a hug upon him.

‘You’re right, of course. Five minutes really won’t matter...’

‘What about ten?’ he asked, lifting a strand of her hair to caress it and let it fall.

‘Ten minutes will not do either of us justice!’ She patted the flat of her hand against his bare chest with a sigh. ‘No, it has been delightful, but I had better go.’

‘You know, you might stay. I refuse to be waited on in my rooms, the first person I see generally is Arveldir for the morning meeting; he brings breakfast with him; there are several hours yet until we need concern ourselves with other persons...’

‘Well, that’s true for you. But routine in the Healers’ Halls is different. I was hoping to slip into the halls while Gaelbes is on duty at the desk, she is very good at not seeing me when she has to be. Or, if not, there will be a change of duty personnel shortly and I can hope to sidle past unseen while that is happening. But if I am to do that, I must leave now...’

‘At least let me walk you back to your halls, then.’

She smiled at him, and anything she wanted, he would have gladly given her at sight of her smile.

‘Thank you, that would be nice.’

He pulled on leggings and boots and threw his dressing robe over the top, ready to go just as Ness was tidying her hair.

‘At least nobody will ask me what I have been doing; I am sure it must be obvious,’ she said with a rueful smile into the looking glass.

‘You look happy and relaxed, what is wrong with that? And utterly beautiful, of course.’

‘Thank you. Well, then, if you are ready?’

For her to leave? Never. But this was what she wanted, how she wished it to be, and it was really much better than not seeing her at all. 

He took her hand and held it all the way to the Healers’ Hall, walking in soft silence through the sleeping palace, its passages now hushed and dim. Too soon they reached the doors to Nestoril’s halls, and she sighed just as he did, making her smile up at him.

‘Well, then.’

‘Well.’ He dipped to kiss her lips, softly and tenderly after all that had passed between them this night, a hope of next time in his heart. ‘You know, if you change your mind, you can come back with me... I will wait here for a few moments, just in case...’

A laugh and she pushed away, delightedly amused, and softly slipped through the doors. As they swung shut, he heard an exclamation from behind the duty desk, young Aeglosdes’ voice.

‘Oh, Healer Nestoril, I am so glad you are here, for we tried your rooms and...’

No. Thranduil was not going to let this beautiful, beautiful night be spoiled for Ness by work so soon after her return. He pushed through the doors himself as Ness was speaking, her gentle voice firm.

‘...in fact I was only returning to collect one or two things... I made it quite clear, I thought, that for once I was not available...’

‘But it is an emergency...’

‘What kind of emergency?’ Thranduil demanded, registering that Ness must have decided to come back to his rooms and barely noticing Aeglosdes’ startled curtsey. ‘More injured than there are healers? Something unpleasantly life-threatening, perhaps?’

‘Sire, it is worse than that,’ Aeglosdes managed, earning his grudging respect. ‘It is the elfling – Flora’s peredhel...’

‘I see.’ Thranduil turned to touch Ness’ arm. ‘Get your things, then. I will go and see what is the matter with my grandson; it cannot be an illness, the place is full of healers all of whom are capable of diagnosing teething troubles or digestive discomfort or any other ailment. Aeglosdes – lead on.’

He followed the under-healer out of the entrance hall and down the corridor that led to the room Flora had previously used, and now he could hear the sound all parents knew, sooner or later; that strange, uncompromising wail of surprising volume issuing from an infant much, much smaller than the amount of noise it could produce... just audible beneath the crying were voices, Maereth and Gaelbes, he thought, interspersed with Flora, fractious herself... well, it was closer to dawn than it was to midnight, and she was but a human, so the lack of sleep would be trying for her...

Thranduil swept into the room, unaware his dressing robe had fallen open to reveal the fact that he was shirtless beneath, intent only on stopping the dreadful noise and so did not register the effect his appearance had on the healers and the mother of his grandson. He snapped his fingers impatiently.

‘Come, give him to me, this is not how to deal with the son of Iauron... here...’ He took the wailing peredhel in his arms, the little body rigid with bad temper, and kept a tight hold on him as he walked towards the window, talking in uncompromising Sindarin as if he expected the child to understand.

‘Yes, I know, it is all very dreadful, is it not? You have been to an event where other people were the centre of attention, and nobody was looking at you for the space of at least five heartbeats... an eternity as far as you are concerned... and now you are making sure everybody is aware of your presence... but this is how it is, penneth, although you are the most important person in your mother’s world, there are others who inhabit it too, and you must learn to share... and realise not everybody will dote on you every moment of each and every day... in this you are much like your father, needing to be the centre of attention all the time... well, penneth, believe me; it is not always a good thing. Sometimes privacy is more relaxing.’

The child began to quiet and Thranduil turned to see the healers exchanging glances and trying not to smirk; Flora, of course, had no idea what had been said, but was nodding and smiling encouragement as her son calmed a little.

‘Your father was much the same, expecting his mother and me to be always there at his beck and call; you are so much his son I worry for your poor human parent... And you are probably much too hot, for your mother imagines you as a human child and while you may not be as immune to heat and cold as we, still, you will feel it, especially with all that anger heating your blood...’ He peeled back a layer of clothing from the gwinig. ‘There. Well, one good thing; with all that wailing, I have been able to see the results of your teething; well done, child. Most impressive teeth but have a care where you bestow them...’

Belegornor now was sobbing softly rather than crying, and the stiffness gone from him so he relaxed against his Daerada’s chest and began to test out the new teeth on his fist.

‘There. You were cross, and hot, and did not understand all the fuss about two ellyn of minimal significance in your young life. But Master Merenor is the ada of Canadion, who I understand taught your mother a song you like, while Master Hanben invented the waterproofings which make it so much less dangerous to hold you. And so. Perhaps someone might investigate what is going on beneath said waterproofings, which are probably adding to the little one’s discomfort, and I think you will find my grandson will then be ready for a lullaby and a nap. And do not expect me to wait around and sing to him.’

‘Sir king?’ Flora said in tentative Westron. ‘What magic was this? For none of us could calm him, which is why we needed Healer Nestoril...’

‘Not magic, simply experience; if they think you are bored with their behaviour, they often change their patterns. It does not work, of course, if there is really something the matter. Good night to you, Flora.’

He swept from the room in much the same way he had swept in, striding out hurriedly so that the healers, if they chose to follow, would be a little way behind him when he reached the main entrance. As he had hoped, Ness was waiting, a bag at her feet.

‘My dear Ness, I’m glad to find you alone... I would like very much to tell your healers not to expect you back until after lunch, but thought perhaps I had better make sure this is pleasing to you before I did so...’

She released a long drawn out sigh.

‘That sounds very pleasing to me. Yes, please, and while I am tempted to grant you permission to be autocratic and overbearing with my staff, just this once, it is perhaps not fair...’

‘No, one person being autocratic and overbearing is quite enough – Belegornor, testing out his lungs and his power over his carers... he is calmer now.’

‘Oh, goodness, well, no doubt there will be a story to hear when I come back... Ah, Gyril, good...’ She smiled as the healer came through from the back rooms. ‘I am just off now, and will be back after lunch; all is well, you will manage perfectly I am sure, but if not... well, a message sent to the King’s Office might reach me, but it would be better not to bother. After all, you seem to have managed wonderfully while I was away this last time.’

‘Healer... is all well?’

‘Perfectly well. Goodnight, I will see you all in the afternoon.’ She picked up her bag and tucked her free hand under Thranduil’s arm. ‘I am ready, if you are.’

‘Of course, Ness. Shall we go?’

And he led her from the Healers’ Hall and back to his rooms with the rather delightful prospect of having her all to himself for a few more hours, at least and Gyril’s stunned silence adding to his sense of delight.


	422. Inventive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor and Hanben explore the possibilities of his invention...

It was not unusual for Hanben to wake with the sense that there was another person in his bed, not these days, and the thought always made him wait before clearing his eyes, just to take a last moment between reverie and wakefulness to enjoy the realisation. Not unusual, no.

Simply special.

This morning, it was more than usually special, because last night...

Oh, last night he and his beloved husband had explored new levels of intimacy and, actually, not just for Hanben, but for Merenor too, an old Gondolinion practice that Hanben had been wary of in theory, but which had proved such a surprise and a delight to his husband that he felt himself well rewarded for his daring in initiating that particular custom.

Better, though, they had made love, Merenor welcoming Hanben into his body, his gold-ringed eyes so fiery and bright in their glistering as they had coupled, consummated their marriage, made themselves utterly one...

And Merenor was there now, in the bed next to him, waiting, perhaps, for a kiss, a good morning, a re-enactment of intimacy.

Hanben was rather hoping that would be the case.

He stretched, and flickered his nictitating membranes away to properly wake, seeing the bright morning shining down through the lightwell to pool onto the foot of the bed.

Surely Merenor was awake now, too?

But the other side of the bed was as still as if it were empty.

It was not, of course; Hanben could feel the dip of the mattress and knew he was not alone. He rolled onto his side, seeking his husband, found Merenor curled up with his back to him, and unthinkingly he cuddled in to fold around him and hold him gently.

Merenor shuddered and shook, his hands under his hair covering his face, and although he was silent, Hanben realised with horror that his husband – his beloved rascal – was weeping.

‘My love – my dear one, what’s wrong? Are you in pain, did I hurt you? Oh, my love, please, tell me, what is it?’

‘No – oh, nothing, you are... were... not you, no... I...’

‘Husband, my dear...’ Hanben stroked away the hair from Merenor’s face. ‘Come, you are worrying me...’

Merenor responded by turning over into Hanben’s arms, hiding there, his face pressed against Hanben’s strong chest as he tried to control his tears and find breath to speak, to reassure this gentle and loving being who meant so much to him, who did not deserve to see this weeping and blame himself...

He rubbed at his eyes and took a deep breath.

‘It is because this morning I woke up and I could hear you breathing, and the first thing I saw was my wedding ring and I knew, I was not alone, I am not alone, I will never be so again and it was too much, too amazing, too...’

Merenor broke off to sniff, and Hanben stroked his hair.

‘Oh, I have been so... so very lonely, Hanben, all the time smiling, and being kind, and nice, helping, bringing out my understanding, and my patience, and each and every ellon and elleth I have dealt with says how charming I am, how friendly, how... how popular. But the truth is, oh, I have been so very, very alone...’

Hanben gathered him in close, closer, closest.

‘My darling rogue, my most precious rascal, I am sorry I was not born sooner, I regret even those few weeks I made you wait before I really knew my own heart... and I cannot, I am afraid, promise you will never feel lonely again. But a part of my fëa is tied to yours, now, we are not you, and I, we are us. All I can promise, and I do, I swear it to you, is that you will never be alone. Not while I live, my darling. Not while I have breath.’

Merenor pressed close, holding tight.

‘Although if you will squeeze so tightly, I doubt I shall have breath, my scoundrel...’

‘Ai, forgive me...’ With a sniff, Merenor eased the pressure of his arms and shifted to sit up, looking down at his brave and gorgeous husband whose rich brown hair shone like polished mahogany in the morning light. ‘I am sorry, it is just such a relief to be bound to you, to know I am loved, I love, we love forever...’

‘Talking of love...’ Hanben smiled his slow, shy smile and sat up to take Merenor in his arms and kiss him. ‘I have no idea how often is proper for married persons...’

‘No more do I,’ Merenor said, drifting his hands through Hanben’s glorious hair. ‘But it is better, I am sure to, be too married than not married enough...’

‘Come, then, my rascal. I want to see you in the new bathing pool, under its cascade; I think you will look even more beautiful in the water...’

‘It sounds nice. Oh, and our first time, we were in a bathing pool together then...’

‘How lovely that you remember...’

The new cascade was splendid, fed from the same hot springs that filled the pool, and pouring over a wide ledge to resemble a natural waterfall, a sheet of falling water. It required much priming of the hand pump before the stream began to flow, but Hanben believed it worth the effort as he joined his rascal under the falling waters, the warm tumbling stream adding an extra layer of sensuality to holding and kissing and being kissed.

‘Hanben, my clever, innovatory love...’ Merenor began once they were folding towels around each other, nodding towards the foot of the bed. ‘What exactly is that... thing... piece of furniture... you made?’

They both looked towards Hanben’s invention, sitting innocently in its place and resembling nothing quite so much as an awkwardly-cushioned chair with no back and disproportionately high sides.

‘Ah, well now, I did not go so far as to give it a name...’

Hanben blushed, ashamed now of the thought that had gone into the project for it to prove unnecessary after all.

‘It seems to have started off life as a bench, I think? And you’ve padded the seat and built up the sides? Rolled pillows? All stitched together?’

‘Yes, not elegant, but strong, well, I thought it would need to be... I intended covering the result with fabric for a more aesthetically pleasing finish, but there was not time...’

Deciding he was dry enough for what he intended, Merenor discarded his towel and wandered back into the bed chamber to sit on the padded surface and prod at the side cushions.

‘And all this because you wanted to be able to look into my eyes, you said?’

‘Yes.’ 

Hanben was still in the bathing room, but Merenor could tell from the clipped tone of voice that his darling husband was blushing again, shy of his idea, perhaps. Well, Merenor wasn’t going to let that happen; the time and the work that had gone into this, even if, at the moment of bliss it was hard to keep one’s eyes open anyway...

‘I think that’s lovely of you,’ he said. ‘But that’s you, my darling, considerate and thoughtful and lovely. When would you like to try it out?’

‘Tr... try it out? Really? You would...?’

Hanben emerged from the bathing room, his ears still holding the flush of his last blush and his damp hair clinging dark and beautiful to his shoulders.

Merenor left the whatever-it-was and closed with his husband, hip to hip, hands on his beloved’s buttocks, holding gently as he worked his lips on Hanben’s neck aware of the growing need between them, rising and hardening. Hanben cupped Merenor’s face and kissed his generous mouth, losing himself in the bliss of the moment, the swelling emotion of loving and being loved and wanting and being wanted, allowing himself to be drawn towards the bed to lie down and touch with his entire body the beautiful hröa of his dear rogue.

‘Before you ask,’ Merenor said, gasping as Hanben’s mouth explored his nipple. ‘I... last night, you were very gentle, I was fine, I will be... will be fine...’

Hanben lifted his head to smile not at all shyly.

‘My darling rogue, I was a healer, and we were cuddling very closely in the bathroom... I would have noticed were there anything amiss and I would already have diverted your attention away from our current activities...’

‘Well, you might have tried...’

Hanben smiled and returned to his interesting task until such time as Merenor was gasping and pushing up towards him, hands clutching whatever of Hanben he could reach until his husband moved to kiss him, to seek the little bottle of lavender oil, slicking his fingers and beginning a tentative foray into the mysteries of Merenor’s body. His dear rogue nudged against him, whimpered into his mouth in such a way that Hanben felt a new surge in his already-eager loins, and pulled Merenor down the bed towards the foot, sliding onto the middle of the padded stool and belatedly grabbing a pillow to support Merenor’s hips as he knelt and settled between his thighs, lifting him into position. Merenor flailed above his head to drag a second pillow down to raise his neck, and lifted to see what Hanben was trying to do... so...

A further slight adjustment and his lower legs were supported by the side cushions and Hanben had clear and easy access to slide into Merenor’s body with slow deliberation, a look of concentration on his face that would have been absurd had the sensations of being supported, held, loved and taken not been as wonderfully distracting and erotic as they were. Braced and bolstered as he was by soft furnishings, Merenor was able to wriggle and thrust and get the exactly perfect angle as Hanben began to move with more confidence.

‘Saes... yes, oh, my clever, clever Hanben, I can see you, your beautiful eyes...’ Merenor dug his elbows into the mattress and raised his head to fill his gaze with his beautiful husband. He gasped, falling back as a wash of pleasure rocked him. Hanben leaned forward, realised he could not kiss him, not from this angle, not on the lips, but... oh, but if he...

Reaching down, he took Merenor’s erection in his hand and then leaned forwards, an innate flexibility in his spine making it possible... just... to take the head of his husband’s arousal in his mouth even as he slid deeper into his body. He ran his tongue around, trying to take as much of Merenor’s delicious length into his mouth as he could, but the pull and rock of their joined bodies meant his lips slipped and slid and the contact was intermittent. But, oh, the heat of Merenor’s body around him, pulling at him, pulling him in until he shuddered as he released in a gasp of bliss, just in time to slide his mouth forward as Merenor exclaimed and pushed up, filling his mouth with his seed, salt and sweet, drinking him down and with great care softening his lips, easing free to crawl onto the bed and wrap his arms around his husband who was shaking and laughing and weeping all at once, clinging and thanking and praising and, as soon as Hanben’s mouth was in reach, kissing him with grateful sighs.

Hanben held his beloved rascal close until the shaking had stopped, wondering if it was possible to have too much bliss in a marital encounter, utterly stunned by the results of his lovemaking and hardly able to believe that he had called up such strong responses in his husband’s body.

When Merenor had calmed further and was beginning to sound almost coherent again, he ventured to ask whether all had been comfortable...

Merenor laughed and snuggled closer.

‘It’s not the first word that springs to mind... you are... how clever are you, to think of an innovation that would enable you to... how inventive! My darling, it felt as if you were everywhere! And it was wonderful, oh, you... how can I ever hope to...?’

‘In fact, my delicious rogue, I had only thought of being able to look into your face; the other possibilities only occurred to me while we were making love and you looked so enticing... I am simply glad to have brought you so much bliss... but you are not harmed in any way?’

‘No, of course I am not...’ Merenor shuddered again. ‘But such depths of love and joy I have never, ever known...’

Hanben smiled.

‘And we have forever, my dearest rascal, for our love to deepen, for me to practice, I suppose... Now come, under the covers, I want to cuddle you close for a little while and then...’

‘And then...?’

‘Well, in another hour the servant will be leaving breakfast outside our rooms. We will need, I think, to keep our strength up.’

Merenor wriggled and cuddled. 

‘Oh, I hope we shall,’ he said.


	423. Making Sure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Canadion worries about his adar...

Canadion was pacing, his long legs taking two, three strides to cross the sitting room before he turned and strode back. At each turn he would look to his husband and speak.

‘But we are leaving, tomorrow!’

There was no time for Thiriston to reply, for Canadion had reached the far wall and had to turn again.

‘And I have not seen my ada since his marriage and yes...’

Another turn.

‘...I know that was only yesterday, but it is my ada, Thiriston, and he is married...’

Turn, pace.

‘...and Hanben, too, I do not only think of Ada...’

‘Enough, now, penneth, you’ll wear a furrow in the floor.’ Thiriston got to his feet and intercepted his husband, putting his hands on his shoulders to gently halt him. ‘They’ve been sharing rooms for long enough now, I think they’ll have been fine.’ 

And even if they hadn’t, it was really none of their business...

‘But... I just think we should make sure they are all right...’

‘You remember when we got married, we had all that time together...?’

‘Yes.’ Canadion forgot his worries for long enough to sigh happily at the memories. ‘It was lovely. Even though I was a bit sore from the falling...’

‘Well, your Ada and honour-Ada, they’ve got two days, today and tomorrow, and then Merenor has to be back in the King’s Office.’

‘So their time is precious, yes, I see.’ Canadion slumped and sighed. ‘Only I am worried... and we are going to be away on duty, so I will have to leave, worrying about them, and all the time we are away, worrying, probably when I need to be alert and warrior-like...’

‘Tell you what. Write a little note – explain about leaving on duty – send your love. I’ll shove it under their door. Then if they want, they can send a note back.’

‘I could come with you...’

‘Yes, but would you be able to leave the note without knocking? And they might be... busy, not hear, would it hurt your feelings? No, you write it, I’ll deliver it.’

‘Very well; I’ll do that now, shall I?’ 

Thiriston smiled and tucked a strand of Canadion’s chestnut hair behind his delicate ear. Canadion worrying about his father was adorable.

‘Maybe in an hour or so? What do you say to that?’

Canadion smiled and lifted up to kiss his husband lightly.

‘I say that’s really a lovely idea.’

*

The middle of the afternoon of their first day married, Hanben left Merenor drowsing in their bed and went into the living room to wheel through the trolley of food and drink which had lately been delivered. As he was looking over the selection, there was a slithery sound and a folded piece of paper was shunted under the door.

Curious, he folded his dressing robe closed and opened the door to look out and saw a familiar figure receding along the corridor.

‘Thiriston?’ he called out, and saw his honour-son halt and turn. ‘Is anything wrong?’

The big captain shook his head, grinning, and came back.

‘Just Canadion fretting about you two. We’re off up to the Three Villages tomorrow, penneth wanted to make sure all was well before we left.’

‘Oh, I see. How nice of him...’ Hanben came out into the corridor and pulled the door to behind him. ‘You are very patient to give up so much of him to his father... and already I understand I must give up his father to him...’

‘They spent hundreds of years apart, you have to be torn between saying, they should be used to it and, making up for lost time...’

‘Well... I have forever ahead with my Merenor; I am sure I can spare them an hour now and again; his sons have been his only comfort for so long. Why do you not bring Canadion this evening to visit, before you go to the Feasting Hall? I am sure both father and son would enjoy it.’

‘And we’ll have the satisfaction of knowing how grateful they’ll be...!’ 

Thiriston grinned and Hanben stifled a laugh.

‘Oh, I had not even begun to think... Well, I will give Merenor the note and tell him we are expecting company later.’

‘And I’ll tell Canadion I managed to persuade you to spare his ada for an hour, yes?’

‘I am sure we will both be very popular. Not that we were not deservedly so already.’

*

The chink of crockery brought Merenor up from a softly wonderful drowse in which he had been replaying all the wonderful moments of the day so far. Not merely the passion, but the love, the companionship, the smiles, the kisses...

‘Are you awake, my beloved rascal?’

Merenor stretched right down to his toes and sat up in the bed.

‘I am, but you are so very lovely I might still be dreaming.’ His brow furrowed for a moment and he rearranged his position to roll his weight onto one hip. ‘No... I believe I am awake, after all.’

‘Are you hurt? Oh, I did wonder that last time if we should have...’

‘No, nothing serious, just... let’s say, a reminder of a wonderful encounter. You see, I am fine now, quite comfortable.’

‘Well, I have something here which might take your mind of it; this came a short time ago.’

With a smile Hanben handed over the folded note and busied himself with organising food and drink.

‘It’s from Canadion!’ Merenor announced. ‘He writes to say he and Thiriston... oh, yes, I remember him saying now... they have a patrol or such, and will be leaving tomorrow for some weeks... Weeks? But he sends his love...’

There was a faltering, a dip in Merenor’s tone and Hanben sat on the bed next to him.

‘You will see him before he leaves,’ he said swiftly, not wanting that sorrowing look to remain in his rascal’s amber-edged eyes any longer than it had to. ‘For Thiriston brought the note, and I called him back to speak with him; he will suggest to Canadion that they visit for an hour before the evening meal.’

‘Really? How kind of him! And of you.’ Merenor gathered his knees under him and kissed his new husband, casting his arms around him with exuberant delight. ‘For you put my sons into my wedding ring, and bring them into our life together, and that is generous, and kind.’

Hanben kissed him back.

‘They have shaped you, even as you have shaped them. Without your sons, who knows where you would be? But it would be well to bear in mind for the future that Thiriston has a jealous eye, and so we must not take all Canadion’s time.’

‘Of course, of course! But still... I am grateful... would you like me to show you how grateful...?’

‘Really, there is no need...’ Hanben’s slow smile started as Merenor slid the dressing robe from his shoulders and traced across his chest with lingering fingers. ‘Although, if you insist...’

*

Merenor pulled the covers to his chin.

‘No,’ he said, looking miserable as he said it. ‘Just... no. Thank you.’

‘My darling rogue,’ Hanben said with an amused smile that showed he wasn’t at all put out by this. ‘Less than one sun’s round married, and already you are saying no to me? Whatever will we be like in a century?’

‘Hanben...! My love, don’t you see? It’s... it’s difficult...’

‘Consider a moment; would it be more, or less, difficult if I were to carry you to the Healers’ Hall and request the assistance of, oh, Healer Maereth, perhaps? Or even Nestoril? Bearing in mind that it is I who would receive the scold from the healers not you...’

‘No! No, I couldn’t bear you to take the blame, and it was my fault, I got carried away... But really, I am fine! Well, perhaps not exactly fine, but it is only a very little discomfort... Could we... compromise...?’

‘Possibly. What do you suggest?’

‘Leave me the salve and allow me to look after my own... soreness.’

‘Soreness, a-ha! There, you see, that is more than discomfort! I knew it!’

‘Well, will you...? After all, I’ve taking care of myself for most of my life...’

‘Well... Oh, very well, I will permit you to tend your own injuries.’

‘Thank you.’ Merenor’s voice was rich with relief. 

‘...After all, I can always check later...’

‘Hanben...!’

The former healer chuckled and bent from the waist to kiss Merenor on the top of his head.

‘Look to your discomfort, then you must dress; Canadion is more like to be early than late, after all.’

Leaving his beloved to tend to his overused regions in peace, he went into the sitting room and looked around to check it was ready for their guests.

It was not, he had to admit, the most cosy of places. Before Merenor had tumbled into his life, Hanben had been engrossed in his work, his evenings spent tinkering at his desk. He had always kept the room tidy, but without expectation of visitors there had been no real need for a seating area, and so apart from the chairs behind the desks, there was only the settle. Not only would Canadion and Thiriston appropriate it in order to sit together, he realised, but its hard wooden seat might cause his beloved a moment or two of discomfort; were Canadion to notice, he might be upset... 

That there was nothing seriously amiss with Merenor, Hanben was certain; his former healing work, the way he was so closely attuned to his beloved rascal, meant he had no need of a physical examination to ascertain that Merenor simply needed a little padding... and to refrain from tempting his husband for a few hours...

That aside, he must make this a nicer room, now that he was married, now that work need not be everything... There had been a rug, but he’d had it taken into the bed chamber – which really was a lovely place – and so the sitting room looked even more empty and bleak.

‘Well, I am ready,’ Merenor said from the doorway. ‘I decided my scandalous coat would be nice. And I stole a pair of your leggings, I hope you don’t mind...?’

‘You look wonderful, and I do not mind at all! As long as you have left a pair for me, otherwise I will have to wear my kilt...’

‘Oh, that would be lovely...’

‘But possibly not appropriate. I will be but a moment...’

In the bedroom Hanben cast aside his dressing robe and flung on the first clothes to hand, busy thinking about how to minimise his husband’s potential discomfort. A couple of pillows from the bed added to the padding on the invented piece of furniture, the bolt of fabric shaken out and folded, tucked and tied around and it resembled a backless chair with high arms; there was no suggestion at all that it had been used for a very different purpose so lately...

He carried it through and set it down near the hearth.

‘Here you are, dearest rascal, you should be comfortable on this.’

Merenor took a seat with care, laughing up as he settled.

‘Oh, that is splendid! Thank you, a dual-purpose innovation! But the fabric makes all the difference, it looks just like a chair...’

‘Well, I thought you would not want to wince in front of Canadion. He might kill me!’

*

But Canadion, when he arrived a few minutes later with his husband, did not notice anything amiss as Merenor stood to hug him.

‘Ada! Oh, I know, we should not be interrupting your married time, but it is this silly expedition! Thiriston is in command of the troop, half of the new Greys and half the original members, we are going to the Three Villages...’

‘Well, it is lovely to see you, and how nice that you wanted to spend time with us before you left!’ Merenor disengaged from the hug and smiled at his honour-son. ‘And you have command? How wonderful!’

‘Each company has something similar going on,’ Thiriston said. ‘Seconds are leading all of them.’

‘And the new warriors have a name, they are all called Wyrmlings, because they are new to the Dragon Guards! Captain Triwathon thought of it, and it’s caught on! Oh, Ada, what an unusual chair! It looks very comfortable, but I haven’t seen anything like it before...’

‘I think of it as my love-seat,’ Merenor said, watching a look of dread swiftly cross Hanben’s face. ‘As it was made for me, with love, by my Hanben. If he is not here, you see, the sides are high enough that I can pretend I’m leaning against his shoulder...’

‘Not that I intend to be absent,’ Hanben said, recovering. ‘In my eagerness to get the renovations done, I forgot that perhaps we would need more furniture in here; it was quicker to make something that to requisition more seating from Stores...’

Time slid by in easy talk between father and son until the hour was up, Canadion resolutely ignoring Thiriston’s throat-clearing and shifting position on the settle until finally the big elf had to speak out directly.

‘We’re going to have to go,’ he said. ‘Melion’s asked us to share his table tonight, and we’ll have to hurry.’

‘That’s nice of Melion, good, I am glad.’ Merenor smiled and got to his feet, hiding any lingering discomfort and casting his arm around Canadion’s shoulder. ‘And I wish you both a successful duty session, and come back safe, both of you.’

‘Thank you, Ada. I am glad you are all right.’

‘Well, why ever would I not be?’ Merenor hugged his son, laughing. ‘I am happy, joyous, for I have the best husband and sons anyone could wish for.’

‘I know you are happy, Ada,’ Canadion said with a smiling sigh. ‘I was just making sure.’


	424. The Departure of the Grey Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Grey Dragons leave, and Flora makes a startling announcement...

Although there had been discussion as to whether or not the Grey Dragons going to the Three Villages should be seen on their way in formal splendour, Legolas, as Argallor, had argued against it.

‘For then we would need to make equal fuss for the Reds and the Blacks, and while that is all well and good, it brings added significance to what are, really, training and shake-down exercises,’ he said. ‘Given that the purpose of the Dragon Companies is to sometimes act with stealth at the king’s command, it also seems... counter-intuitive to announce their every move.’

‘True enough,’ Commander Govon had said. ‘Besides, it will mean I can get everyone started on their archery practice an hour earlier, and that, Argallor, means I will be finished with my duties in time to meet my fair elf for the day meal in the privacy of our quarters...’

‘I’m sure he will be delighted to see his friend captain so soon,’ Legolas said, smiling in response to Govon’s wink and grin. ‘This afternoon, I am at a loose end. You?’

‘I will be happy to assist with any ends which might need tightening...’

Legolas grinned. ‘In fact, I was going to visit Flora; it feels like I’ve hardly seen her and the gwinig this visit! Would you like to join me?’

‘Yes, for someone will need to break the news to her that her favourite Canadion will not be riding her to her barge...’

‘She already knows. She’s met Triwathon, hasn’t she?’ Govon asked. 

‘I think so. I’ll have a word with Bregon, see if he’ll allow Triwathon and some of the escort to meet her ahead of the journey, just for reassurance. Honestly, if this is what it’s like to have a gwinig, fretting all the time, wandering around encumbered by a dozen bags and boxes of things they apparently need, I’m glad fatherhood isn’t lying in wait in my future!’

Govon stared for a moment, and then burst out laughing.

‘Well, it’s reassuring, to see how deeply you have considered the matter...! Of all the reasons...’

Legolas grinned in response.

‘Well, all the other reasons go without saying, don’t they? Come on, we’d better round up the company and send them on their way with a stirring speech.’

‘A word of warning might be more appropriate; or have you forgotten that little redheaded elleth?’

‘Rusgwen, the vixen!’ Legolas shuddered. ‘Oh, do not! I have been trying very hard to do just that! Come, then; let’s send them off in good heart!’

*

Canadion stood to attention amongst the half company while Commander Govon addressed them. He heard the words, but his eyes wanted to wander to where Thiriston stood, tall and proud. This troop would be under his command, and although Canadion knew his husband had led many companies before, today it seemed special. Acting Commander of the Grey Dragon Company... how well it sounded!

‘You are representing your king, your prince, and your company,’ Govon began. ‘Several of you have been to the Three Villages before; you can tell your companions about your adventures on the way. Remember you are Dragon Heart Warriors, and go with honour. Captain Thiriston; they are in your hands now.’

‘Commander, thank you, sir. All right, fall out, get your kit, and meet back here. Yes, Canadion, what is it?’

It was silly, having to keep up the formal tone, but this was an official parade, and there would be time later for Thiriston to tell the company to relax. Until then, though, Canadion kept to the proper address.

‘Permission to speak to the Commander, sir?’ 

‘Very well. But do not take too long; I want to be on the way as soon as possible...’

‘My thanks, Captain.’

Govon grinned and beckoned Canadion over. 

‘What is it, Canadion?’

‘I... it is silly, but... my Adar...’

‘We’ll keep an eye on him for you, never fear.’

‘Thank you, Commander. I...’

‘Don’t worry. Dismissed, Canadion. And don’t go shocking the villagers!’

‘Commander, of course not! We did all that last time...’

*

It was a very relaxed and informal Legolas and Govon who eventually presented themselves at the Healers’ Hall early that afternoon to pay Flora, and baby Belegornor, a visit. In all truth, Govon would have preferred to linger in their rooms with Legolas, but, as his spouse had pointed out earlier, they hadn’t really seen much of the baby this visit.

Healer Ness was there too, though whether just for a chat or to act as some sort of intermediary Govon wasn’t sure at first, but at least it gave him someone to talk to, his Westron not having advanced much since Flora’s last trip to the palace.

‘He is grown,’ he said, after they had greeted each other and he’d managed to ask after Flora’s health without mistakes, but that was the end of it, as far as the common speech was concerned. Ness took pity on him.

‘Yes, Belegornor is bigger than you might expect, the human side of him. And he is strong, and already owns several teeth.... and a mighty voice!’

‘Ah.’

‘The human naneths say it is a good thing to let a gwinig cry, that it exercises their lungs, but I am afraid it is a sound I cannot hear without wishing to end it!’ Nestoril admitted. ‘Moreover, it goes against all I have ever believed, and so I am delighted that our young matron here does not let Belegornor cry without trying to soothe him. It is not always easy, however.’

She smiled, and recounted a carefully-phrased version of how Thranduil had taken the child and quietened him. It made Govon smile.

‘I can’t imagine it... except, perhaps I can...’

‘They look well together,’ Nestoril said, nodding to where Legolas was cuddling the baby and trying to keep his braids away from the clutches of an interested, tiny hand. ‘One can trace a resemblance between your husband and his nephew... but only, I think, if one knows to look for it.’

‘I don’t care, Ness,’ Govon said. ‘That is, I don’t mind, it. I’m glad he’s got a descendant through Iauron, since we won’t be parents. He said today, he doesn’t mind.’

Legolas looked across with laughing eyes and switched to swift Sindarin.

‘I think I said I was glad because of all the stuff you have to haul around all the time! But really, a nephew is quite good enough for me. Although, while we’re on the subject... I wouldn’t mind a half-sister, or half-brother, you know, Ness...’

‘Really?’ Nestoril’s tone became clipped, but she was amused in spite of herself. ‘Well, if your father should ever find someone willing to take him on, with all his responsibilities, and his foibles, and his snoring, be sure to mention it to the lady, won’t you?’

Unabashed, Legolas grinned. ‘I thought I just did.’

Govon looked up, laughing. ‘Snoring, did you say? And just how do you know? Or shouldn’t I ask?’

‘A healer knows many things about those in her care, now, stop sniggering and be nice! You’re confusing our human friend!’

‘Sorry.’

‘Yes, well now I have to try to find a way of saying it wasn’t about her or the baby...’

‘Govon was teasing Nestoril about something.’ Legolas said in clear Westron. ‘We think it’s time she got herself an admirer...’

‘Oh, is that allowed? For all the healers here, they have no husbands, do they? And even Healer Hanben, he stopped being a healer so he could be married, did he not?’

‘It was not quite like that,’ Nestoril said. ‘But generally, we are so busy caring for everyone, that we do not often find one person we care for above all others.’

Still, at least the topic of conversation had changed, even if Legolas was still grinning...

‘That is a shame. I have a cousin, on my father’s side, who has offered me marriage,’ Flora went on. ‘I do not think I will accept him, though; I do not need his support, and he is only asking to be kind. My mother thinks I should do as I please; after all, she says, if I marry, there would be more children... and while I love my Belegornor very much, I do not think more children would suit me.’ Flora’s cheeks were pink and flushed. ‘And there is no affection there. I would rather remember my child’s father... so few of us are able to please ourselves in this wise, I think it would be a waste to marry for no reason other than it looking tidy.’

‘I think you do right, Flora,’ Nestoril said, wondering if the cousin really liked Flora or if he just saw an easy life ahead, living off the king’s charity. ‘Without love, there is no point.’

This somehow dampened the mood a little, and soon Legolas passed the baby back to his mother.

‘I will see you again, Flora, before you leave,’ he said. ‘A few days more, is it not?’

‘Yes, but my friends Canadion and Thiriston are on other duty. Still, I hope that Master Merenor, and his donkey, will be able to take us to the barge.’

‘When will you be back again?’ Legolas asked. ‘Our Midsummer festivals are wonderful, it would be good to have you here to share them.’

‘Oh.’ Flora looked down at the child in her lap. ‘I do not intend... that is, last time I was here, I said, it is not an easy journey, and this time it was more difficult... and Belegornor has not settled easily... I have been thinking it is better that I stay at home, in future. Do not worry, I will send news, often, and... and you can visit us, Healer Nestoril knows where we live... indeed, you and Govon, and your father and, oh, anyone, they are more than welcome to visit. We have plenty of room, and there are lots of nice trees...’

‘It is true,’ Nestoril confirmed, glossing over the startling announcement. ‘There are some lovely stands of timber... well, my prince, Commander. Let me walk you out. Flora, I will not be long...’

At the main doors, Nestoril put her hand on Legolas’ arm.

‘I am sorry. I knew she was fretting about the journey, but the difficulties are almost all of her own making. And Belegornor has not settled, because she herself has not settled... but this is the first I have heard of her not returning...’

‘So Adar doesn’t know?’

‘No.’ Ness sighed. ‘I’ll tell him later. It’s best coming from me, perhaps; I can pick my moment.’

‘Well, if you have a little time now, he tends to keep a couple of hours in the afternoon free.’

‘Does he so?’ Nestoril feigned genteel surprise, although Thranduil’s post-daymeal habits were something she’d taken advantage of more than once lately. ‘Then perhaps it would be best if I were to seek him at once.’


	425. Better From a Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil has a visitor...

Thranduil looked up from his work as a soft tapping at the study door broke into his concentration. Recognising the pattern and gentleness of touch, instead of calling out abruptly, angry at the interruption, instead his voice was welcoming.

‘Come in, Ness!’

The welcoming smile into which his face had naturally fallen faded a little as he saw Nestoril was in her head-rail and healer’s habit, and though her mouth smiled, her eyes were serious.

‘Ah. It appears I have Healer Nestoril before me,’ he said with an acknowledging gesture and an attempt at restoring his smile. ‘What draws you away from your halls today, Healer?’

‘I’m intruding on your work, forgive me,’ she said. ‘It was my understanding you set such things aside at this time of day...’

‘I try to do so. However, after recently taking an entire morning away from work to spend my time far more pleasantly, I am still catching up a little. So I am delighted to be interrupted. Nestoril? Is all well?’

With a shrug and a sigh she unclipped her head-rail and pulled it from her head. Chestnut hair unbraided tumbled out in a glorious cascade that caused Thranduil to rise from his desk to take her hand.

‘Ness?’

‘Thranduil, I have some news; I thought it might be better, as I heard it officially, to speak of it in similar vein, but... now I doubt myself. I think it might come better from your friend than from your chief healer...’

‘Come, sit with me here, unburden yourself.’ He led her through the study and into his private sitting room, gesturing her to a seat while he found some light wine for them both. ‘Now, Ness... I’m beginning to worry...’

‘Don’t,’ she said, reaching to clasp his hand. ‘Do try not to worry. Really, I do not think it is so very bad, it is not dragons, for instance... I was with Flora earlier when Legolas and Govon paid her a visit, something came up during the conversation... she mentioned that she found the journey difficult, that Belegornor has not seemed to settle here. Now, I am certain that this is because Flora makes things more difficult than they need be, that it is her own anxieties which she passes on to the child... but she has said that she does not intend to visit again...’

Thranduil’s hand tightened on hers and just for a moment she thought he receded, as if the Elvenking was trying to come forward, to shield the ellon whose only link with his lost eldest son was in the peredhel baby who now was being removed from his reach... Nestoril hastened on.

‘Do bear in mind that she is a little capricious, and may well be persuaded with gentle patience... moreover, Flora has said we may visit her at home, any and all of us. Indeed, the house is considered spacious to those humans who have seen it, and it is well ordered and clean; there is plenty of room, really, it is set in pleasant woodlands and I and my escort were made most welcome... it is not the same, I know, but at least there will be opportunities to see your grandchild.’

‘I expected this day to come,’ Thranduil said, his voice falling slow and heavy. ‘Last time Flora visited... when I held the child, I knew it must happen...’

‘I am sorry; I know he is the last you have of Iauron.’

‘True.’ Thranduil looked at their conjoined fingers and patted Ness’ covering hand. ‘And yet he is not all I have of him; lately I have seen evidence of his legacy in the young people of the Three Villages... and that Legolas’ husband is alive, that my remaining son is happy, that, too, is Iauron’s work. But there is something about watching a young life grow, Ness, of tracing Iauron’s features amongst the human traits...’

He fell silent, Nestoril sitting quietly with him, waiting for him to collect his thoughts and gather his energies as she had seen him do before when faced with apparent disaster.

‘You know, perhaps Flora is right in this; not because of the journey, but because... why repeatedly show Belgornor a life he cannot have, not without distressing his mother...? will it not simply make him feel incomplete? Still, if he is never to visit the palace again, I must ensure he knows it before he leaves. There are some things, his dual parentage notwithstanding, which it is my duty to ensure are known to him, no matter if he forgets his Sinda and Silvan heritage as he lives amongst humans,’ Thranduil said with decision in his voice. ‘He will leave here having heard of it, at least. And so I must attempt to persuade Flora to allow me to take charge of the infant for a morning or afternoon.’

Of course, this was what Thranduil always did, one of the things she loved about him; he would not argue with the inevitable, he would simply turn it as nearly to his advantage as he could.

‘I may be able to help with that, Thranduil,’ she said. ‘Flora has had an invitation from Merlinith to spend a morning in her sewing rooms, to learn some of the seamstresses’ techniques, but she is loath to take the baby where there will be so many sharp things...’

‘Truly?’ Thranduil asked in tones of disbelief.

‘Truly so. But this being the case, I could offer to take charge of Belegornor... and mention perhaps your joining us.’

‘That would be most convenient. Thank you, Ness. You will accompany us, throughout, I hope?’

‘Of course,’ Ness said. ‘If nothing else, I am curious as to exactly what you consider necessary knowledge for a gwinig...’

She was rewarded with a smile and a small shake of the head.

‘Ah, Ness, I shall have to come up with a suitable itinerary, I suppose... I... Thank you. You are right, there has been worse news...’

‘I know this cannot be what you want, Thranduil, but...’

‘Oh, Ness!’ Thranduil squeezed her hand. ‘Last time... last time, it almost broke me to see the child go... but I had lately seen Iauron, and Tharmeduil, and you leave, do not forget; Belegornor was a last loss on top of too many other losses and I did not cope well. But now, I have had time to adapt to being without my sons, perhaps, and the news you brought of Tharmeduil and his hopes for Iauron were a comfort. But not as great as a comfort as was your return... No, you are right, I do not want this, I cannot like it; I wish to be able to see my grandson grow, to include him in the life of the forest. It is not his mother’s wish, however, and so I must accept it. After all, if I want to see my grandchild I can always take Flora up on her invitation, perhaps; consider, Ness; Legolas and Govon acting as my warrior guard, and if you can get time away from your duties, you could join us?’

‘The cottage is in a beautiful setting... a few days away now and again would do you good,’ Ness said. ‘Flora – and her mother – have both told me I am always welcome, so I am sure that nobody would mind if I were to join your party...’

‘We had better not let Arveldir know, however; I am sure he would insist on cancelling his trip to Imladris just to make sure I am behaving with proper decorum,’ Thranduil said, almost smiling again. ‘Ness, thank you for coming; I know you have many demands on your time.’  
‘If there is anything more I can do...’

With a sigh Thranduil glanced towards the door of his study where his work lay abandoned.

‘I promised Arveldir I would be caught up with my paperwork by the time he comes to harangue me this evening ahead of dinner... but later... do you have plans?’

‘No, none; I have started leaving night duty to those healers who need the experience. But if I were in my rooms and Belegornor were to have another disturbed night...’

‘Come back with me, after dinner? Not because of the news you brought today, but because... well, we cannot have your rest disturbed by a fractious peredhel, can we?’

‘No, indeed, we cannot. But if the peredhel should happen to be fractious, it will be excellent practice for my healers.’

She smiled and got to her feet, beginning to transition from Ness to Healer Nestoril again as Thranduil led her through to his study. Once there, she covered her hair with her head-rail and bowed her head with quiet dignity.

‘Healer, thank you for bringing this matter to our attention,’ Thranduil said at the door. ‘And you were right; it was much better, coming from a friend.’


	426. Conversation in the Gardens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erestor and Glorfindel talk...

Glorfindel sat on the bench, staring into the darkening gardens remembering an evening not so long ago when he’d found someone there, hunched and sad.

No, not so long ago, and yet so much had happened...

A darker shadow slid through the gardens and seated itself next to him with a soft sigh.

‘You have been looked for.’

‘I didn’t think I’d be missed. Was going to turn up at the High Table as usual, Erestor.’

‘The Black Dragons ended practice early so the Reds could take over the targets.’

‘Oh. My young captain?’

‘I don’t think he was worried; it was just a remark in passing...’

‘But even so, you’re here.’

‘Yes.’ Erestor inhaled audibly, and Glorfindel felt a tension in the air. ‘I knew if I came looking, no other would seek you yet and I wished to speak privately to you...’

‘Oh?’ Glorfindel made himself smile. ‘What have I done wrong now?’

‘Nothing, in fact. I simply wished to consult with an old friend concerning our journey to Imladris...’

‘I see. What’s on your mind, then, Erestor?’

‘How best to put it...? As you know, I am not often at a loss for the proper phrasing...’

‘Just out with it, then.’

‘Simply... I do not want to leave, Glorfindel.’

‘You don’t have to leave, Erestor.’

The dark-haired elf sighed.

‘I know. And, what is more, my beloved Arveldir will be with me, while I am aware your situation is not the same... it is... is the sense of going back to the old life, I think, the work. One thing to do so when the one I worked for was a friend I could respect, but in the present case...’

‘I know. Now, me... I could be anywhere, and if Triwathon was there, I’d be happy. Rivendell, here, it wouldn’t matter. Even Lothlórien.’

‘How strange it is that we should both find love amongst the Silvans...’

‘And how difficult.’ Glorfindel shrugged. ‘Yes, I could stay, and I wouldn’t care about Elrond or Imladris or Arwen... I’d care about you, though, old friend, if you didn’t have your Arveldir with you... but... I can’t. It isn’t fair, it isn’t right, Triwathon... he’s young, so very young... and he has it all before him, captain already, brave and laughing and coming into his potential in a time of comparative peace... we know it won’t last, it never does – but he doesn’t know that, and he’s setting off in command of a patrol, and when first I met him, he could hardly look me in the eye... And now, when he’s challenged by new Dragons older and more experienced than he, he laughs, admits his faults, and shows how he’s different, now. And calls them names, names that become adopted for all the newcomers, and they love it... My Triwathon, who couldn’t look at me, a command...’

The Balrog-slayer looked at Erestor and shook his head.

‘My Triwathon. But he still looks over his shoulder at me, laughing, reassuring himself... and he can’t keep doing that, he didn’t have me here when he was doing his captain’s training, he didn’t need my praise then... I’m only going to hold him back, make him doubt himself... I... I can’t stay, not for long enough, not for as long as I need... so...’ He shuddered in a breath, braced his shoulders. ‘So you stay with your Silvan, Erestor, stay here for us both. I’ll go back, test the waters, I...’

‘No, mellon-nin,’ Erestor said. ‘We will both go and test the waters. If all is not as we need it to be, well, then we will all ride back; you, me, Arveldir. Agreed?’

‘Agreed... I think... I think that would be all right, wouldn’t it? To go and come back, just to be around him for a few weeks at a time... a few weeks won’t disrupt him too much... my Triwathon... will it?’

There was an almost pitiful note in Glorfindel’s voice and Erestor reassured him in the way he knew would be best received.

‘Because, of course, you are the brightest star in all of Triwathon’s firmament and without your eyes on him nothing he does is of value? Do not be silly, Glorfindel! Of course you must exchange visits! If you did not come back to see him, then he would either assume you did not care for him when he was not directly in your reach, or he would believe you did not trust him able to be independent when you are here – which is almost what you are saying, you know...’

‘Perhaps it is. But, don’t you see? If I didn’t tell myself that, I’d never leave...’

‘Glorfindel, your problem is you think too much about matters which need no thought and not enough about those which do! Now come, if you hurry you’ll be able to surprise Triwathon in his quarters before dinner...’

‘Oh, I like the sound of surprising Triwathon’s quarters...’ Glorfindel grinned and got to his feet to swagger towards the exit to the garden. 

‘Make sure they wait the serving for us, won’t you? We might be a little late...’

*

Triwathon wasn’t worried. Glorfindel had plenty of matters to occupy his time, especially now, so close to the day of his leaving. So the fact that he hadn’t been on the practice ground today to watch the practice from afar was not a significant event...

Except, somehow, it was.

It felt as if, after weeks of running away from the reality of going back to Imladris, Glorfindel was now running away from Triwathon instead...

Oh, he understood, of course; if Glorfindel were the one to withdraw, to deliberately back away, then the sting of separation might hurt just a little less.

Triwathon hadn’t meant to fall in love with the golden, glorious warrior, but somehow, it had been impossible not to; they had both needed something, someone, and to be each other’s solace and support had been wonderful, amazing, but always, always finite. Yes, Glorfindel would come back. And perhaps, in the future, Triwathon would ride out to Imladris to see him; this separation was not the end.

It was, however, a salutary reminder that theirs was not a forever-love, but just a brief interlude of affectionate romance along the way.

A rattle at the door and Glorfindel bounded in, all bright and shining and laughing.

‘Did you miss me, my Triwathon? I’ve been in the garden grumbling to Erestor... they’re going to wait the serving for us...’

The melancholy of Triwathon’s thoughts were swept away in a heartbeat. He laughed.

‘And why would they need to do that, Laurefindil?’

‘Perhaps because I managed to snaffle a bottle of honey beer from the table last night and I happen to have it with me...’

Triwathon nodded and grinned.

‘Yes, we will most definitely be late otherwise – especially if you get it in your hair like last time...’

‘Oh, and that was my fault, was it?’

‘I seem to remember it was, yes. Not that I cared, it was fun helping you wash the stickiness out...’

‘Waste of good beer though, really...’

‘Well, you’ll just have to be more careful this time...’

‘It’ll take longer, my Triwathon...’

‘Well, you did say they’d wait the serving...’


	427. Not the Same At All...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor and Hanben return to duty in the palace, and Arveldir pays a farewell visit to Nestoril...

Merenor and Hanben having breakfasted with Baudh and Melion, all walked across to the King’s Office together; as well as being the day the newlyweds returned to work after their marriage, it was also Melion’s first day as an underscribe and it seemed a good moment, too, for Baudh to start as Hanben’s new apprentice.

‘We will work in the office this morning on design specifications and later take a look at the workshop,’ Hanben told Merenor. ‘So you will be near at hand should your son prove half the nuisance you were to begin with...’

‘Ah, but that was because you needed me to be a nuisance,’ Merenor said with a grin. ‘Baudh is never any worse than a scamp... Master Arveldir, good day to you.’

‘Master Merenor, good day. The office is through here, and your official robes hanging behind the door...’

‘Robes, indeed? Must I?’

‘Only in and around the departments of the King’s Office. In fact, I think it would be preferable for you not to be seen in formal robes outside of your official duties...’

Merenor grinned.

‘Ai, Master Arveldir, I cannot help my reputation, but I can assure you I will do my utmost not to bring the department into disrepute while you are away...’

‘I am pleased to hear it. Now, Parvon will be taking over the morning breakfast meetings with our king, and the prince as necessary, thus freeing you to work here. At present it is highly unlikely the Matrimonial Department will have much work, so I am hoping you can help with the daily enquiries as required. And the King’s Public Audience, Parvon will front those, of course, but you might be useful in pre-sorting the supplicants... oh, but his majesty likes to believe he is available to everyone, so do try to keep up the pretence...’

Oh, so that’s how it was...? Merenor smiled and inclined his head in what he hoped was a properly King’s Office way.

‘Of course. I’ll keep it in mind.’

‘Good. Once you have donned your official robes, come to my office and I’ll go over the day routine with you.’

When Merenor finally dared to emerge, Hanben was outside, ostensibly given Baudh the tour of the offices. His eyes swept his husband, now looking a little lost in slightly oversized bronze green robes.

‘Very nice too,’ he said. ‘And nothing a bit of a tuck and a fold will not sort out. Come here, let me tidy you. Again.’

‘Very...? You knew? And didn’t warn me?’

‘I thought it would be a surprise,’ Hanben said, coming across to adjust the set of Merenor’s robes, secure the clasps to keep it closed over his tunic, to tie in the cords at the back waist to make it fit a little closer. ‘Of course, robes would get in the way for an innovator, and so I am excused... but your Melion will be presented with something similar, I am sure...’

‘Yes.’ Merenor sighed and smiled anyway. ‘But he won’t mind.’

‘Well, you look rather wonderful, if I may say... but I am delaying you. Off you go now, my rascal, and do try not to frazzle Arveldir’s nerves too much; he has a lot to do today.’

*

Arveldir did, indeed, have a very long list of matters in need of attention, and had begun his day with every hope of achieving all his goals, so when Merenor tapped on his door and presented himself in the slightly-too-big robes, he nodded and carried straight on with his order of work.

‘Ah, good. Yes, while I am away, we have decided the Office of Matters Matrimonial will be open during afternoons only, by appointment or otherwise, I will leave that up to you. I have taken time to create a draft policy, which we can go through now; it concerns all the questions which need asking before any annulment can be ratified, and possible questions to put to those come to speak about taking vows. It is to be stressed that the Sacred Grove is not available for ceremonies, unless it is a royal avowing – and, of course, there are no royals left to take vows unless our king... well. One would not wish to speculate. Or if his majesty orders it as a mark of gratitude, no, the couple themselves are responsible for finding somewhere appropriate. As, in fact, you and your Hanben did.’

Arveldir waited while Merenor ran his eyes over the documents, nodding here and there.

‘Any questions, Master Merenor?’

‘Just the one, Lord Arveldir; are you looking forward to your trip?’

‘I... beg your pardon?’

‘Your trip to Imladris, your cultural exchange programme? I always get nervous before a journey, well, excited as well, I suppose, sometimes to the point of dread...’

‘In fact, I am sure it will be a worthwhile exercise. And, no, I tend not to care one way or the other about travelling. If it is to be done, then it must happen; it is that simple.’

Except it wasn’t, of course, that simple. Still, it was nothing to do with Merenor, friendly and willing to listen though he was... Arveldir still wasn’t quite sure whether the fellow could keep the more interesting stories he heard to himself, even if he wasn’t quite the gossip Arveldir had feared at first.

‘Well, if you need to go and make ready for it to happen, I think everything seems straightforward enough... and if I get stuck, I can always ask Parvon.’

‘Yes, he will be back presently... oh, and that is a thing. Prince Legolas has said he is quite happy not to have formal breakfast meetings whilst I am away, but that is just an attempt to get out of them. True, he will be more involved with the Dragon companies once the three half troops and their seconds are away, but he should still have meetings at least every three days... if he complains, Parvon has been told to make him have the earlier meeting, but that is something you might be able to assist with... not the king, I do not mean you should take his majesty’s breakfast meeting... and if you do preside over the prince’s meeting, bear in mind that if Commander Govon is present, as usually is the case, you will not get a mouthful of food unless you provide enough breakfast for four...’

‘Ai, it is to be expected he works up quite an appetite in the fulfilment of his duties...’

Arveldir ignored the implications of this, cleared his throat and shuffled papers to help change the subject.

‘Now, the work on updating the warrior quarters is still ongoing... what do you know about that?’

‘It’s a rolling programme, the work crews renovate one corridor at a time and when done, they are offered to whichever company’s turn it is. We will not be running out of work soon, although we’re dependent on the over-captain to let us know who wants what; once the Dragon Companies are housed, there’s talk of opening up other corridors and possibly looking at what improvements can be made to the talain inside the perimeter...’

‘Yes; you will find there is always a vocal minority who want us to go back to talan life and eschew the sanctuary of the palace, we do not stop them... only do not make them too comfortable, will you?’

‘Ai, perhaps I had better tell Hanben to stop work on his contained talan-friendly washing cascade adaptation, then...’

Arveldir boggled for a moment, but Merenor did not seem to be joking...

‘Perhaps so. Very well, I do have other matters to attend to, and so I will leave you to settle in.’

*

In their rooms, Erestor was packing, neatly and methodically, his face studious as he worked, folding and smoothing one item after another and placing it into his saddlebags. He looked up as Arveldir entered, holding a partially-folded shirt in his hands.

‘You do not have to come with me, Arveldir,’ he said softly.

‘You do not have to leave, Erestor. But as my king has granted me permission to embark on a cultural exchange visit, if you insist on going, then of course I will come with you.’

‘I do not wish to go,’ Erestor said, setting down the shirt and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. ‘But the tone of Elrond’s missives have been so... so accusatory, that if I do not return to at least state my truth, I will not be easy in my own mind...’

‘Which is why he does it, of course, since once you are there, it will be harder for you to leave again.’

‘No.’ The dark-haired ellon shook his head. ‘No, I have walked away from Elrond once, I will not shy away from doing so again, if I must. But when he accuses me of shirking my duties just to chase after a random passion – for so he reads us, I am ashamed to say – then for the sake of my self-resect, and your honour, I must answer him to his face.’ A sigh. ‘Besides, if I stay, then what of Glorfindel? He would not have to leave either... but in his heart, he feels he must. Simply, he would rather remain here to be with Captain Triwathon... Even so, Glorfindel and I have already talked on the subject, both of us are determined to return.’

Arveldir took the half-folded shirt from Erestor’s hands and set it down, turning his beloved friend to face him.

‘As long as you do not try to tell me you wish to face Elrond alone, as long as you do not refuse to let me ride with you...’

‘My dear, the thought of your company on the road bolsters me; I do not think I would be half as brave without you at my side.’

‘Then I shall have to ensure I am at your side as much as possible, shall I not?’

*

But there was something to take him from Erestor’s side for a short while, at least; he needed to speak to Nestoril and, once the day meal was over, he sent a note begging for a few moments of her time and was rewarded by an invitation to come whenever he wished, for she was quite at liberty that afternoon.

‘In fact,’ the healer began, after she had greeted her old friend and offered him a seat near the window of her study, ‘I was especially pleased to hear from you, as otherwise I may have found myself talking to Flora, again. And much though I value the girl, I have spent rather a lot of time in her company lately, and a little time away prevents her anxieties concerning the infant from palling on me.’

‘You, impatient, Nestoril?’ Arveldir smiled as Ness almost frowned. ‘No matter; I understand, I think. Whenever I have spoken to the girl, I find she tends to misunderstand and I feel she is rather afraid of me...’

‘I have just the remedy for becoming tired of the company of human girls, however, some good, light, amber wine, just the thing for this time of day.’

She poured for them both and they sipped, relaxing. After a few moments, Nestoril gestured towards Arveldir with her glass.

‘There is something troubling you, my friend?’

‘Not especially; that is, not directly... may I take the liberty of all the centuries of work we have shared and speak freely about the one we serve?’

‘Yes, of course; I am quite sure you have still eyes in your head, you have seen that matters have... changed for our king lately? And my own situation...’

‘I have been delighted to see the renewal of friendship between you and Thranduil, Ness, and hope you can find a successful future together...’

‘The love is there, Arveldir, it is just the kingdom that gets in the way. We are content not to take vows or to marry, for the present, at least. Not trying to hide what is between us, but not proclaiming it, either; the matter is personal to Ness and Thranduil, not between the Healer in Chief and the Elvenking, after all.’

‘It is wise, I think; the people will get used to seeing you together, and over time it will become accepted, nothing to gossip about, nothing out-of-the-ordinary.’ Arveldir sipped his wine. ‘But you know how he can be, Nestoril, one moment he is fine, the next, something happens to remind him, to make him think ahead too far, and he can plummet... I do not know if you realise quite how low he sank when his sons left...’

‘He has said, there was loss upon loss, and Flora took Belegornor away and that final separation drove him from the palace without speaking of his whereabouts to anyone...’

‘I assume, however, he did not mention the copious quantities of Dorwinion delivered to his rooms at that time...?’

‘No, but I am not surprised; he has an amazing constitution, Arveldir, but as close as we are, I could see the changes wrought in him... he seems recovered now, though.’

‘Yes. He only went to the Three Villages, of course, and returned refreshed. Really, I think it did him good... Of course, then you came home, and after that...’

‘After that came the Night of the Names and all that followed... do not fear, Thranduil and I understand one another now, I will not bring him such distress again...’

‘I meant no accusation; in fact, perhaps it was better so. Only... Galion has instructions how much wine is to be sent up before he discreetly informs me... I think, however, that our king will be well. I could not leave him in better hands, certainly.’

‘I’ll take care of him for you, never fear; in fact, I will take care of him for us both. And you, my friend – you take care of your Erestor. It has been a delight to see you valued as you deserve, at last, do not let him slip away.’

Arveldir smiled.

‘I shall do my best not to. Do you know, I was going to suggest to him that we marry before we go? But he is such a reserved person, so shy, under all his formal aplomb, I know he would think I was asking just to make a point to Elrond... which might drive him to feel he must choose between us, and I worry all his long years of service would lead him to turn back to his old life – not for choice, but from fear, for principal... I... dare not risk it. He is of the Noldor, he is more restrained than we Silvans, and I must respect that.’

‘You know, I think he would surprise you. You might be right, that old habit and guilt might make him shy of binding to you just yet... but don’t wait too long, will you?’

‘And if I had said the same to you, Ness...?’

The healer smiled.

‘Ah, but I have only very recently come to know my own heart, Arveldir; it is not the same at all.’


	428. Matters Matrimonial...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Merenor takes up his new position...

Merenor didn’t quite close the door to his office; he explained to Parvon, looking in on him after the morning meetings, that he thought it seemed friendlier for any who might wish to visit the Office of Matters Matrimonial to be faced with a partially open door; the reality, however, was that it made it easier to listen in to what was happening beyond his doorway without having to get up from his desk.

He had spent a quiet hour jotting down his thoughts on Arveldir’s notes, finding his way to understanding of the protocols of the avowing ceremonies; basically, there were not that many, really. If the couple considered themselves vowed, then vowed they were, as long as they mentioned the Valar, and Lord Eru. Refinements such as short vows, to end with death or sailing, or forever vows, they were additions, really... and all the King’s Office had ever did was record who was vowed to whom and how... except that if they lived in the southern villages, or the northern, then they might not think to send word to the palace... not that it mattered, except to the avowed ones and their families, of course... but it was considered good to keep records, where possible.

But that aside, the not-quite-closed door meant he could keep an ear on how Melion was getting on – nobody had shouted at him yet, so presumably, he was coping... and on Baudh’s progress, for if Hanben were to be out of patience, Merenor would have heard him tutting, he had a very loud tut, did Hanben...

However, all seemed well with his sons, and they all converged in his office, Hanben included, to eat their daymeal bread and cheese and fruit together, with every semblance of content. He and his sons agreed they had passed a very pleasant morning each, and Hanben vouchsafed that Baudh did seem to know what he was doing without being too much of a distraction, unlike his previous apprentice, which made Merenor smile and bat his eyelashes and say, whatever did Hanben mean, a distraction...? which, in turn, had his two boys hastily exiting the office, Hanben staying only to scold and kiss him before returning to work.

About an hour later, Merenor heard voices from the outer office and a little bustle, and Melion exclaiming, ‘Naneth, how lovely to see you! How may the King’s Office help you today, or did you and Master Ravomen call for other reasons?’

‘Melion, good day. No, we are here to see someone in the Division of Matrimonial Matters... they were closed yesterday, and I wish to lodge a protest, with whom should I do it...?’

‘Ah. Perhaps with the ellon in charge, although, you know, Naneth, today is its first official day, so there’s nothing to protest about...’

‘Well, I suppose you had better show us in, then...’

So Melion knocked most courteously on the door and entered with a bow, closing to the door after him and grinning at his Ada while announcing that Mistress Cullasbes, of whom he would have heard, and Master Ravomen, of equal note, were wishful of a meeting, and then waved in his naneth and her suitor...

Merenor did try to look a little surprised.

‘Why, good day, Cullasbes! Master Ravomen, greetings, welcome to my office, both of you. Please, sit, and tell me how I may be of use to you today?’

‘This has to be a joke!’ Cullasbes said. ‘Or... or a mistake, we wanted to talk to someone about taking vows and... and to find you...’

‘Well, Baudh is now Hanben’s apprentice, and it was thought that I would be a sympathetic ear to those wishing to discuss annulments – since I understand how relationships can go awry without the intention of those involved... and that led naturally to my being invited to take charge of the office...’ 

He spread his hands and tried a winning smile; it had never worked on Cullasbes in the past, but there was always a first time...

Still, Ravomen had taken a seat, and did have the grace to look a little uncomfortable.

‘Must be odd for you,’ he mumbled.

‘Perhaps a little. But this must be a surprise for you, too, to find me here. Never mind. The past is over, I have begun a new phase in my life and why should not Cullasbes, also, be happy?’ He smiled. ‘She did not deserve to be unhappy, it must be said... And so...’

‘We can come back another time,’ Cullasbes said.

‘Indeed you can, but I will still be the one to talk to you; it is my duty now.’ He smiled because, after all, it was his job, and tried to be helpful. ‘You will want forever vows, of course. For which, you know, the King’s Office does not really need to be involved; we will take records, and if you wished for suggestions, I can recommend a very good sewing room...’

‘For what reason would we require the services of a sewing room?’ Ravomen asked, mystified.

‘For the bunting, of course! Now, it is not strictly necessary, but it does add a touch of joy to proceedings, don’t you think...? Well, that aside... there are a few questions...’

He launched into a very formal, and very proper, investigation of date and composition of the vows to make sure they were complete, asked whether they would exchange rings or armbands, discussed the impossibility of their using the Sacred Grove and went so far as to suggest Merlinith and Araspen’s Friendly Rooms as a good place for a party, afterwards... at the end of an hour, Cullasbes wore a frown to rival any of those Merenor had enticed from her during the days of their relationship, Ravomen was reeling, and Merenor was thoroughly enjoying himself.

‘Well, how about I leave you to think things through, and you can tell me your decisions in a few days?’ he said. ‘It’s usually best not to rush into things.’ He gave a proper, formal smile and rose to his feet to usher them out. ‘Thank you for visiting the Office of Matters Matrimonial, we are delighted to have helped you today.’

Ravomen got up to leave and perforce Cullasbes had to follow. There was a look on her face to suggest that perhaps she was not as delighted with the help she’d received as the Office of Matters Matrimonial had been to offer it... still, for a first official customer, Merenor thought it had gone well, all things considered.

He said as much to Baudh later, when his second son came to say that Hanben had let him finish for the day.

‘So is that why they left with Naneth squawking at Ravomen about dignity and insisting on certain standards?’ he said with a grin. ‘Well, I’ve had a good day, anyway. And I’ve been perfectly well-behaved, ask Ada-in-Honour...’

‘Ah, well, you’re going to have two Adas-in-Honour soon, you know...’

‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ Baudh said. ‘Your Hanben, yes, but not the other fellow.’

‘Well, off you go, and if you see your Honour-Ada, you can tell him I have no formal appointments for the rest of the day...’

Waving Baudh off, Merenor returned to his paperwork, writing up the details of Cullasbes and Ravomen’s visit and filing away the papers, his back to the door when he heard it click closed.

He turned to find Hanben appraising him from across the room, tall and beautiful as he gave Merenor his shy, uncertain smile and slid the bolt across the door.

‘I am here on a certain... matrimonial matter, Master Merenor,’ he said.

‘Indeed, Master Hanben? And how may I serve today?’

By way of answer Hanben closed the distance between them to take his husband in his arms and kiss him as if he were starved of affection, gathering Merenor up and laying him down on the desk to unfasten and push open his robes of office.

‘Working alone I can bear, working with you a few doors away from me, knowing you are alone in here... my husband, I have been so aware of your nearness,’ he said, kissing Merenor’s throat and neck, hands busy freeing him from the restraint of his suddenly-restrictive leggings with determined vigour. ‘I... may I...? let me...’

‘Anything you want!’ Merenor gasped, his hands fumbling under Hanben’s tunic. ‘But you might have to carry me home after...’

A chuckle against his skin.

‘Ah, I have the Mark Three Person Carrier assembled; I could always press that into service...’ Hanben’s mouth, not at all shy now, worked Merenor’s throat. 

The shirt pushed up, and more skin exposed, warm kisses and licks of tongue down his belly, a gasp of air as hands peeled away his leggings, freeing his urgent erection, and Hanben’s brave mouth on him to suck and lick and pull him deep into his throat and Merenor lay amongst the spread of his robes on his desk and whimpered, jamming his forearm into his mouth to silence the cries that wanted to burst from him, too aware that beyond his door could be anyone, Parvon, Arveldir, Melion – oh, not Melion, no... who might hear – and the thought was arousing, erotic, making this a secret, hidden tryst and a soft noise in Hanben’s throat was enough to tip him over into bliss, to make him convulse and send his quill-pot flying, the quills scattering like feathers on the wind as he climaxed and bucked and tried to do it quietly, and Hanben releasing him to stroke his face, his hair, to carefully scoop him up in his arms and set him down in the chair and smile down at the ruin of his desk.

‘My darling rascal, just look at this place! I had not thought you so untidy in your work!’

Merenor grinned.

‘Oh, I am usually much, much worse!’ he said. ‘And you, my beautiful Master Hanben, what about your needs?’

‘It will not take long to get you home, I hope... I had thought, perhaps, my desk is rather more accommodating, but then, all I have to offer is... is axle grease and I rather thought it might spoil the moment... Now, I will pick these things up while you tidy yourself. And was there not something about not bringing your robes of office into disrepute?’

Merenor grinned happily as he adjusted his clothing.

‘Too late, I think,’ he said.


	429. Keeping Busy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Erestor, Arveldir and Glorfindel depart, escorted by the Red Dragons...

All Glorfindel wanted to do was cuddle, and cuddle, and cuddle again. But time was drawing on, and Triwathon, torn between basking in the warm gold delight of Glorfindel’s arms and knowing that one of them had to have some thought for the day, kissed him and tried to slid out of the loving, lovely embrace to hasten as many of Glorfindel’s belongings into his bags as he could.

Glorfindel grumbled and came up behind him to snuggle against his neck, and Triwathon had to be quite determined to escape.

‘Yes, and I would like nothing more than to stay in bed with you, all day, iphant-nin, but the others will be there in twenty minutes and you will be late...’

‘I don’t care. Don’t want to go. Want to stay here with you.’

It was a discussion they had had many times, or nearly had, and each time, Triwathon had pointed out that Thranduil would welcome Glorfindel’s presence in the palace; it was, ultimately, his choice to leave and nobody else’s. The decision had been made some time ago, really; it was only that Glorfindel was grumbling at the necessity.

It might have been easier had Triwathon had leave to ride with his iphant, at least part of the way, but he had important escort duty, and a patrol to command up the river, leaving in two days; it was impossible.

‘I’m sorry I can’t come with you,’ he said, to be swamped in a huge, snuggly hug.

‘I don’t want you to come with me,’ Glorfindel said. ‘I want to stay with you, it’s different...’

He faltered his way through a stumbling explanation of how it was simpler here, the weight of expectation different; Elrond, from the sound of things, had treated Glorfindel as a killing machine when there was so much more to him than that; using him as a weapon when he was also a healer was just wrong...

‘You are not a simple soul, Glorfindel... you have seen too much with your too-blue eyes. Come. Let me help you pack.’

In the process he discovered that Glorfindel had stolen one of his towels, again, but claimed it was a swap, having replaced it with one of those Triwathon had made for him.

‘To keep so you know I’m coming back. And I’ll bring this one back to you....’

 

But at least it had made them laugh, lightened what had been a sad moment. Even though Glorfindel did bring matters back to serious, suggesting that if chance divided them, if Triwathon found somebody, if he was lonely, not to wait. Even though Triwathon protested, even though he knew, they both knew, this wasn’t, had never been, never been meant to be, forever. 

*

‘We were always, just until, no attachments, just for however long…’

‘Yes, we were.’ Triwathon smiled into Glorfindel’s hyperblue eyes. ‘And I will be here, next Yule, and the one after, I expect. And I am sure I will not be needing anyone in the meantime. But you, also. If you’re lonely…’

Glorfindel shook his head.

‘It’s not like that in Rivendell. You have to be discreet, and secret, and furtive. And I don’t want to creep around. Mind you, with your Arveldir coming back with Erestor, I think Elrond might find things changing.’ He sighed. ‘Where did you hide my cloak, beautiful? I suppose I’d better leave with a swagger.’

‘Make sure you do; I want a public farewell from you fit to make the king’s eyes water.’

*

At the stables, Triwathon held the bridle of Glorfindel’s horse, smiling at the sight of the bells on the harness while around him the Red Dragons gathered and Arveldir gave last-minute instructions to Parvon, even as the company set off to the formal muster at the great gates.

There was quite a turn-out to see the travellers off; of course, Glorfindel had won many friends, and Arveldir was respected by the populace. Those few who’d had dealings with Erestor had come to approve him, even if he wasn’t a Silvan, and anyone arriving or leaving was a bit of a spectacle, all things considered. 

Besides, the Red Dragons were riding escort, the king and the prince were going to be there to bid his chief advisor farewell, and the combination of all these factors ensured that it was not going to be a quiet leave-taking.

‘There’s that Merenor... I wonder if he’s forgiven me for commandeering his winter wine, yet?’ Glorfindel said with a grin. ‘Oh, and Ness, with the king... now, that’s a sight to see, isn’t it? I like to see people happy. You will be, won’t you, Triwathon? You’ll be happy?’

‘I’ll be fine; I have interesting work and friends around me. And your return to look forward to; what more could an ellon ask?’

Before Glorfindel could say, well, quite a few things, actually, if you were really thinking, the commander of the Red Dragons rode up and saluted.

‘My lord Glorfindel? We are ready to give the order...’

‘A moment…’ Glorfindel leaned down and tipped Triwathon’s chin up to kiss him long, and deep, and thoroughly, and around them a stunned silence was followed by catcalls and cheers. ‘Lovely Triwathon of the Beautiful Fëa, thank you. I rode in two months ago despondent and broken and you gave me the best Yuletide ever and I will not forget it… already looking forward to the next one.’

Triwathon grinned.

‘I’ll be listening for the bells on your harness; well, on your horse’s harness, that is. Be well, Honey Beer, iphant-nin, melleth-nin.’

‘Do you know? I think I will be, thanks to you.’

*

The captain blew the horn, the troop began to move, and Triwathon watched Glorfindel ride away with tears in his too-blue eyes, but for himself, his back was straight, his smile perhaps a little fixed, and yet he felt no desperate sorrow, just a mild, wistful sadness. After all, Imladris was not so very far away, and the roads were safe, and good, and Pedir’s Reds were the best hunter-warriors in the kingdom... Glorfindel would be back, and Triwathon would be delighted to see him.

But for now, the troop crossed the bridge and turned the bend of the trail to be lost from sight, and he stepped back to find Legolas, in his official Argallor uniform, waiting to speak to him.

‘Argallor, I beg pardon; I know Over-captain Rawon does not like such displays as...’

‘No, he doesn’t.’ Legolas grinned. ‘But the behaviour of the Dragon Companies is nothing to do with him. And you’re not on duty, not in uniform... just this once, I think I can let it go...’

‘Thank you, Argallor.’

‘However, I do have a task for you. I’ve cleared it with Bregon, since it means you need to start as soon as you can present yourself in uniform to the Healers’ Hall...’

‘How may I serve, my prince?’

‘Your troop is riding Mistress Flora to her barge in two days; she’s used to the Greys, but doesn’t know many of you Black Dragons. I want you to give her a tour of the training grounds, let her see her escort in practice, get to know her a little.’

‘Reassure her? Of course, Argallor. But... I understand there is a gwinig...?’

‘Yes, but the healers can take charge of the child this morning. Very well, Captain, go and get yourself ready and off to the healers.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And, Triwathon? Keeping busy... it helps...’

Triwathon nodded. Useless to explain he was all right, he didn’t need the sympathy of his prince, but... at the same time, he was grateful.

‘Thank you, my prince,’ he said instead, and headed back into the palace.

*

Legolas watched the captain go and made his way over to where Nestoril was waiting with an enquiring smile on her face.

‘Job done, Ness,’ he said. ‘I should think you’ve got about twenty minutes...’

‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘Now all I need to do is sweet-talk Master Merenor...’

She spoke deliberately loudly and raised an arch brow in the direction of the new Master of Matters Matrimonial who heard and inclined his head politely as he approached.

‘Healer Ness, anything for you, of course! But is it my professional services you need, or...?’

‘An hour or two of your time, and that of your lovely donkey and cart, if you are not too busy this morning...?’

‘Oh, I’m sure that can be arranged... and the dear old girl does like an outing now and again.’

Ness smiled.

‘I will meet you and your donkey at the stables presently, then.’

With a smile she gathered herself and set off briskly towards her Healers’ Halls, intent on arriving before Captain Triwathon got there so that she could direct the conversation in the way she wanted it to, aware she was perhaps being a little manipulative, but absolutely certain that in this case the end would justify the means.

‘Ness? There is something else I wanted to talk to you about...’ 

Recognising Legolas’ voice, she slowed her steps and waited for him to hurry up; she had not got far inside the palace, but far enough that they were alone, private.

‘If you wish to talk, you will need to keep up,’ she said, smiling. ‘For I don’t have much spare time...’

‘I only wanted to ask... how is he, Adar? I know Flora said... well. She can’t mean it, can she? It’s not that hard a journey?’

‘Unless you are a human woman with a baby who does not grow and thrive in a way you, and those around you, are used to, I’m not sure you could properly understand,’ Ness said. ‘In fact, I do not understand her, and I am used to her, a little. No, it is not a hard journey; she does not have to walk, and carry the child in her arms... but perhaps it is hard in other ways, it takes her away from her home, from her mother, her security... I think, when she talks of Belegornor being unsettled, she really means that she is... but perhaps does not quite realise it... As for your father...’ Nestoril fell silent for a moment, organising her thoughts. ‘In fact, he surprised me by responding with measured calm... I am sure he is not happy with the thought, but it seems he has accepted its inevitability and wants only to spend a little time with the child...’

‘Hence all this scurrying around today... and there’s poor Triwathon thinking we’re trying to stop him from moping...! But Adar...’

‘Flora has said visitors will always be welcome...’

‘Can you imagine, Ada showing up at Flora’s cottage...?’

‘I rather think I can, in fact; I have just been staying there myself, of course, and your father is quite capable of forgetting his dignity when he must.’

‘I suppose you’d need to go with him...’

‘Would I?’

‘Would you not?’

She smiled. ‘Well, perhaps. But generally, yes, I think your father with make peace with this, given the chance. And as long as we can keep him busy, once Flora has gone.’

Legolas grinned.

‘Well, I’m sure you’ll think of something,’ he said.


	430. Heritage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil introduces Belegornor to his heritage...

Ness had barely arrived back in her halls when Flora asked if she had a moment to spare.

‘Only I have been invited to the practice grounds to watch some of the warriors in training, but I am not sure it is a good place for my Belegornor, there will be shouting and things... so I was wondering, could I ask you, perhaps, to take charge of him? Just for a little while?’ she asked with anxious hope. 

‘I would be delighted to do so, Flora,’ Ness replied.

‘Oh, thank you! Belegornor has had his morning feed, and everything, so he should be comfortable for a while, if you are sure?’ Flora said doubtfully. ‘And I know it is sudden, but you were saying, it would be good for me to talk to other people, and Captain Triwathon seems so nice, and a bit sad, but I think I would like to meet his warriors, if they are riding me to the hythe...’

‘Of course I do not mind, Flora,’ Nestoril said, smiling. ‘In fact, I have plans to go out on the cart with Master Merenor and his little donkey; you know how the baby loves the donkey, Merenor would not mind if Belegornor came too, I am sure... if that is all right with you?’

‘Oh. Well, I think... I think, if he is well-wrapped against the cold, I am sure that will be lovely... thank you...’

*

‘And it really was that simple?’ Thranduil asked when Ness met up with him outside Nelleron’s stall.

Nestoril nodded. ‘It really was. And so, I have said that Belegornor and I will ridein the cart with Master Merenor...’

‘But once we reach our destination, perhaps that will change.’

‘Yes. And Merenor is waving from the edge of the stable yard, I think he is waiting for us.’

‘Go and settle yourselves, then; I will lead the way.’

It was an odd little procession in the cold, bright morning; Thranduil going first on Nelleron, the donkey cart following, both Merenor and Nestoril with bows at their backs, for however safe this part of the forest was, still, it was the Forest, and both of them knew Thranduil’s preferred weapon was not the bow...

Still, the distance to the Sacred Grove was not great, and even at Nelleron’s slowest amble, it was not very long before they were halting, Thranduil dismounting to bow to the sentinel hollies, Merenor helping Nestoril and the child from the cart.

‘Shall I wait for you, Ness?’ he asked.

‘There will be no need,’ Thranduil said idly over his shoulder. ‘I will escort them back. Thank you for your help, Master Merenor.’

‘It was my pleasure to be of service, sire.’ Merenor bowed, then winked at Ness. ‘I’ll take the old girl back the long way round, I think; I do like the forest trails around here. See you later, Healer.’

Once he had gone, Ness made her bow to the hollies guarding the grove and prepared to enter. 

Thranduil opened his arms.

‘Let me take him now,’ he said.

‘Of course,’ she said, passing across the bundled child. ‘Do you want to be alone?’

‘Of course not, Ness!’ He smiled at her as he settled the gwinig in his arms. ‘I want you with me... if you will, that is. And not for the child, but for the pleasure of your company. Besides, I might get some of the stories wrong; you will need to realign my narrative, perhaps. It is his heritage; he may not remember, indeed I doubt even a full elfing would, at this young age. Nevertheless...’

So she followed Thranduil into the grove, drinking in its gentle peace for a moment as her lover meandered around the circuit of trees. He walked in silence for some moments, the gwinig placid in his arms, but after a time he broke his pensive silence. 

‘Belgornor, this place is sacred to us, the heart of our forest. It is said that as long as the Sacred Grove stands, we will stand... here grow the fëar-trees. Every Silvan has their tree, somewhere, in the forest, and those of royal blood, those close to them, their trees gather here...’

He made his way to a tall and stark beech tree, long dead, at the rear of the grove, there to pause. 

‘Child, this was my own father’s fëa tree... Oropher, who was king before me, who crossed the mountains long ago and who accepted the request of our Silvans to lead them. For many long years he ruled, leading us well and bravely, and from him I learned what true kingship is; not power over one’s subjects, but the care of them, the responsibility to do what is best for all the people, not just a few here and there, whatever the personal cost... he died, trying to secure a peaceful future for all of Middle Earth, but who knows now whether it will hold?’

Belegornor reached out a plump hand, and Thranduil allowed him to touch the dry, dead bark. 

‘Your great-Daerada, I wonder what he would have thought of you? I know for certain what he would have thought of your father, however...’

Nestoril smiled, and Thranduil, catching her eye, smiled back.

‘Now, this, this tree was that of your father, Iauron, of whom you will never hear the full tale... perhaps that is as it should be, for he was many things to many persons, I think, and still young enough, when he fell, to be unfixed... I think, had he the courage, you would have been the making of him... but at what cost to your mother, and to you, I do not know... And, now, this was your uncle’s tree, Tharmeduil, he had visions... he is far away, safe, healed, I hope, as your father will be by now, but it will be a long age before I meet them again, I deem... here, this is the tree of your grandmother, taken too soon... but she left a legacy behind, three fine sons... she was Silvan, and so I cannot name her to you, not today... perhaps, not ever, for I must be here for the Night of the Names and certain is it, you will not be...’

Thranduil readjusted his hold on the child, and for a moment, Ness thought she saw a glitter in her beloved’s eye, thought he held the child close to his heart in a hug as he resettled the bundle.

‘Come, though, this is a happier tree; this represents Legolas, our prince, your uncle and sponsor. In its time, this tree has golden berries, brighter than his hair... the hazel beside it, that is his fëa-mate... his husband, his forever-love... I wonder what concept of ‘forever’ you will have, child? I suppose anything longer than five score years will seem an eternity, to you, peredhel though you be. For you will live out your years with your mother, and that is as it should be, she loves you... I wonder what will you know of your choice, Belegornor, for you could choose to stand amongst Elvenkind and live forever... or to be mortal, and follow your mother and her kin... but what is the point of forever, if you have no-one to share it with?’

Ness swallowed and turned away, listening to the calming, measured voice she loved so well as Thranduil introduced Belegornor to Thranduil’s own willow. She was about to make her way to the entrance to the grove to sit and wait when he called her back.

‘Ness? Have you seen this?’

Surprise in his voice, so, composing herself, she returned to the stately, elegant willow. Thranduil had crouched down with the gwinig braced securely on his thigh, the better to examine a slender sweet-chestnut, growing so close amongst the roots of the willow that it was a surprise there was enough nourishment in the soil for both trees.

‘It’s new,’ he said, his eyes gleaming now with humour and delight. ‘That is, I thought I noticed this sapling at the perimeter recently; it has migrated in... If ever a tree resonated with your fëa, dear Ness, it’s a sweet chestnut...’

She laughed and scooped the child from Thranduil’s lap.. 

‘Yes, the sweet chestnut is the species I resonate with most nearly... and it is not really very long since I was here, I did not notice then...’

‘Ah, but we were not lovers then, not really... now, it seems, the grove approves us.’

He got to his feet, smiling, and reached across to stroke Belegornor’s head.

‘I wonder whether this little one will grow to have his father’s bright hair or keep his human colouring?’ he said in a change of subject.

‘Or perhaps his Silvan blood will find its way through,’ Nestoril said. ‘Blond, or dark, or red of hair, he will be beautiful, Thranduil; Flora has very fair features, for a human. And he has some handsome forbears on his father’s side, after all.’

‘Nestoril...’

‘...your father, Oropher, he was quite a head-turner... now, was there anything else here you wished to tell the little one?’

‘Not here, no. I think explaining the concept of fëar-trees in any further detail is a little ambitious... we had better be getting back, I suppose. I should like to set Belegornor before me on the elk, will you jump on behind? Nelleron has room for us all...’

Tempted to say something about the dangers, Ness held her peace; Thranduil had carried all his sons on one elk or another, in his day, and so knew what he was doing.

‘I can walk, you know,’ she said in half-protest.

‘True, but what would be the fun in that? This way, you can put your arm around me while we ride.’

Leading the way from the grove, he summoned Nelleron and rubbed the beast’s forehead gently.

‘You must be on your best behaviour, now, my friend, for you will bear both a lady and an infant on your back as well as me. So. There will be dried blackberries for you when we return, although we shall have to find someone other than Arveldir to give them to you...’

‘Oh, I’m sure Master Merenor would help with that,’ Nestoril said.

‘Yes, indeed.’ Thranduil sprang up onto Nelleron’s back. ‘If you will pass my grandson to me, Ness, I’ll make him secure and then give you a hand.’

‘No need,’ she said, handing up the infant and waiting until he was firmly wrapped inside Thranduil’s riding coat. ‘I am quite able to find my own way up.’

A handy tree stump gave her a stepping-up point, and she slid into place behind Thranduil, pressing against his back without snuggling, her arms going around him to link her fingers together across his body.

‘I am ready if you are, Thranduil,’ she said.

‘Very well; mind you keep still, my dear, your proximity is a little distracting; it is a good thing you are not seated before me, I suppose...’

‘You can always tell tell Belegornor about Nelleron to take your mind of it, Thranduil,’ Ness said, leaning forward to speak into his ear.

‘I suppose so,’ he said. ‘After all, riding on an elk is also a part of his heritage...’


	431. Official Witness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Master Merenor's duties expand...

It was pleasant, being out with Donkey Cullasbes in the forest again, and even nicer going back, just him and the forest and the flicking fuzzy grey ears ahead of him. He spent a little while wondering what the jaunt had been about, but not too much; sometimes Merenor was sure Thranduil could hear the thoughts even as they formed inside your head, and it was obviously a private matter, and really, wasn’t it a compliment that they trusted him to convey the peredhel in what was probably a clandestine manner to the Sacred Grove?

Was this how it would be, now he was officially part of the King’s Office, were people going to start trusting him with their secrets...?  
It was an alarming thought.

Of course he could be trusted to be discreet, when he realised he needed to be... and he was much, much better at that these days... even though his reputation still hadn’t quite caught up with the reality of him...

Still, position of trust, really, filing away all those secrets into the right folders and cabinets for when Arveldir got back and needed to catch up on the politics. 

And his own office, helping people arrange their marriages so their parents didn’t get too enthusiastic in arranging them on their offspring’s behalf... perhaps they should have official bunting...? 

The thought amused him all the way home, through unharnessing Donkey Cullasbes and rubbing her ears gently, settling her comfortably in her quarters.

Back in the main office, he found Parvon there with an anxious frown on his face.

‘Master Parvon, where you looking for something?’ he said, trying to be helpful, for, of course, he had not forgotten that Parvon had a little crush on Captain Triwathon, and the captain had just said goodbye to his golden Balrog-slayer in some style... it must have been hard to watch, to have all this affection and know it not wanted...

‘Someone, Master Merenor; I was meant to have a meeting with his majesty, but he seems to be...’

‘Busy elsewhere? In fact, I saw him not an hour since. He had business in the Sacred Grove.’

‘The...? Oh. Thank you, I do not suppose you know anything more?’

Well, if ever there was an opportunity to prove he could be discreet, not mentioning Thranduil had Ness and the gwinig with him was probably a good place to start...

‘No, I’m sorry.’

Nor did Parvon press him; how could he, really, when it was tacitly understood that the king’s time with the fëar- trees was sacrosanct, personal, intensely private? Still, the advisor looked a little less fraught, at least.

‘Well, at least he is unlikely to come to harm, I suppose....’

‘Master Parvon? While I have you here, I wonder if I might broach a matter with you?’ Merenor said. ‘It is to do with my new duties; I have been told I can order things as I wish for my department, but I would feel easier if I discussed them with someone in an official capacity first... do you mind?’

‘Ah... no, no, I do not mind... what...?’

Merenor led the way in and laid out the arrangements as already agreed with Arveldir before moving on.

‘I thought it might be helpful if there were an area we could formally offer for the ceremony; not the Sacred Grove, obviously, although the last enquirer here was a bit annoyed to find the Grove was not available... perhaps we could use the formal gardens? Or, or I could speak to Master Hanben and ask him to design a purpose-built place, a little garden with space for seating, an arbour and dais... complete with its own lighting and bunting in properly tasteful colours...’

‘I... yes, I can see it would take attention away from the Sacred Grove which is, after all, sacred for a purpose... the formal gardens, well, any avowing ceremonies might disrupt other garden-users... so I think your idea of creating somewhere special is actually a nice thought... bunting, though... is it mandatory?’

Merenor grinned and sighed.

‘Not really, I just like it. Tell me, for I think you might have seen more avowings than have I, do they ever struggle to decide who to ask to officiate?’

‘Oh, you cannot imagine...! Of course, anyone can be Witness, but some have wanted to ask their naneth, and then the other naneth gets huffy, or they want a friend to speak who forgets the words... and if one of the servants should be asked to be Witness – even for their friends who also serve us and without whom the palace would not be nearly so pleasant to live in – there are always complaints after, which is not fair at all...’

‘In fact, I was wondering if it would be appropriate to suggest someone from the King’s Office to act as formal Witness if people have nobody in mind... I find people are tending to assume that since Healer Nestoril Witnessed my own marriage, and that of the union between our prince and his warrior, that she is the proper person and while I know she does not mind, she has pointed out it is really not her place...’

‘I am sure that would be a very good idea to appoint someone from the King’s Office. Surely, though, it ought to be you who presides?’

‘Me?’ Merenor was startled into a laugh; he really had not meant himself... ‘I do not think...’

‘Consider; you are the public face of the Department of Matters Matrimonial, you will already have spoken to the people involved, you will know them a little, they might prefer it to being handed over to someone else. I am sure you would be very good in the role; from the first you struck me as an ellon of great compassion and tact; people find it easy to confide in you. Yes; I think you would be an excellent Witness. Perhaps I should just mention it to our king first, but consider it a part of your duties to offer your services.’

By the start of his formal afternoon session, Merenor had heard back from Parvon that the king was happy for him to do anything he wanted, up to, and including, bunting, as long as Merenor left him and the Sacred Grove out of his arrangements. The thought buoyed him through his first official meeting, for it was rather a sad one...

Another couple, avowed because they thought it was the right thing to do, two elflings both grown now, neither like to marry in traditional manner, and the elleths’ parents blamed the ellon, the ellon’s kin blamed the elleth’s parents, the elleth didn’t know who to blame but said it was a tragedy, and she could have married happily elsewhere, had she waited, and the ellon buried his head in his hands and wept as if he would never stop.

Merenor moved his chair from behind the desk to between the two and put a consoling arm around them both.

‘Oh, my dears, this is too sad a story for there not to be something of joy from it! Your children, tell me... ellyn or ellith or one of each?’

‘Two sons,’ the elleth said. ‘And... and I love them, we love them, they are brave and fine and true. But their grandparents...’

‘Should be grateful to be grandparents,’ Merenor said. ‘It is nice, I know, to think we are pleasing our parents, but they are not the ones living our lives... I know that myself, yes, for I was like your ellon here, vowed against my inclination. Both of us thinking it for the best. Well, I have four sons, one is married with elflings, and happy, and one has a lady he is courting... the other two take after me, my youngest son is married to a very fine ellon indeed. So, I need to ask, what manner of vows did you take...?’

The ellon recovered a little as Merenor asked his gentle questions about the vows, and the circumstances, interspersing them with enquiries about their sons.

‘For my second son, Baudh, who is apprenticed to my husband Hanben, he is newly arrived in the palace after a long time away, and would like to make new friends... also, he is considered very handsome and has a happy disposition...’

This made the elleth laugh, at least, as she said, well, one of the lads was serving in the hunters down amongst the southern settlements, but the other had work in the sewing rooms, because he had an eye for such things.

‘Oh, how wonderful! It is rare to find an ellon good with his hands, my lad will be interested... Tell your boy, if he visits the Friendly Rooms, to look for Baudh... Well, that aside, I am duty bound to tell you to take a little time to think, but if you want to be freed from your arrangement, you can do so with no blame on either of you. And I would like to point out that if Lord Eru makes us as he sees fit, those who like the opposite gender and those who like the same; it is nothing to do with us, as parents or grandparents; it is our privilege to love our elflings, even if they surprise us at times.’ 

He got to his feet and patted their shoulders gently, replacing his chair behind the desk and finding a bottle of amber light wine, pouring them two glasses.

‘Perhaps you would like to sit here until you feel a little more composed,’ he said. ‘I have a meeting in the Department of Innovation on the other side of the office, I will be, oh, twenty minutes or so. Feel free to stay, if you like, or if you want to go home and talk a little more... just the two of you, no parents, now... I can have the documents drawn up for you to sign tomorrow... officially, the office is open only in the afternoons, but I could bring them to your quarters in the morning, if you like. Save you the walk. If so, just leave me a note of where to find you, yes? Take your time, really.’

He went to sit on Hanben’s desk and distract him from his work with suggestions of what to do after work was finished and then attracted all his attention by mentioning the possibility of designing a special marriage garden. Work in progress was pushed aside and as if by magic, lines and curves appeared on paper as Hanben asked questions, and drew, and asked for more information, and added to his drawing.

‘You think it’s a good idea, then?’ Merenor asked, delighted beyond reason.

‘Yes, in fact, I do. It makes the whole process more efficient, thus leaving the to-be-weds with less to worry over.’

‘Parvon thought I should offer myself as official Witness, in case any of them haven’t anyone in mind...’

‘Another good idea; and that way, you will be invited to all the parties...’

‘Then, of course, I will need you as my associate, so that you are invited also; I can’t be going to all these parties without my husband...’

Hanben smiled but kept on drawing, filling in detail now, roses at the foot of the arbour, benches for observers.

‘Oh...’ Merenor glanced through the crack in the door in time to see his visitors exiting his office. ‘...and my last couple seem to have left... they grew a little bit distressed, well, one of them did, so I left them to recover... and I had better get back to the desk, just in case someone else needs to talk to me today.’

Someone else did.

Later in the afternoon, a gentle tapping at his door and he got up to wave two ellyn into his office.

‘Mistress Merlinith, Mistress Araspen, hello! This is lovely, how nice to see you... did I ever properly say thank you? All your hard work, the bunting, and the use of your Friendly Rooms, it was a lovely party...’

‘Thank you, you did, but... it is nice to hear again.’

‘Please, sit, and how can I help today?’

‘We want to take our vows,’ Merlinith said.

‘Forever vows,’ Araspen added, an almost fierce note to her little, soft voice that would have made Merenor smile had he not realised the fear behind it.

‘Of course forever-vows,’ he said. ‘And I will be glad to assist with your arrangements in any way I can; my department is in discussions about the design of a special garden just to hold avowal ceremonies... but it is just a drawing at present, it might be some time if you were in a hurry... when would you like? Midsummer is traditional, but New Year is popular, but quite near now... then again, if you are in love, any day is a good day to get married...’

Araspen blinked at him.

‘Are you not going to talk to us about how serious a step this is? That we should think about elflings?’

‘Why, do you want me to?’ Merenor grinned. ‘No, the purpose of the Office of Matters Matrimonial is to help people to be happy with the elleth, or ellon of their choice, not to help them choose or to interfere when they have chosen. The matter of elflings is entirely beyond our scope, although I might say sometimes there are elflings whose parents are lost to death, and who then have nobody to care for them... if you want elflings without all the messing around with ellyn, perhaps you could take in a Child of the Forest? I am sure the Healers’ Hall would know if there were any such...’

‘Quite right, too,’ Merlinith said. ‘You see, dearest? I said Master Merenor would not lecture us! We were thinking of the day my brother took his vows – I do not think you were here, then, but they were very last-minute in their arrangements, all a bit of a rush, but neither want another celebration for themselves, so if we marry on the same day, they will have to celebrate... it is three months or so yet...’

‘We can set an exact day and date later, and I will give you a sheet with the suggested wording of the vows... you can add in anything you wish, of course... and your chosen Witness... if you can’t find one, I can stand in for you...’

‘There will be no standing in, if you please!’ Merlinith said. ‘No, we were going to ask you to officiate... There is no point in asking Govon, he will just laugh all the way through, and you are an excellent example, Master Merenor, of the new, modern outlook, and we would be delighted if you were to marry us.’

‘I will be delighted to officiate, ladies,’ he said. ‘I think that is all for today... Oh, except... if you were wanting bunting, I know an excellent sewing room...’


	432. Watchful Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Belegornor looks set for another disturbed night and Ness steps in...

The peace of the Healers’ Hall was fragmented by a sharp wail that carried even from Flora’s room to the main desk where Nestoril was on evening duty. Maereth, passing through, flinched at the sound.

‘I do not think he will calm quickly,’ she said. ‘It is the cry he gives when he is distressed but cannot explain why... but I know Flora will say he is not hungry, nor thirsty, nor wet, nor cold, and not in pain...’

‘In other words, Flora is thinking too loudly again and Belegornor is feeding off his mother’s mood.’ Ness sighed. ‘And while he may not be tired now, the crying will make him too tired to sleep and so he will continue...’

‘What shall we do? Ought we send for the king again?’ This with a little giggle at her own daring, and Ness smiled back.

‘You know... you might have something, there... I think his majesty will have left the Feasting Hall by now, so perhaps I can take the infant to him...’

‘No?’ Maereth gasped. ‘You would dare do such a thing?’

Ness tried to look nonchalant. ‘It is his grandson, and the little one is going away tomorrow. I do not think he will mind, not really. Besides, remember how swiftly he soothed last time in our king’s arms...’

‘Wait... there. He has stopped...’

Silence for half a moment, and the wails began again.

‘No, he was just getting his breath... Maereth...’

‘I will organise a stand-in for you, Nestoril; go, by all means, it will be better for everyone here.’

*

When Ness knocked on Flora’s door, she had to do so twice before she was heard and the girl bade her enter.

‘Oh, dear! Is he in a little bit of a mood again?’

‘I am sure I do not know what is up with him – you saw, at home, but for the teething, such a happy baby...’

‘I know. Here, let me take him... there...’ Belegornor quietened a little but continued to grumble as Ness soothed and rocked him and listened to Flora’s outpouring of confusion.

‘There is so much to do, and I know I do not leave until after the middle day meal, but still... and we will be all night on the barge... I suppose it will be all right... but if he is going to fret so...’

‘You could stay another week, then the tide times will be easier, Flora; there is plenty of space here and I know the king would not mind if you were to delay your departure.’

‘Oh. But nice Captain Triwathon has said he and his company will ride all the way home with us, and if I were to wait, he could not, for he has to go on patrol after that...’

‘Well, that is true... but Legolas and Govon could escort you to the boat later, or some other accompany you...’

But Flora shook her head.

‘No, I think it might be better, Belegornor will probably sleep in the dark, and the captain will be with us all the way...’

Ness nodded. Well, she had tried to defer the parting, but there was not much more she could do about it.

‘It’s your journey, Flora, so you must do what you think best. But you are worried, and tired, and you need to sleep tonight; let me care for Belegornor, I would be glad to help... And you can pack me up some fresh waterproofings, and the cloths you use, I have done it often enough for my sister’s elflings... then you can rest and I will have him back before breakfast for you.’

‘That is very kind... I do not sleep well in this place, worrying about him... here, I will put everything in his sleeping basket, that will be easier... and Healer Gaelbes has the night feed...’

‘Well, he is calmer when he is being walked, so if you will sort out his things, I will take him to the main desk and wait there.’

Maereth had been busy. 

Gaelbes was behind the desk, Gyril there with one of Master Hanben’s person-carriers.

‘We found out that the baby’s basket fits into this quite well, and the straps secure it... much easier, around the place, than carrying him and all his things... of course, it would not work around Flora’s cottage, the paths are too uneven. Now, here is the night-feed... will you really be gone so long?’

‘Perhaps; it really depends on Belegornor... I know, he seems quiet now...’

‘...but that can change in a moment with this little one,’ Gaelbes said, nodding. ‘It is Flora, she is so anxious, and he is so young, he does not know how to read such human emotion from his own mother...’

‘...she is so unsettled,’ Gyril said. ‘But it is a shame she will not be back again; we have grown fond of this little one...’

‘But his mother is his mother, I suppose she thinks she is doing the right thing...’

Belegornor’s grumbling became more pronounced, and Nestoril was glad to see Flora with the sleeping basket full of apparently necessary things.

Still, there was room, just, for the baby in the middle and the basket strapped into place in the person-carrier, and with another anxious expression of thanks, Flora waved Nestoril off.

*

On returning from his outing with Belegornor and Ness, Thranduil had found on his desk a package from Parvon, one which had apparently been laid aside by mistake and which had only come to light when one of the new scribes was sorting through the files. He had left it to one side, reasoning that the documents had not been important enough to come to his attention for some weeks and so could survive a few more hours at least.

Now, on his return from the Feasting Hall with the knowledge that Nestoril had late duty, he needed something to fill up his time which was not simply drinking wine and brooding about Flora and Belegornor’s departure, so he settled at his desk in the study and opened the package.

Inside he found notebooks and folded, brightly coloured sheets of paper, scribbled writings, some almost illegible.

Tharmeduil’s prophecies.

He rested his hands over them as if to connect with his second son, so far away now, so far beyond all the things he had seen and recorded... beyond the pain, he hoped, restored and healed and whole once more, please, with his Feril, the healer elleth who had been Ness’ friend.

Well, he could do nothing to help his second son now, nor his eldest. All he could do was the best he could for his youngest...

Legolas seemed happy, at least. Seemed it? Joy exuded from him of late, he glowed, he laughed. Easy with his husband now, relaxed in company with him, taking more of a role with the Dragon Warriors, less afraid of asking his father how he was, of showing his concern, yes, a son of whom he could be justly proud.

Perhaps some of Tharmeduil’s notes would reference Legolas...

Did Thranduil really wish to know?

Irrelevant. Tharmeduil had obviously felt it important that these records make their way back to Thranduil; he owed it to his son to look them over, at least.

He began with the papers, spreading them out on his desk and looking at the images, allowing them to draw him in, noting where they had been circled, signifying they had already become part of the past and where they had not, suggesting they were still possible...

That was not the right way to approach these, however; one could not trust prescience, he had learned that; things changed, sometimes because one knew they might. None of these drawings ought to be taken as actual prophecies, but as warnings of things which might come to pass; there was no certainty.

In that frame of mind, he returned to the spread of documents, reading and looking and stroking and touching at the work of his second son...  
The distraction of a knock at his door an hour or so later would have been unwelcome, but that he recognised its softness and pattern and there was an additional sound he also recognised.

‘Nestoril?’ he said as he opened the door. ‘Ah. And you are not alone...’

‘Do I interrupt?’ she asked. ‘You seem busy...’

‘I was filling time, no more than that. Please, come in, come through. I am delighted to see my grandson again, of course...’

‘He had started to wail,’ Ness said with a rueful lift of her lip as she entered. ‘And after last time, when you were so successful at calming him...’

‘Is it correct to assume, then, that your healers know you are here?’ Thranduil lifted Belegornor out of his basket and cradled him in the crook of one arm, automatically adjusting the gwinig’s swathed blankets. ‘It does not help that she keeps him too warm; I know he is not a full elf, but even so, he does not require this many layers...’

‘Yes, they know; I do not think they will share that fact with Flora, however. And, of course, as soon as we were out of the Healers’ Hall he squawked and then subsided with just the occasion murmur; I really think he is simply hypersensitive to Flora’s mood and removing him from her proximity is all he needed to calm him. Of course, I do not know what he would be like with a stranger, but he knows us.’

‘It was good of you to bring him. And wise, too; you know I do not want him to go, never to return... so if I spend an uneasy night with him at his most challenging, I might mind it less...’

‘The thought had not even occurred to me!’ Nestoril protested. ‘But now you come to mention it... I do not think it would make any difference, in the end.’

‘Oh, Ness... I do not want him just when he is sweet-smelling and smiling; I want the experience of him... he will be my only grandchild and they are little for such a short time; a blink, and an entire stage of development has gone... and I will visit – you will come with me, I hope – as often as I may, as often as Flora will accept us as guests, but it will not be the same, I will be visiting a human child who happens to have elvish blood in him, not a peredhel... he will be so quickly grown and then I will have no reason, no excuse...’

‘I know, my dear, I know.’

He sighed and tried to change the subject.

‘Sit, Ness, get comfortable. If you would like a drink, there is a bottle of blackcurrant and apple cordial somewhere... nasty stuff, how dare it resemble Dorwinion in its colour and taste so different?’

‘Thank you, later, perhaps.’ She smiled and settled herself on the sofa. ‘What were you working on when I arrived, may I ask? I thought I recognised some of the documents...’

‘Tharmeduil’s drawings and notes.’ Thranduil gathered Belegornor close to his body and sat down beside Nestoril. ‘I should have gone through them sooner, but for some reason, they were set to one side and overlooked...’

‘Poor boy. Or not; as I told you, I saw him partially recovered and the love between him and Feril... almost, it was painful to see, so much was it. He will be well, and happy beyond the Seas... of all the things he wrote, and drew, in those latter days, Thranduil, he kept coming back to one thing; that you do not need to be alone.’

‘No.’ Thranduil shook his head. ‘No, he was mistaken; I am the Elvenking, to rule is to be alone. But... I do not have to be lonely.’

‘Perhaps that is what he meant, that as his father, as Thranduil, you need not suffer solitude.’

‘Well.’ He turned and gave her the small, just-for-her curve of the lips that kicked in her heart more than any grin could have done. ‘Perhaps. These days, Legolas will ask how I am, is there anything he can do... and I am learning to tell him, to ask him to sit with me for an hour here and there. I thought perhaps his marriage would change him, take him away... but it seems there is room for both his husband and his father.’

‘It is normal, at first, to be engrossed. Especially if you are young... but he has a good heart.’

‘I know; I am blessed that he at least has been spared to me. What is more, I have you now, your friendship, your affection...’

‘My love.’

‘Yes, dear Ness.’ He took her hand. ‘And with you to love, I can bear anything... even that which is coming...’

‘You do know that not everything Tharmeduil records is to be taken as set, do you not?’ she asked, alarmed at the change in his tone. ‘That often these are preliminary workings which alter as he refines them?’

‘I do. But something is coming, Ness; I hear it in the forest, its stillness, its heart is disquieted. Perhaps not now, not soon, even. But in time. This is just a watchful peace.’ He smiled down at Belegornor as with a little whimpering grunt his eyes flickered and fluttered and he slid into sleep. ‘Much like caring for a gwinig, in fact; one moment they can be raging and screaming their fury, and the next they are all innocent sleep. No, all one can do is wait and see, I suppose, and hope to not be taken completely unawares. Now, what shall we do with our mighty little tempest? For much though I love him, I do not intend spending all night with him in my arms.’

‘Oh, I think we can sort something out...’

Nestoril snuggled Belegornor down into his sleeping basket while Thranduil pushed two armchairs together next to the bed, thus making a safe, high-sided nest for the basket, and baby, to settle into.

‘There. We will be near, if he wakes,’ Thranduil said. 

Ness nodded. ‘Did I happen to leave any sleepwear here...? I deplore the necessity, but...’

‘Indeed, you probably have forgotten, but you are still wearing your head-rail...which you have told me before means you are working. Although I hope you are not going to sleep in it?’

She laughed, reaching at once to take off the offending head-rail, shaking her hair free as she found her night garments in the chest and went to change. It was odd; the baby was asleep, unaware of anything around him, but there was a need to be decorous, suddenly.

‘Not like the last night we spent together, Ness?’ Thranduil said with a reluctant smile as she emerged from the bathing room, demurely swathed in neck-to-ankle and shoulder-to wrist linen.

‘Not in the slightest,’ she replied. ‘It would not be at all appropriate! But there will be other nights.’

‘Yes. And there is much to be said for simple companionship.’

Nestoril slid into bed on what she already considered to be her side of the mattress, and settled against the pillows.

‘There is also a lot to be said for a beautiful, lithe lover with hair like silver sunlight and an exceptional understanding of pleasing a lady,’ she said. ‘However, since I did not arrive alone, I cannot complain...’

Thranduil darkened the lamps and climbed in to gather Ness against him, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead. 

‘Sleep well, dear Ness. If Belegornor stirs, I’ll see to him.’

Nestoril snuggled lazily. ‘You know, I think I might let you.’


	433. The Throne Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Belegornor wakes and Thranduil settles him...

It was perhaps three hours into the night that Thranduil woke, hearing a mewling murmur from the sleeping basket at the end of the bed. 

Next to him, Nestoril sighed in her reverie and so he slid free from her enfolding arm, and the bedding, to hurry and lift his grandson’s sleeping basket from its enclosure and carry him through to the sitting room.

‘Now, child, hush, for I am here to care for you... we must not disturb Healer Ness, she has had a long and tiring day, you see... Are you hungry? And what is this...this mess they seek to feed you, gruel? I suppose it is wholesome enough, more substantial than milk, which is a little impractical anyway for me...’

He set the pot of gruel on the warming stone in the hearth, and lifted Belegornor free of his bedding to sit him on his lap. Wide awake, the gwinig looked about him with bright eyes.

‘Not so hungry yet, then. Well, while we wait for it to heat, I will show you something very few persons ever get to see... the view from the top of my high throne.’

Tying one of Belegornor’s blankets around himself to make a sling, Thranduil settled the child and carried him through the private rooms into his public study where he acquired a lantern. Continuing along the connecting passage which led to the formal throne room, he stepped out into its magnificent solitude. An imposing space at the best of times, in the dark it was almost daunting, vast and cold and Belegornor whimpered, his little voice reverberating in echoes around the chamber.

‘Hush, child, you are safe with me. We have a lantern, after all, to drive the dark back into the shadows... You see these great doors, here? Through them was your mother brought, when first I met her... she looked forlorn, but she held her courage and I liked that in her, in spite of what I thought she was... she sat on a bench, here, and told me of events... I came down the steps to talk to her, on the level, as it were... I am not quite sure Arveldir approved... for this is my throne.’

Thranduil stopped at the base of the steps leading up to the seat encompassed and supported by elk antlers far above.

‘Here I sit,’ he said, slowly mounting the steps to seat himself in the throne and adjust the elfling so he was facing forward, looking out, his Daerada’s hands supporting him over the sling. ‘Here I give out formal judgements and issue proclamations of state, meet with dignitaries who need to be intimidated by my presence; there is another, less formal Hall of Audience where I hear the petitions of my subjects, but this is the seat from whence the Elvenking rules... From this lofty vantage point, they do not look like people, those individuals who come before me, and so it is... I will not say easier, but less difficult to make the hard choices. To decide, yes, send three companies south to support the woodmen against the orc incursions, sixty brave elves to die so a handful of brief mortals can live for a scatter of years... brave souls who should have thousands of years of joy before them, cut short in exchange for three score years, perhaps, for a woodman? I have done it, I have given such orders because I must, but always it has seemed so wasteful...’

Thranduil sighed and shifted his hold on the child. Belegornor reached up to wind his fingers in Thranduil’s hair, attention rapt on the melodic voice of his grandfather.

‘And now there is you, and I think of your mother...what if you lived amongst the woodmen? Would it burn me so much, then, to think perhaps I was spending elvish blood to protect you and yours? But I suppose every woodman has a mother, or a wife, or a child...’

*

Nestoril stood fascinated in the shadows at the edge of the passage, listening, watching. Only vaguely aware that Thranduil had left her side, still, she had awoken, and had listened as Thranduil talked of not waking her. Curious, she had followed after when he had left the room, and now listened as Thranduil explained the pain of rulership to his grandson in such stark simplicity that it made her want to weep for him.

‘...enough of that, child, it is my duty, not yours, after all. But look; do you see the antlers? My Nelleron, who bore you home, he will grow antlers as large and powerful as this in a matter of months now. Do not fear; no elk were harmed in the creation of this throne, for all such creatures shed yearly; here are remnants from my steeds, current and past. Nelleron’s last set are being cleaned and mounted; they will not be part of the throne, but will sit over the doors outside in pride of place. For earlier this year Nelleron defeated the grey cold-drake who took your father from you; he pinned its head in his great antlers so that it could not breathe its poison and so I was able to slay the beast, although not before it had killed one of my brave warriors, injured another, and taken your father from you.’

He fell silent for a moment, easing the child close against his chest and dropping a kiss onto his head.

‘No, that is not strictly true. I am sorry, I had already done that; I told Iauron he could not hope to make a life with your mother, that he should forget all thought of her... perhaps, had I known her a little better, had I taken the time... but then he had just spoken to me of an alliance he wanted to make, he did give up rather easily... I think I would have liked him to argue with me, just a little, about it. But to his shame, and to mine, he did not.’ He sighed. ‘Sometimes this is the most uncomfortable chair in the kingdom.’

Nestoril walked forward from the dark to stand at the foot of the stairs leading up to the throne.

‘But the Elvenking never allows it to show,’ she said. ‘He fills his place with dignity and grace and tries always to hold his kingdom at the heart of every decision. He is loved and respected by all, feared only by those who do not know him, or who do not wish his kingdom well.’

He rose from the throne and descended with care, shaking his head as he reached the foot of the flight of stairs.

‘I have been thinking, Ness,’ he said. ‘About an heir – another heir, I suppose I should say.’

‘Thranduil...’

‘I know, we have not really spoken about this. But now, with Belegornor here, I have realised... well. I cannot do it, Ness, dear Ness. I cannot expect the Valar to bless me with another child when they have already given me three and I have let two of them fall into harm’s way... and even if I did, then such a child would, if he or she grew, one day be expected to take over, to rule... I cannot, Ness, I cannot make another individual take on such responsibility, to know fully what it is like and to wish that on a gwinig...’He looked at her, his face distorting in his anguish to reveal the broken, burned fëa of him. ‘I cannot and... and if you wished for children, Ness, I cannot... I... Forgive...’

‘Hush.’ She leaned forward and kissed the outrageous wound on his face, saw it flicker and return to unflawed flesh. ‘There, that is better. My love, there is nothing to forgive... I told you once that my sisters have elflings enough... and I am fortunate, in the course of my duties, to teach the little ones of the palace. No, I understand.’

‘I have seen... there are more dragons, Ness, or the same one twice... and such darkness is coming, such horror... even if but a fragment of what Tharmeduil has recorded comes to pass... knowing, I could not pass that burden on to another... Legolas... he could be a hero, he might save the world... but he cannot do that if he is ruling here... and so I must, Nestoril, I must carry on here...’

‘I know. Tharmeduil said you would. He also said you would not do so alone. Come, give me the gwinig, his gruel will be heated by now. And you cannot blame yourself for Iauron and Tharmeduil...’

‘I can.’

‘Well, not justly, my dear!’

‘But, consider; had I waited, encouraged Iauron to stand with Flora, we would never have ridden out... matters would have fallen differently...’

‘Indeed, many things would have been different. Would Legolas have married Govon so soon? Would Arveldir have ever met Erestor? What of the dragons, for they would still have been born? Would they have fed and ranged the mountains and then fallen on us in their full-grown deadliness? How many more would we have lost to them? I have had this conversation before, you see,’ she said. ‘Tharmeduil would often question the things he saw. Bring the lamp. There is nothing to be done, my love, except what is given you to do. And this is how it is. Iauron and Tharmeduil are alive and will be well by now. There are three dragons fewer in the world to plague us and you have a very fine grandson...’

‘A grandson who is going away tomorrow.’

‘Yes, and who needs changing and feeding now. Come, Daerada Thranduil. Let’s leave the throne room to the Elvenking, shall we? Time enough for matters of state later.’

*

The little one clean and fed and settling in for his second sleep of the night, Thranduil was a little surprised when Nestoril reached for her clothes.

‘Are you leaving now?’

‘No, dear one, we – all of us – are leaving now. Once you are dressed, we will take Belegornor back to my healers, they will watch him through the rest of the night and you will keep me company, if you will. You could leave a note for Parvon to say breakfast will be for three, and in my study at a sensible hour, perhaps...’

‘That sounds like an excellent idea, Ness, if you do not mind and... if you wish to talk further...’

She smiled and leaned in to kiss his cheek, right where the skin had melted away.

‘I think we have done enough talking tonight, and we need to do some loving and then some sleeping. We can talk later, if you wish. But right now, I simply wish to hold you and be held by you.’

*

If healer Gaelbes was surprised to see someone who bore a striking resemblance to her king arriving with Healer Nestoril and the gwinig, she did her best not to let it show. Indeed, she fussed so long and determinedly over the infant that Thranduil had more than enough time to take the hint and pass quietly along the corridor to Nestoril’s rooms while she explained to Gaelbes that yes, he had just had his night feed and been changed and should sleep through now.

‘And I thought it I brought him back now, then Flora would be less worried about him in the morning.’

‘A very good idea, Healer. But you have had an interrupted night yourself; I will make sure nobody disturbs you...’

‘An excellent notion, Gaelbes, thank you; I will send word, when I am ready for the day. Oh, and I Master Parvon should arrive for a breakfast meeting with the king... and so, goodnight,’ Nestoril said, and left before Gaelbes could query whether she meant Parvon was arriving with the king, or if his majesty would somehow mysteriously already have arrived without being noticed...


	434. The Departure of the Black Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Flora and Belegornor depart...

Triwathon oversaw the readying of his company with proud trepidation. Truly, it was not such an important duty – ride up the river and back again, making sure all was well. Except it had been altered to include escorting the human woman and her peredhel child, not only to the hythe, but all the way home; it now meant spending the night on the barge itself, complete with horses, and then riding her to her cottage before returning to their proper duty. And the Healers Hall had just said, Flora was expecting the entire company around her...

‘Not all of you on the barge, surely?’ Bregon asked, calling him into his office to discuss this new development. 

‘I know – it seems excessive. I had thought, two on board, the others riding through to meet up at the hythe; it could be done easily enough although it means splintering the command. But Mistress Flora seems to think the night journey will be fraught with dangers and assumes our presence on the barge would be an added protection...’

‘Valar help us! Well, it is not practical...’

‘I have had a thought; it requires a little subterfuge, however...’

‘Oh?’

‘The lady’s journey to the hythe will be in the company of Master Merenor, a very friendly fellow...’

‘Oh, we all know Master Merenor... go on?’

‘If I were to approach him, and explain the situation, he could, perhaps, mention to Mistress Flora how six horses on a barge, at night, are not conducive to a pleasant journey. That any danger is from the forest and therefore, it is better to have the guard there, where they can best meet it...’

‘You are a clever fellow, glad I managed to keep you for my Blacks, Triwathon... you’ll have to go on the barge yourself, of course, and appoint a Second for while you’re not present...’

‘I thought Calithilon, sir. And I know the lady will insist on an elleth on board; they think only females understand gwinigs, it is very odd...’

Bregon shrugged. ‘They are human, ‘odd’ does not begin to cover it... Very well, see if you can track down Master Merenor in the King’s Office and I’ll pass the word to Calithilon.’

*

Merenor hummed to himself as he readied Donkey Cullasbes for her harness. True, there were elves present around the stables to help, and, indeed, he would call one of them up to assist with the cart, but he liked the ritual of asking his donkey if she would mind coming out for a little walk, liked to make sure she was comfortable in her traces.

A pleasant morning, well, after a fashion. The annulment couple had come back, and the poor ellon had faltered down into sobs again, only this time not in the privacy of Merenor’s office, but the main room... Feren had taken one look and fled, but the sounds of sorrow had brought Baudh out from the Department of Innovation.

‘Adar, Master Hanben says could you...? Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt...’

But Merenor had caught something in Baudh’s eye and knew very well that he had.

‘Well, my friends Mistress Methel and Master Casben here have just been through a distressing morning... Master Casben is a little overwrought...’

‘If you would care to leave Master Casben with me, Adar, I will escort him to the Healers’ Hall...’

‘It is my mother,’ Methel said abruptly. ‘She spoke with us this morning and said we ought not to do this, what of our sons, even though they are afflicted because of Casben...’

Baudh’s breath hissed in, shocked. Merenor shook his head.

‘Now, we do not use such words these days, Mistress Methel...’

‘No, it is what she said, I... sometimes do not like my mother...’

‘Oh, I know all about that!’ Baudh said. ‘My own naneth... You know, they have a new name for us now, and it is all Mistress Araspen’s fault, she and her friend and their Friendly Rooms... they are calling us Friendlies now, which I think is nicer...’

‘Are they so...? Well, if you will allow me to leave you with my son, Baudh, who certainly is very Friendly... I will see what Master Hanben wants...’

And so he had had to walk away, but not before he had seen Baudh put his arm around Master Casben and suggest a nice walk in the gardens, he knew a lovely spot...

Merenor smiled and glanced down at the spinel gemstone wedding ring on his finger, absently stroking the amber stone that stood for Baudh amongst the winding mithril bands. A good fëa, that one, well, they all were good boys...

Time to lead Cullasbes out and get her attached to her cart. He looked around for someone to call for aid, noticed activity around Nelleron’s stall at the end of the run... was the king going out riding today, when his grandson was leaving? And word was the gwinig was not coming back...

Perhaps that was how the king coped, by being busy when unpleasant things happened. It was one strategy, certainly, but it had never worked for Merenor.

‘Master Merenor! Can I help you with your task?’

‘Thank you, yes.’ Merenor smiled up at the ellon who had come to help with the cart. Something about his eyes, his hair colour... and Merenor remembered, Casben and Methel had two sons, and one worked in the stables... ‘Very Friendly of you. I think I know your parents... very proud of your skills, they are...’

*

Half an hour later, and he had been waiting for Flora for more than ten minutes. Her baggage had arrived, true, but not the lady and her gwinig. Donkey Cullasbes stood patiently at the gates, the very fine Black Dragon escort were waiting with less patience... still, there had been plenty of time for Merenor and the lovely Captain Triwathon to go over the impracticalities of the entire company boarding the barge... 

Finally, there she was! Healer Ness with her, and just visible in the background, a silver gold head that was probably the king pretending not to be there... he hadn’t run away on his elk yet, then...

Perhaps that was a hard thought, unkind, and Merenor tried to make himself think more kindly as the last of Flora’s bags were handed in and the lady herself, clutching the gwinig close to her body, clambered up beside him.

‘Mistress Flora, good day.’

‘Master Merenor, are we late?’

Having already factored in an extra hour, Merenor was able to shake his head.

‘No, we have enough time. As long as we do not stop along the way, that is.’

Captain Triwathon called his troop to order.

‘Well, mellyn-nin, we are not riding out to the same fanfare as did our fellow Reds... but our escort duty is far more important than theirs. Calithilon, take the lead; outriders, to your places, ride out!’

Calithilon led with wyrmling Tuithel next to him; she had young siblings and had volunteered for the barge duty. Ellavorn and Gelluidor were outriders – Triwathon was pleased with how they had settled in, after all. He took the last place with Erthor beside him.

‘Nice to be back in the saddle, Erthor?’ he asked as they clipped along the trail.

‘Nicer that it’s not raining, Captain. Although it’s a quieter send-off.’

Just then Calithilon raised a hand and turned to grin, and they rounded the corner of the trail to find it lined with people; the remainder of the Dragon Companies with their Argallor, many of the healers, a good score of the people of the palace, just come to watch them off.

Triwathon rode taller in his saddle, acknowledging the crowd, and tried not to wish Glorfindel was there to see it.

*

‘What, all of them?’ Merenor said, having led Flora to explain the entire company was going to be on the barge. ‘Six big horses, all neighing and whinnying and dropping those gifts horses give all over the decks?’

‘Oh... I had not thought... but it will be dark, the forest is dangerous...’

‘Yes, but the river isn’t. Think, my dear; if the dangers are in the forest, and the guard is on the barge, how can they deal with it? Besides, so many elves – and horses, there would be less room for them to get a clear line of sight on any dangers. Did you have six warriors with you on the journey down?’

‘No, just Canadion and Thiriston. But they are the best!’

‘I like to think my son is the best, of course. But Captain Triwathon and his troop are also the best, or they would not be Dragon Warriors...’

It was the work of but a few minutes more to get Flora to concede, well, perhaps it might make the barge crowded, and noisy, and, no, she hadn’t realised the barge-elves could also shoot straight, and perhaps she might be all right with a smaller escort...

But when Merenor turned to try to catch Triwathon’s attention, the Captain was gone. 

*

There was something not right.

The crowd was a surprise, their send-off an honour, and Triwathon had been buoyed by it. But only a few minutes down the trail, he grew uneasy; if he didn’t know better, he would have said it felt as if they were being followed.

Or not followed as much as shadowed...

‘Keep on. Give me a minute,’ he said to Erthor.

‘Trouble, Captain?’

‘Something...’ 

Reining in, he found a nice, friendly beech tree and rested his hand against it, sending in an enquiry to the tree. Not as practised yet as some, he was relieved when the tree greeted him, considered his thought, and intimated all was well, but laughing-thoughts-like-sun-on-the-leaves and a browsing animal were at hand... and another laughing-thought too...

‘Captain?’ Erthor asked.

‘All seems well; elves in the forest. Here, take my horse, I’ll meet you at the hythe if not sooner. Listen for my calls.’

Elves go quickly in the canopy, and when they are reasonably sure there are no spiders around, they can go faster. So Triwathon slid up into the trees and ran from bough to compliant bough, heading after the mysterious other elves. 

He caught up sooner than expected, and looking down through the branches saw the apparent threat which was not a threat at all. Making sure he was a little ahead, he sent out an acknowledge call, wondering what would happen.

At once an answer came swooping down and a figure stepped onto the path, an elleth of familiar form and bearing, smiling.

‘Captain Triwathon, I am sorry, did you want something?’

He shook his head, laughing.

‘Indeed, Healer Nestoril, I wanted to make sure we were not being shadowed by a dangerous enemy on our way to the hythe...’

‘I have inconvenienced you, my apologies; I am but heading for the watch point on the hill, to see the barge set off.’

‘As long as all is well. I will get back to my duties, but please, Healer – if you would convey, to the appropriate person, that if one orders an escort made up from the Dragon Companies, one ought not to be surprised when they do their jobs too well.’ He bowed. ‘Good day to you, Healer. I think there will be a spare seat in Master Merenor’s donkey cart on the way back, if you require it.’

He rejoined the escort with a minimum of fuss, but when they arrived at the hythe, Triwathon found Master Merenor waiting to talk to him.

‘I noticed you had left us... is all well?’

‘Yes, in fact. Just a couple of elves from the palace, wanting to watch the departure from the vantage point.’

Merenor nodded. ‘You know, if you’d mentioned it, I could have told you; I saw them readying the elk this morning...’

‘It was not really something I felt I could share with a non-combatant, Master Merenor.’

Merenor grinned and rubbed Donkey Cullasbes’ ears.

‘Fair point, Captain. I’ll head off as soon as all Flora’s stuff is off-loaded; I wouldn’t want to run into anyone I oughtn’t to see on the way back! Be well, Captain; have a good tour.’

*

Up at the watch point, Thranduil saw Merenor hug Flora, get back on his cart and set off for home. He watched as the luggage was loaded onto the barge, saw Triwathon make his arrangements and send several of his command off along the trails paralleling the river and, finally, saw the ropes cast off and the barge begin it slow, stately float upstream. He sighed, and Nestoril, behind him on Nelleron, hugged her arms around his waist.

‘At least I know Belegornor is properly guarded; this is not the first time I have seen them off, but never before have I been challenged...’

‘Captain Triwathon has developed into a brave commander indeed; I am sure you need have no fear for your grandson.’

‘Well, not on his journey home, at least. Will you be at dinner tonight?’

‘In the Feasting Hall? Of course.’

‘And will you sit at my side?’

‘Since you ask, yes, I will. And I will not wear my habit or head-rail either; my ladies can look after the halls tonight. I shall be busy looking after you.’


	435. Epilogue: Where It Doesn't Show

The Feasting Hall was comparatively quiet tonight, Thranduil thought, waiting for Parvon to see he was ready to sweep to his seat. Ness was standing behind the chair to the left of his throne, Legolas and Govon to his right. Beyond them, Merlinith and Araspen, while Ness had for her neighbours Masters Merenor and Hanben. True to her word, Nestoril was out of uniform, wearing a deep green gown that set off her hair and which made the floral brooch pinned to her collar appear much brighter than when seen against the blue of her habit.

Finally he was noticed, announced, and reached his place, taking a moment to murmur in her ear.

‘Looking good tonight, Ness. Every night, in fact.’

But then he had to recede, to allow the Elvenking to the fore to make the toast, address the people, summon the feast.

It was hardly a formal meal though, and he was able to unbend and ask Legolas about his day, to listen with slightly horrified interest in Merenor’s scheme for official bunting for use at weddings, and to learn that Araspen and Merlinith had finally decided to put paid to Araspen’s naneth’s hopes that it was just a phase her daughter was going through and would marry on the same day that Legolas and Govon had taken their vows.

‘In Master Hanben’s new Wedding Garden, too, if it is ready,’ Merlinith said.

‘But you are family,’ Thranduil protested mildly. ‘The Sacred Grove is open to you, should you wish it...’

‘Oh, thank you, but...’

‘Why not, Araspen?’ Legolas asked.

‘Because my mother would love it,’ she said. ‘Although... since I am not marrying a person of her choosing... perhaps she might not... Oh, but Master Hanben’s garden sounds wonderful...’

Merenor leaned forward to speak across half the table.

‘Then have your party in the garden and your wedding in the Grove; it will be lovely...’

*

Thranduil sat back and allowed the conversations to flow on around him. Time passed until finally, the meal was done, the wine had gone round, and he held out his hand to Nestoril.

‘Coming, Ness?’

She nodded and rose to follow him, and nobody watching would have guessed at the pain of his losses, his two sons and his grandson, or his fears for the future, for he kept his grief buried deep along with his anxieties for the future, tempered and softened by the elleth whose hand rested so warm in his, kept it all buried and hidden deep.

Where it doesn’t show.

 

\- The End –

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to everyone who has followed this story which has been almost two years in the making. 
> 
> Other stories in the sequence will follow in due course.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Mîn Melo Rîn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3487883) by [CassieHughes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassieHughes/pseuds/CassieHughes)




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